Cribb took out a silver watch Devlin had loaned him. Possibly it had belonged to Malone. It registered two minutes to eight. He flicked his tongue tensely across his upper lip and stared across the water at the gazebo. It looked depressingly solid in construction, its reflection giving the illusion that there was as much brickwork below the surface as above. Two crows were perched on the battlements. How humiliating if the explosion just dislodged a few bricks and failed to disturb the birds . . .
Feeling not at all like Mephistopheles, he started walking under cover of the trees towards the waiting group, ready to appear on cue. Those two minutes must have ticked away by now. At least, he wryly observed, the thing had not gone off before time.
He was near enough now to hear the murmur of conversation, and most of it seemed to be coming from the larger of the two emissaries, punctuated with the kind of laughter one hears filling the intervals at firework displays, when the set pieces are slow in igniting. The other, standing apart, had his watch in his hand and was concentrating all his attention on the gazebo.
Cribb had gone as close to the others as he could without revealing his presence. He stood behind a tree, took out the watch and lifted the cover. Three minutes past the hour. They were not going to wait much longer and nor was he. If he made a dash to the house now, he should be able to get to the kitchen and release Thackeray, and the two of them might get clear before the alarm was raised.
Even as he was reaching a decision, the leaves above him rustled and a boom of reassuring volume shattered the calm of the evening. Before doing anything else, he put back the hands of the watch to precisely eight o’clock.
The crows were two small specks in the sky when he turned round, but the gazebo was still disintegrating. It was collapsing into the water by layers with extraordinary slowness, like snow slipping off a roof. More than half was gone already and the lake’s surface was fretted with waves radiating from the point of disturbance. The roof, deprived of support, slipped into the void, bringing more masonry with it and hitting the water with an impact that sent droplets showering down over much of the lake. When everything went still again, one section of one wall remained.
He walked towards the group. Rossanna, with arms outspread, seemed ready to embrace him, but took his hands instead and drew him towards the visitors. ‘And here, gentlemen, is the genius behind what we have just witnessed. Mr Sargent, I want to introduce you to Mr Millar.’
The larger of the emissaries offered a broad hand to Cribb. ‘You seem to have a way with the little cakes, Sargent. It was neatly done.’
‘Mr Carse,’ said Rossanna.
The small man remained where he was, holding his watch. ‘Three and a half minutes late,’ he said in an expressionless voice. ‘I do not regard that as genius.’
Cribb’s response was immediate. ‘Late? It was perfectly on time. I checked it on the watch I was given.’ He took it out. ‘Why, it isn’t three minutes past yet.’
‘Then there would appear to be an error in the watch,’ said Carse in the same flat voice. ‘I suppose we cannot blame you for that if you set the bomb mechanism from the same instrument.’
‘He did,’ insisted Rossanna. ‘It was done in my presence.’
‘In future,’ said Carse, ‘We shall ensure that all timepieces are accurately synchronised. I am sure your father concurs. Shall we return to the house, or are we to be treated to some other proof of Mr Sargent’s genius?’
‘Father thought that this would be sufficient,’ said Rossanna. ‘He is personally convinced of Mr Sargent’s professional ability and he has made the most comprehensive inquiries into his background. He was hoping that we could enrol him as a member of the Clan this evening. Are you prepared to accept him, Mr Carse?’
‘Since Malone is dead, madam, and your father incapacitated, we have no choice. Time is short. Bring your prodigy to the meeting and we shall conduct the usual ceremony.’
As Carse strode away along the path in the direction of the house, with Millar not far behind in company with Devlin, Rossanna hung back to speak to Cribb. ‘There is something I must tell you. Pretend you are helping me with the wheel-chair. This man Carse—’
‘The leprechaun?’
‘Do not underestimate him. He has been exceedingly difficult over the matter of Malone.’
‘Nasty little cove.’
‘He was incensed at what we had to tell him. He was ready to cancel everything—a year’s work—until we told him about you. Even then, he was most disbelieving about your ability to stand in for Malone.’
‘I rather formed that impression too,’ said Cribb.
