Murder by Appointment: Inspector Faro No.10 (16 page)

Seamus Crowe had hanged himself in his cell in Stirling. The
funeral was to be the following day.

And Faro knew he must go. Imogen would be there. She would need someone to turn to who cared about her. Someone who, he hoped, was himself.

At the graveside he saw her, tall, slim, veiled. He was forced
to recognize what he already knew, that there was no shadow of doubt that she and her cousin had been the visitors seen by
Miss McNair's neighbours And, sick at heart, he knew why Imogen had been trying to warn him off.

They were Fenians, part of some plot to overthrow the monarchy, a plot hinged on papers stolen from Balmoral Castle. And despite Inspector Brewer's smooth reassurances, their contents had been lethal enough to cost the McNairs their lives.

There were few mourners at the graveside. A sprinkling of
prison officials and Imogen. And, hovering at a safe distance,
as if he did not care to be recognized, a tall man. Faro frowned. Despite the beard, and a bonnet pulled down well over the man's eyes, Faro was certain they had met before.

'Ashes to ashes, dust to dust—'

As Imogen went forward to throw a handful of earth on her
cousin's coffin, Faro was aware of being watched. Turning,
he saw two men, big strong burly men whose faces were partly hidden by their tall hats and upturned collars.

He knew in that instant that these were his attackers on the Mound and the abductors of Bessie McNair. Their presence here declared that it was they, not Imogen, who had fired
upon him from the Stirling road. A second attempt on his life
that had failed.

Imogen was innocent. And with a surge of triumph he was face to face at last with the murderers of the McNairs.

He sprang into action. They wouldn't get away this time.

Realizing his intention, they turned and went swiftly towards the gate, maintaining dignity until they were out of sight of the
group at the graveside. Then they took to their heels.

Faro was lighter, faster on his feet. But they had an escape in
readiness; he saw the waiting carriage. The distance between them shortened and he had given no thought to what he
would do once he had reached them. Unarmed, it was unlikely
that he could overpower them both.

He was unaware of danger. They could hardly turn a rifle on him with so many witnesses. In the forefront of his mind was confrontation, accusation.

It was not to be.

He was within ten yards of his quarry when a shadow leaped
out of nowhere, seized him and threw him heavily to the ground.

He struggled, swearing, but the man held him fast, his arms
behind his back. Helpless he lay on the ground and, turning
his head with difficulty, he looked into the face of the bearded
man from the graveside.

'Damn you, let me go. I'm a policeman and those two are escaping.'

The man chuckled and held him fast.

Swearing violently, Faro struggled again. ‘You'll pay for this. I'm Inspector Faro of the Edinburgh City Police.'

It was difficult to be convincing or threatening with his face
in the gravel and the man laughed again.

'I know full well who you are, sir. Who else could teach me
how to hold a man like a trussed chicken?'

And suddenly released Faro found himself looking into the now unfamiliarly bearded face of Detective Sergeant Danny McQuinn.

Faro sprang to his feet. The two men he was pursuing had disappeared. Dusting down his trousers he glared at McQuinn.

'What do you think you're doing, McQuinn? I'd have caught those two.'

'Precisely, sir. That's what they want. Once inside the carriage—' McQuinn illustrated with a descriptive gesture across his throat.

'But—'

'Come along, sir. We have to talk and it's best we're not seen together.'

With a quick look round McQuinn bundled him into one
of the waiting carriages where Faro got a good look at him for
the first time. The beard was probably false dyed hair adding to a ruffianly appearance.

Certainly at first glance he was hardly recognizable and Faro would have walked past him in the street.

'What's all this about, McQuinn? I thought you were planning to go to America.'

'Rose told you that, I suppose.' McQuinn laughed 'I changed my mind. Or had it changed for me.'

'So you're not going after all?' Faro was aware of the disappointment in his voice.

'Not immediately. I have an assignment. I'm back being a loyal Irishman, again. A Fenian in fact—'

'A Fenian?' Faro stared at him in horror.

McQuinn smiled affably. 'That's right, sir, with instructions
to infiltrate the movement, find out what's going on over here.'

'You're telling me you're an informer.'

Ignoring Faro's interruption McQuinn continued, 'There's
a plot to overthrow the Queen and the government and seeing
that I've taken the woman's money, I'm expected to be a decent policeman, loyal, and obedient.'

Pausing he shrugged. 'It's a hard life, sir. I love Ireland and God knows I want to see her freed of English tyranny, but these terrorists are wrong. Bombs and murderers.' He shook his head. 'There has to be some other way.'

But Faro wasn't listening and he tried to digest this astonishing information. 'You a police spy, McQuinn. You of all people. It's quite incredible.'

McQuinn ignored that. 'The woman Crowe and her cousin are both in it.'

'Are you sure?' Faro asked, although he knew the answer.

