We had crossed on the ferry, and were now seated in the railway carriage. I like that feeling when the engine is first propelled forward by the steam pressure, and the carriages stretch out one by one at their couplings and creak and groan and squeak, until your own compartment shudders and slowly begins to move and you realize you are beginning a railway journey. At least we might be alone for a few days to puzzle out all the information we’d discovered.
Alfred Dunleavy was escorting us to our new encampment. As usual, he was sitting with Barker and chatting into his ear, discussing everything but revealing nothing. I took a moment to regard him. The man hadn’t spoken more than a few words to me since this mission had begun. That was suspicious in itself, since the success of at least part of the operation came down to me and my abilities. Barker had questioned the man’s leadership, and suggested someone else might be in charge. If not him, then whom? Parnell, keeping his terrorist scheme separate from his political plans? Garrity, running the operation from Paris? Or, closer to home, was O’Casey running the whole thing himself? It was possible, too, that Dunleavy was playing the blustering bureaucrat to cover up a more astute brain than we realized, an old card player’s trick.
I shook my head and looked at Barker, who sat patiently while Dunleavy rambled on. In our last adventure, I’d had occasion to wonder if Barker knew what he was about, which only went to show that it was I who was ignorant. This was Barker doing what he did best. This was Barker being Barker, and reveling in it. The leader and mastermind of this cell could be anyone, but I had no doubt that the Guv would get to the bottom of it.
A little more than an hour’s ride up the coast from Liverpool to Colwyn Bay, the train pulled up beside a small country halt. We alighted and were met by a youth with an open trap. I sat in the seat facing the back of the trap, behind Barker and Dunleavy, along with our boxes of supplies. The colonel had finally run out of things to say. I would have enjoyed the ride had I not been seated next to the explosive materials and over the back axle. As it was, I felt every pebble and pothole during the thirty-minute ride to our destination. The only consolation was that we were not transporting nitroglycerin.
We eventually arrived at a small cottage of cob and thatch, standing beside a boarded-up barn and several outbuildings. They were up against the sea, beside a vacant lighthouse built of Welsh granite. Smoke was rising from the cottage chimney, and it was obvious we were not alone.
“Who is here?” Barker asked suspiciously as we got out of the trap.
“I’ve engaged a housekeeper and cook for your comfort,” Dunleavy explained.
“Bah!” Barker cried, playing the hardened revolutionary. “Send her away! We have no need of comfort. Mr. Penrith and I are accustomed to taking care of ourselves, and we do not believe in servitude. There will come a time, Mr. Dunleavy, when the servant classes shall overthrow their oppressors, and all men and women shall live as equals!”
“Very well,” Dunleavy said, a smile on his hawkish features. While we waited, he got down and went in to speak to the housekeeper. I got the impression the American revolutionary did not share Barker’s views and would very much like a large mansion full of servants. In a few moments, a squat woman came out and got into the trap, clutching a wicker basket in one hand and a jingling kerchief full of coins in the other.
“Is there enough food and water for several days?” Barker asked.
“There is,” Dunleavy assured him, “and to spare.”
“Then we shall not take up any more of your valuable time, sir. Mr. Penrith and I shall settle in on our own.”
“When will you be ready?” the American asked.
“Give us a few days. Let us say Saturday. Bring your compatriots, if you wish. No doubt Mr. O’Casey, in particular, shall be interested in the proceedings.”
Dunleavy nodded, shook our hands brusquely, and climbed into the trap in front of the housekeeper. The driver set our crates and carboys down on the ground.
Once the trap was gone, Barker and I went in to inspect our new quarters. Inside, there were thick beams overhead, a large fireplace with a swing-out hook for cooking, and stacks of dried peat for fuel. The furniture was old, but the housekeeper had wiped off the dust, and mended damage due to mice. It wasn’t a palace, but it was comfortable enough for two bachelors.
Away from prying eyes and ears, Barker threw himself into a chair and put his feet up on a low table. I lit the fire, more to have something to do than because we needed it.
“You seemed short with Dunleavy, sir, if I may say it.”
“Yes,” he responded. “I’ve been closeted with the fellow for days now. I don’t want him to think he has it too easy with van Rhyn. That old German can be prickly at times, as I’m sure you noticed at Aldershot.”
I looked into a small larder. There were tinned meats, a brace of rabbits, dried fish, eggs, and several loaves of soda bread. A sack contained the inevitable potatoes and peas, and a mince pie sat beside containers of tea and coffee. Being Irish, Dunleavy had also seen that plenty of stout and Irish whiskey were on hand. Apparently, he thought nothing wrong with combining alcohol and explosives.
“There’s plenty of food,” I said. “Who will cook?”
“Have you ever seen me in a kitchen?” he asked.
That set me back a moment. Come to think of it, I hadn’t seen him in the kitchen in London. Not ever. Can a man own a house without ever going into his own kitchen? This must be another of his eccentricities, such as his dislike of handling or discussing money. A couple of months earlier he had handed over his wallet, checkbook, and ledgers to me and hadn’t mentioned them once until this case began. I could have been systematically emptying out the agency accounts, for all he knew.
“No, sir. Perhaps it was precipitate to send away the housekeeper.”
“I was tired of speaking in that German accent and whispering to you,” he grumbled. “These infernal whiskers are itchy as well. I want to relax, I want my green tea, and, by thunder, I want my little dog!”
I thought it best to soothe him. “She left a passable Ceylon tea here. I’ll put the kettle on. I think I can cook well enough for a few days, at least. Shall I start preparing dinner?”
“No, let us reconnoiter. I don’t want any surprises.”
Barker and I left the cottage and began peeking into the various outbuildings. Having been inactive for several days, my employer exercised his muscles by prying the boards off doors and windows. The barn looked suitable for our work. The roof was sound, and someone, the old woman perhaps, had swept and laid down new straw.
A second building, which may once have been a granary, had been converted to sleeping quarters with two rows of bunks. Barker looked about, even stripping the covers from one and bringing the pillow to his nose.
“Not new,” he deduced, “but not very old, either. I believe they planned and prepared the last operation here.”
The next building was a privy. Barker gave a low grunt. I knew he was comparing it unfavorably to his luxurious bathhouse.
“I suppose one could bathe in the ocean,” I suggested.
“In the Irish Sea in June? Are you mad? I’m not a seal.”