On the positive side, Swallow reflected cynically to himself, the press was preoccupied elsewhere. The London murders and the terror induced by the so-called Ripper were a much juicier story. So too were the proceedings at the commission at Westminster, where government lawyers and witnesses continued desperately trying to find evidence to blacken Parnell and to link him to the outrages being committed in the land struggle.

The newspapers paid little attention to the death of a young waitress from a poor cottage in Blackberry Lane. In the ordinary course of things they would have grave editorials about police incompetence and warnings to the citizenry about monsters prowling the streets.

He reported daily to Mallon on the lack of progress. The chief of G-Division was patient, but wary.

‘I’ve had nothing more than a routine inquiry from the commissioner about the case,’ Mallon told him as they shared a midday drink on Friday at the Brazen Head on Bridge Street. ‘But,’ he grimaced, ‘I’ve heard bloody plenty about what happened when Major Kelly tried to execute a perfectly legal search warrant at the detective office. Sticking a shotgun into the face of a Crown officer isn’t very smart.’

‘I wasn’t there, chief.’

Swallow knew it sounded lame. He was the senior operational member at Exchange Court.

‘That’s about the only argument I can use against the fury coming from the Upper Yard,’ Mallon replied. ‘My line is that a relatively junior officer overreacted. And I can hardly plead that the crime inspector was above at the art college, brushing away at an easel.’ He permitted himself a thin smile. ‘Still and all, I’d love to have seen it myself. Mossop with the loaded Remington stuck in Kelly’s snout.’

Swallow grinned and ordered another round. His was the usual Tullamore. Mallon took his customary Bushmills.

‘I’ll argue with the commissioner that Kelly was out of order,’ Mallon mused. ‘If he’d asked politely, instead of turning up with a platoon of gunmen, we’d have had to accommodate him. And that’s what we’ll have to do the next time they come, you know. If they want to search, and they will, we’ll have to let them. And you can be sure they’ll be back. Commissioner Harrel has no love for Kelly, or what he’s at, but if the security fellows in the under-secretary’s office are coming down on him he doesn’t have much ground to stand on. He’d be dismissed as quick as a fart from a goose. That’s an Armagh expression, by the way,’ he added with mock seriousness.

He sipped at his Bushmills.