'Certain sure, sir.' As the carriage reached the railway station Faro knew the folly of trying to see Imogen again in the light of this information.

'I presume you're going back to Edinburgh, sir,' said McQuinn consulting his watch. 'We should talk before your train.'

He paid off the coachman and led the way into a dingy, ill-lit
public bar across the square. Seated at a squalid beer-soaked
table with two pints of ale in front of them, McQuinn asked, 'How much do you know about this latest Fenian activity? I presume that's what has brought you here. You are on to something?' he added eagerly.

'You know as much as me, McQuinn. You were with me when we foiled attempts on the Queen's life,' he added bitterly.

'It's the throne this time. These papers that are missing contain vital information.'

'Exactly what information?' Faro asked.

'Damned if I know. Except that they are of a highly personal and damaging nature.'

'They have to be if the throne is in danger. I presume the Fenians know a bit more than us.'

'Which is what I'm supposed to find out.'

'Who are you looking for?'

'A woman.'

'A woman, McQuinn?' Faro laughed.

'Not in the social sense this time,' said McQuinn. 'I only
know that the chief member of their spy system over here is a
woman who is clever, highly educated, patriotic. Handy with
bombs and guns—'

As he spoke Faro had a sinking feeling of disaster and familiarity.

'This is the woman I have to find and eliminate,' McQuinn ended grimly. 'And all I know is that she is in Scotland— somewhere.'

Faro fought back the words and the image that McQuinn had conjured up for him. 'You'll be lucky if you don't end up very dead. How do you know they'll trust you?'

'Because I'm kin to them.'

'A loyal Irish policeman? That's hardly a worthy qualification.'

‘I’m a lot more than that. I'm related by blood. You've heard of John O'Mahony?'

Faro nodded. Anyone who had dealings with Ireland had heard of the great patriot and scholar, the historian who had translated a history of Ireland from the Irish.

'It was O'Mahony who chose the name "Fenian'' for the
new embodiment of Irish national feeling and the word stood
for nationhood embodied in the ancient ideal of the
fianna
.' McQuinn paused. 'And O'Mahony was first cousin to my mother.'

'You never told me that,' said Faro accusingly.

'You never asked. I'm using the name O'Mahony by the way, and it's because of my family connection they thought I'd be welcomed with open arms. Fenian is a word for the Irish that is both military and lyrical—'

Faro didn't want another lecture from McQuinn on Irish history. 'I know that. It's been used to describe Irish soldiers for sixty years. I first heard it applied to Irish rebels against the British Empire about ten years ago.

'It's also used for members of the Irish Republican Brother
hood. It received strong support from our people who suffered in the Famine—and from the harsh treatment of English landlords. As you know, sir, a million and a half people starved to death and another million emigrated. Those who came over here brought death with them, in the form of deadly fevers.'

McQuinn paused. 'My own parents died,' he said sadly. 'And
I was brought up in Edinburgh by the Sisters at St Anthony's Orphanage. Others of the family like the O'Mahonys, who
survived the coffin ships and reached America, brought a more
deadly fever—the passion for revenge.

'The Brotherhood was founded in Dublin on St Patrick's Day in '58 and soon afterwards the Fenians were founded in America, their object to destroy British rule in Ireland. Their sympathies lay with the forced emigrations which gave the Irish Americans a detestation of English rule.

'I know from my folks over there—Rose will have told you—' He paused and Faro smiled vaguely, amazed that he
had known so little about this young man who had shared for
several years his daily life with all its danger. 'Rallies of patriotic Fenians ten years ago attracted scores of thousands.
Funds were raised by subscriptions, collections and the sale of
bonds redeemable when the Irish Republic was established. There was even an issue of postage stamps. I have a few of them, very precious. Armed Fenians paraded in American towns, Fenian newspapers and song books flourished. .

'Experienced soldiers from the American Civil War were sent to Ireland to act as instructors and leaders training men
for combat. Fenians joined armies as mercenaries, particularly
the French Foreign Legion, to gain battle experience. Their
activities varied from daring rescues of political prisoners in
Ireland, England and Australia to meetings with foreign governments to discuss possible alliances with the offer of Fenian brigades to help any countries fighting Britain. The dearest hope of the Irish Americans was for an Anglo-American war—'

And Faro recalled reading in the
Pall Mall Gazette
in '67 that the Brotherhood was the first case of such a political organization being established in England: 'It will probably annoy us for years and at intervals produce catastrophes ...'

There was always the fear that a struggle in Ireland might result in American intervention on behalf of Ireland and war
with England would develop a sense of national unity between
the states.

Faro remembered that the late Charles Dickens had been conscious of the danger and had written: 'If the Americans don't embroil us in a war before long it will not be their fault... with their claims for indemnification, what with Ireland and Fenianism and what with Canada, I have strong apprehensions.'