‘We had to paint you in glowing colours. Upon one point, in particular I bent the truth a little.’
‘What was that?’
‘The senior members of the Clan are most particular about one of the rules regarding descent. Everyone presented for membership has to have the Irish blood, you see.’
‘Now that’s a problem,’ said Cribb.
‘It might have been. I told them your mother was born in Skibbereen and that silenced them.’
‘It’s silenced me,’ said Cribb. ‘Where the devil is it?’
‘In County Cork. It’s one of the southernmost towns in Ireland. Carse comes from Dublin, so it’s unlikely that he knows Skibbereen. You don’t mind the deception, do you?’
‘I’ll square it with my conscience somehow. One needs to bend the truth occasionally in my profession.’
She smiled her thanks. ‘That was a darling of a demolition, Mr Sargent. We’ll not waste your second bomb on a folly, I promise you. It’ll be a deadly serious thing next time. If it does its work as well as the first, you’ll be the toast of all Ireland. There should be no worry, for the machines are identical, are they not?’
‘Like two peas from the same pod, Rossanna,’ said Cribb, speaking the truth.
At the house, he was instructed to wait in the hall while certain preliminaries took place in the drawing room. After some fifteen minutes, Rossanna came out with a black mask, like the one her father wore, except that it had no eye-spaces. ‘Do I have to wear that?’ he asked.
‘It’s part of the ritual,’ she explained, as she tied it firmly in place. ‘But you will be perfectly safe. The ballot for your membership has taken place and you got no black balls. You will be among friends. I shall hold your arm to guide you.’ She gave it a reassuring squeeze and led him forward.
He felt his feet leave the tiles and move on to carpet. The door closed behind him. A deep voice that he recognised as Millar’s spoke close in front of his face. ‘What is your name, friend?’
‘Sargent.’ There was no response to this, so he shrewdly added, ‘Michael Sargent.’
‘Very good. Tell us the names of your father and mother.’
He felt a slight pressure from Rossanna. ‘John Sargent and Molly O’Doherty.’ He paused for effect. ‘Of Skibbereen, in County Cork.’
Someone nearby grunted in satisfaction.
‘My friend,’ said Millar over a rustle of paper, suggesting that he was reading from a text, ‘you have sought affiliation with us animated by love, duty and patriotism.’
‘Not to say the Skirmishing Fund,’ murmured a voice in the background, possibly Devlin’s.
‘Stow your jaw, mister!’ said Millar, before continuing, in priestlike tones, ‘We have deemed you worthy of our confidence and our friendship. You are now within these secret walls. Those who surround you have all taken the obligations of our Order, and are endeavouring to fulfil its duties. These duties must be cheerfully complied with, or not at all undertaken. We are Irishmen banded together for the purpose of freeing Ireland and elevating the position of the Irish race. The lamp of the bitter past plainly points our path, and we believe that the first step on the road to freedom is secrecy. Destitute of secrecy, defeat will again cloud our brightest hopes; and, believing this, we shall hesitate at no sacrifice to maintain it.’
Cribb felt a hand fasten on his shoulder.
‘Be prepared, then, to cast aside with us every thought that may impede the growth of this holy feeling among Irishmen; for, once a member of this Order, you must stand by its watchwords of Secrecy, Obedience and Love. With this explanation, I ask you are you willing to proceed?’
‘Answer,’ whispered Rossanna.
‘I am willing,’ said Cribb.
‘Approach the President, then,’ ordered another voice. It belonged to Carse.
Rossanna piloted him in that direction.
‘My friend,’ said Carse, without a trace of affection, ‘by your own voluntary act you are now before us. You have learned the nature of the cause in which we are engaged—a cause honourable to our manhood, and imposed upon us by every consideration of duty and patriotism. We would not have an unwilling member among us, and we give you, even now, the opportunity of withdrawing, if you so desire.’
Cribb thought it politic to shake his head at the suggestion.
