‘Mother of God, man,’ whispered the Irishman, ‘is it yellow ye are? Ye’ll have money in yer pocket – an’ it’s small money they’ll niver be able ter trace. Think of it … ’ his fingers dug into Scannock’s arm, ‘there’s always drink for the man who can put the money down. Ye’ll be after knowin’ that already. An’ the women, them lovely fat whoors at the Horse an’ Hounds. They’ll niver look at the likes o’ you an’ me until we’re flush, but then they’ll be after us, boyo, they’ll be after us an’ cryin’ out for a kip when we can jingle the money in our pockets. Come on, Scouse, the divil himself’ll spit in yer eye if ye turn this chance down.’

Scannock spoke at last.

‘Them women wouldn’t come with us.’

‘Sure, an’ they will too,’ said Mulrooney fiercely. ‘If it’s shy of ’em ye are I’ll fix one up for ye.’ Scannock’s glittering eyes told him that he was near to prevailing. He put his face close to Scannock’s and spoke thickly, rapidly. ‘I’ll spread one out on the bed for youse, with a fat, white belly ready an’ waitin’ for youse. It’s a quare man ye are if ye won’t know how to paddle yer own boat then.’

It was months since Scannock had flung his wife across the bed. He had not had a drink for forty-eight hours. His pockets were empty. And the savage, frustrated energy that the days of waiting had stored up in him was driving him crazy. He would go anywhere, follow anyone, to burst the bonds of inaction.

‘I’m on,’ he grunted.

The plan was Mulrooney’s. Scannock was to creep up to the farmhouse, force the kitchen window and get the cash box from the cupboard. Mulrooney had explained carefully to him where it was. Mulrooney would wait along the path. The dog, he explained, was the danger. He had a piece of meat, drugged meat wrapped up in his handkerchief, he said. He was going to feed that to the dog. This was the worst job and he wanted to do it himself. Scannock thought about the scheme; he was incapable of considering it critically – it was a struggle simply to absorb it. When he had done so, he had no questions. He followed Mulrooney.

They crossed the empty paddock, and came to the path leading to the farmhouse.

‘I’ll wait here,’ whispered Mulrooney, ‘if there’s any danger I’ll whistle youse ter clear out.’

‘This as far as you’re comin’?’

‘Sure, an’ it’s me that has the dangerous job,’ whispered the Irishman, ‘out here in the white moonlight, like a flea on a bald head. Gwan along with youse, now.’