Read Shamrock Green for Free Online Page B

‘it gives me no great pleasure to have to descend on you in this manner, Mrs McCulloch, but we’ve received a report that a crate of rifles from the landing at Howth is hidden here.’
    â€˜Do I look like a gun-runner to you?’ Sylvie said. ‘Well, do I?’
    â€˜Where’s your husband?’
    â€˜Out earning an honest living.’
    â€˜He drives for Flanagan’s Motor Company, does he not?’
    â€˜Why ask me questions when you already know the answers?’
    â€˜How many resident boarders do you have at present?’
    She told him, ‘Two.’
    He nodded. ‘Have any strangers stayed here this past weekend?’
    â€˜No strangers, only three salesmen who’ve stayed here often enough.’
    â€˜I’ll be needing their names.’
    â€˜They’re written in the guest-book,’ Sylvie said. ‘I’ll get it for you.’
    â€˜No.’ He touched her elbow again. ‘Wait.’
    She could hear the creak of floorboards as Ames searched the upper floors. She was unsure exactly what branch of authority the men represented. Fran would know. Fran would have them labelled.
    â€˜We know what your husband is and what he does,’ Vaizey said.
    â€˜Then you’ll know he’s no nationalist.’
    â€˜His father is.’
    â€˜We see little enough of Daniel McCulloch here, thank God,’ Sylvie said. ‘When Gowry and he get together all they do is squabble.’
    â€˜Still, blood is thicker than water.’
    â€˜Not in this house it’s not,’ Sylvie told him.
    â€˜Have you ever met a man called Hagarty?’
    â€˜I don’t think so,’ Sylvie said. ‘I’d have to check my guest-book to be sure.’
    â€˜You’re a Scot, Mrs McCulloch, aren’t you?’
    â€˜Aye, of course I am.’
    â€˜It’ll hardly be your fight then.’
    â€˜My fight? What are you talking about?’
    â€˜It would be a sin to lose everything for a cause that doesn’t concern you.’
    â€˜Is that, by any chance, a threat?’
    He was standing close to her, knee brushing her apron. He was not tall enough to have to bend his head to fit into the triangular space beneath the stairs.
    He said, ‘My own mother, God rest her soul, was Scottish. She came from Ayrshire originally.’
    â€˜Did she really?’ said Sylvie flatly.
    â€˜Francis Hagarty? Are you sure you’ve never met him?’
    â€˜I told you, not to my knowledge.’
    â€˜What about Charles McCulloch and Eamon Trotter?’
    â€˜Yes, they drink here now and then when my husband is out of town.’ Sylvie paused. ‘Who is this man, this Hagarty you’re looking for?’
    â€˜We’re not looking for him,’ Vaizey said. ‘We know where he lives.’
    â€˜Ah,’ Sylvie said. ‘So it’s his connections you’re after. Well, there are no rebel connections in this house, and no guns.’
    â€˜The guns were here, were they not?’
    â€˜No, they were not.’
    â€˜Sunday night, when you were asleep, perhaps Charlie McCulloch—’
    â€˜I’m a very light sleeper,’ Sylvie said.
    Vaizey was clearly enjoying himself. Sylvie wondered what sort of things a man in his position might do in the name of the law.
    â€˜We can close you down, you know,’ he said, smiling.
    â€˜Is that a threat?’ Sylvie said.
    â€˜It’s a warning,’ Vaizey said. ‘I’ve nothing against you personally.’
    â€˜Then why are your bully-boys raking through my cupboards?’
    â€˜Mrs McCulloch,’ Vaizey said, ‘you have an enemy.’
    â€˜An enemy? Who?’
    â€˜Anonymous,’ Vaizey said. ‘No name given.’
    â€˜You mean somebody told you there were guns in my house?’
    He drew her closer. ‘It would be wise not to let your father-in-law and his cronies drink here for a while. I take it you can bar your