Carse went on, ‘Everyone here has taken a solemn and binding oath to be faithful to the trust we repose in him. This oath, I assure you, is one which does not conflict with any duty you owe to God, to your country, your neighbours, or yourself. It must be taken before you can be admitted to light and fellowship in our Order. With this assurance, will you submit yourself to our rules and regulations and take our obligation without mental reservation?’
‘I will,’ said Cribb. With an assurance like that, a man could promise anything.
‘Place your right hand on this flag of free Ireland, then, and say after me . . .’
Cribb repeated the oath phrase by phrase, ‘I, Michael Sargent, do solemnly and sincerely swear, in the presence of Almighty God, that I will labour, while life is left me’—(an inauspicious phrase, he thought) ‘—to establish and defend a republican form of government in Ireland. That I will never reveal the secrets of this organisation to any person or persons not entitled to know them. That I will obey and comply with the Constitution and laws of the United Brotherhood, and promptly and faithfully execute all constitutional orders coming to me from the proper authority, to the best of my ability. That I will foster a spirit of unity, nationality and brotherly love among the people of Ireland.
‘I furthermore swear that I do not now belong to any other Irish revolutionary society antagonistic to this organisation, and that I will not become a member of such society while connected with the Brotherhood, and, finally, I swear that I take this obligation without mental reservation, and that any violation hereof is infamous and merits the severest punishment. So help me God.’
Two loud raps followed.
‘Brothers and sister!’ said Millar’s voice. ‘It affords me great pleasure to introduce you to our new brother.’
Another rap.
‘Now take off your blindfold, Sargent, and let us get down to the serious business of the meeting,’ said Carse.
CHAPTER
12
CRIBB BLINKED, ACCUSTOMING HIS eyes to the gaslight. As he had estimated, the meeting was taking place in the drawing room. His newly acquired sister and brothers were ranged round him in a circle of high-backed chairs which included McGee’s invalid-chair. Carse, the senior man present, wore a chain of office with a silver pendant in the shape of a shield. On it was engraved a harp, two sides of which formed the arched body and wing of an angel.
‘Sit down, tenderfoot. We’ve finished with you,’ Carse told him brusquely.
He found a place between Devlin and Rossanna.
‘Now, Sister,’ Carse continued, with a thin smile directed to Cribb’s right. ‘We shall be obliged if you will deliver your father’s report on the work in hand.’
A familiar perfume was wafted Cribb’s way as Rossanna stirred in her chair. A small pulse at the base of her neck was throbbing visibly. Cribb had the strong intimation that she regarded Carse and Millar as potential enemies. ‘Well, gentlemen, the good news is that everything is ready. We have all been witnesses this evening to the devastation wreaked by Brother Sargent’s machine. An explosive device of identical construction, clock-timed and watertight, is waiting to be put into use. It requires only to be activated.’
Carse nodded. ‘That’s all in order then. But what about the Holland project? The bomb’s no use if that’s not finished. You’ve had a year to put it together and God knows how many dollars to pay for it. Is it ready as your father promised?’
‘Might I suggest that you come and see for yourselves?’ said Rossanna. ‘If it is possible for the meeting to adjourn for a few minutes, I have hurricane lamps ready and we can walk down to the workshop and ascertain whether the Clan’s dollars have been wisely invested.’
‘Very well,’ said Carse. ‘Collect your hats, Brothers.’
Outside, the moon was obscured by a bank of cloud, so the lamps were necessary at once. Devlin led, the others filing after him in silence, impressed, it seemed, with the solemnity of the occasion. With the addition of a couple of spades, Cribb reflected, they could have passed for an exhumation-party.
They stopped at the door of the large building where Devlin’s team had been employed. Devlin produced a ring of keys and unfastened two locks. The door opened inwards and they passed inside.
Cribb first noticed a strong smell of tar. Then he was compelled to turn his shoulders and move sideways along the inner side of the building. The farther he penetrated, the narrower the passage became. The building accommodated an object of such proportions that it was impossible in that confined area to estimate its shape. All he could tell in the uncertain light was that the section nearest him was curved and made of riveted metal plates coated with tar. It rose above the height of his bowler.
