‘She tried to lift a kettle o’ hot soup or hot water off the fire at the New Vienna, where she worked. It spilled over her. She took herself down to the infirmary to have it tended to.’

‘When was that?’

‘Sometime after Christmas last. Maybe January.’

Flannery turned to look at the wall-clock.

‘I think I should be gettin’ home now. Me mother needs me there with Alice bein’ waked an’ all the neighbours in.’

Swallow stood.

‘I understand that. You’re free to go home, Dan. Sergeant Mossop and I will be going to see Father Cavendish very shortly.’

‘He’ll deny everythin’,’ Flannery said wearily. ‘Don’t believe him.’

‘We’ll see,’ Swallow said, keeping what he hoped was a neutral tone. ‘There’s just one thing more. Can you let me see the soles of your shoes? I’d like you to take them off.’

Flannery leaned down and unlaced the shoes. They were polished, but cracked and patched on the uppers. The soles were smooth and without any pattern.

‘Are they what you’d wear to work, Dan?’ Swallow asked.

Flannery’s laugh was bitter.

‘I only have the wan pair o’ shoes.’

Swallow handed the shoes back to him.

‘And they’re not a bad pair at all, Dan, even though they’ve seen a lot of service. Size nine. Would I be right?’

Monday November 5th, 1888

Chapter 13

Winter tightened its grip on the city. The morning was cold but dry with a white frost on the footpaths and the cobbles as Swallow made his way to the Castle. He was at Mallon’s office in the Lower Yard just before half past nine. Jack Burton, the chief’s clerk, had a feeble turf fire starting in the grate in the outer office.

‘It’ll build up nicely now in half an hour,’ Burton told Swallow apologetically. ‘When you come back from your meeting above you’ll get a good warming out of it.’

A few minutes later John Mallon emerged from his inner office. By this hour, Swallow knew, the chief of detectives would have gone through the night’s crime reports from around the city, noting any significant occurrences, mentally storing details and adding instructions to the file margins for action during the day.

It was a minute’s walk to the office of the assistant under-secretary for security in the Georgian block across from the Bedford Tower in the Upper Yard. Its windows looked directly out at the statue of Lady Justice, complete with weighing scales and a sword, which topped the pediment of the Castle’s Cork Hill gate. Cynical Dubliners were wont to make derogatory comments about the fact that the statue’s back was turned to the city so that only the denizens of the Castle could look upon her face.