‘Climb the step-ladder ahead of you, Mr Sargent, and you will get a better view,’ Rossanna’s voice advised him.
He found a ladder roped to part of the wooden framework that flanked the object. He climbed it and joined Devlin and Carse on a small platform, two planks in width. Devlin hooked his lamp on to one of the cross-beams above them, and Millar, who had appeared on a similar platform on the opposite side, did the same, so producing the best illumination possible in the circumstances. The shadow of Rossanna, climbing the ladder on Millar’s side, danced to the swinging of the lamps.
Cribb still had difficulty in recognising the object. Its main section was in the shape of a cigar about thirty feet long, and there was a low turret-shaped superstructure in the centre.
‘There, gentlemen,’ said Rossanna, ‘you see the culmination of a year’s work.’
‘Nine years,’ Carse corrected her. ‘This was begun with John Holland’s work in New Jersey.’
‘Who is John Holland?’ Cribb enquired, hopeful that the answer might explain the purpose of the metal cigar.
‘Holland?’ said Devlin, in a tone suggesting that the question should not have been asked. ‘He is the fellow who has made the submarine boat a practical reality. An Irishman, born in County Clare, and a Fenian, thank God. He built his first with Fenian money as long ago as 1875, three years after he arrived in the States. The man has thought of nothing else but designing submarine boats since he was a boy in Liscannor. This is an improved version of the Holland III, known as the Fenian Ram.’
‘It had better be improved,’ said Carse. ‘Sixty thousand dollars of the Skirmishing Fund went into the first three boats, for nothing more sensational than a few excursions up the Passaic River.’
‘She has undergone two months of trials in the Estuary,’ said Devlin. ‘She is ready for whatever action is required of her. Would you care to see inside? There is a hinged lid, you see—’
‘That can wait,’ said Carse quickly. ‘How is she powered? With an oil engine, like the Ram?’
‘Oh, no,’ said Devlin. ‘This vessel is electrically driven. She has two Edison-Hopkinson motors capable of developing up to forty-five horse-powers. Each one is powered by an Elwell-Parker battery with fifty-two accumulators. They produce a tension of 104 volts.’
‘It sound
s capital,’ said Millar from the other side, ‘but as a man without much knowledge of electricity it doesn’t mean a damned thing to me, Brother. What’s her top speed below the surface, and how long can she stay under?’
‘She’ll do eight knots submerged,’ said Devlin, ‘and she could stay under indefinitely. It’s the air the crew have to breathe that limits the length of the submersions.’
‘Limits them to what?’ asked Millar.
‘I would estimate two hours with a crew of three.’
Millar and Carse exchanged glances. ‘That should suffice,’ said Carse. ‘How deep can she dive with safety?’
Devlin tapped the hull of the submarine boat with his shoe. ‘She’s constructed of Siemens-Martin steel plates five-sixteenths of an inch thick. They’ll withstand the pressure fifty feet down, if necessary. And she can hide in ten feet of water. I can give you a demonstration tomorrow.’
‘That won’t be possible,’ said Carse. ‘We shall have to take your word for it that everything is in order. But as you were selected for this assignment on account of your knowledge of Holland’s work, we have every confidence in you, Brother.’
Rossanna spoke. ‘If you have seen enough, gentlemen, shall we return to the house? There is still my father’s plan to expound.’
They shortly resumed in the dining room, where a large chart of the river between Erith Reach and The Lower Hope was spread across the table. McGee, masked as usual, was seated at the head. At Rossanna’s reappearance, he started babbling incoherently. She took his hand in hers and quietened him, but not before Millar had taken Cribb aside. ‘Is he always like this?’ he asked.
‘It’s a speech impediment,’ said Cribb. ‘The legacy of his accident.’
‘Poor beggar! You wouldn’t believe there’s a brain still functioning behind that piece of silk.’
‘It’s hard to credit,’ Cribb agreed.
‘Come, Brothers, we have much to do,’ Carse called from across the table. ‘Sister McGee, we await your father’s report.’
The Tick of Death Page 14
