Swallow was still in Lily Grant’s painting class when the men from the office of the assistant under-secretary for security arrived at Exchange Court.
Major Kelly led four of them through the front door into the public office, where Pat Mossop was working as duty officer. Another four came through the door that opened into the back of the detective office from the Lower Yard. Mossop looked up from the duty roster he was working on to find Kelly dangling a sheet of official foolscap, topped with the royal coat of arms, in front of his face.
‘Major Kelly, office of the assistant under-secretary for security,’ he barked at Mossop. ‘Your name and rank please.’
If Kelly thought that bawling at the scrawny G-man would intimidate him, he had miscalculated. Mossop yawned lazily, scratched under his armpit and leaned across the counter without rising from the high stool on which he was perched.
‘Was somebody expecting you, Major . . . what did you say the name was? I wasn’t told anything about it.’
Kelly responded with a cold smile.
‘No, you wouldn’t have been told anything about me. Read this please; it’s a warrant to search these premises. My men are armed and they will shoot anyone who resists their lawful authority.’
Mossop affected an air of bewilderment.
‘Oh Jesus, now we’ve never had anything like this here before. Let there be no talk of shooting or the like. Will you let me read that, sir?’
Kelly dropped the sheet of foolscap onto the counter. Mossop took his time turning it about so he could read it. The gas mantles were already burning, and he held the sheet at various angles, giving the impression of seeking maximum illumination. Then he started to read the warrant out loud, slowly stumbling through the lawyerly jargon.
‘By Jesus,’ he said after a long interval, ‘that’s impressive stuff. A warrant signed by the assistant under-secretary in his capacity as a Justice of the Peace, no less . . . authorising Major Nigel Frederick Kelly to enter and search the premises known as Exchange Court . . . otherwise the detective office of the Dublin Metropolitan Police. . . .’ He turned the angle of the paper again. ‘. . . and to seize and take away from the said premises . . . any papers, documents . . . or things . . . that may seem material to the said Major Nigel Frederick Kelly in connection with . . . felonies and crimes, et cetera, et cetera, et cetera.’
He folded the sheet and handed it back to Kelly.
‘So . . . what’s this all about, sir? These documents . . . or things? Are we in trouble here?’
‘I’m here to take possession of G-Division’s recent protection logs. They are required in the interests of Crown security.’
‘Well, you’re in the right place, sure enough, sir,’ Mossop said agreeably, endeavouring to convey the continuing sense of being a fool. ‘This is G-Division, not a doubt about that. You’re in the right place, sure enough. Sure enough.’
He dropped his hands as if to slide off the stool, and then brought them up swiftly, holding the double-barrelled Remington shotgun that always sat, loaded, under the counter in the public office. He thrust the weapon hard against Kelly’s chest, pushing him back momentarily on his feet.
Kelly’s men reached into their coats to produce short Webley revolvers. All four guns were levelled on Pat Mossop.
‘Now, Charlie,’ Mossop said slowly. ‘I don’t know who the hell you are, or why you think you can walk in here and walk out with official police records. But as you say, this is G-Division. We’re very careful with our records, and we’re careful about who we let in here. So without authority from my direct superiors, you’re not going to get beyond this desk. Some of your four pals might get in all right, the one or two who might . . . just might . . . not get their eyes blown out with my buckshot. But if you try to get past me, you’ll just be a big, red hole with a lot of lead in the middle.’
Kelly’s eyes narrowed as he flushed to an angry crimson.
‘You stupid little Paddy. Take a look behind you. Then put that damned thing down, and you can thank your lucky stars if I don’t have your job and your pension.’
Mossop’s eyes flickered to his right. Half a dozen G-men men who had been in the back offices or in the dormitory filed into the public office with their hands held over their heads. The other half of Kelly’s detachment came behind them, their guns pointed at the G-men’s backs. One carried a shotgun similar to the weapon in Mossop’s hands.
‘Get them up against the wall there,’ Kelly instructed. ‘Keep them covered. Then take their weapons.’
Everyone in the room heard the double-click as Mossop engaged the hammers on the Remington.
‘Don’t move, lads. Stay where you are,’ Mossop called to his colleagues, his eyes never wavering from Kelly’s face. ‘We’re calling this fella’s bluff. Let them take your guns and we’re done for. And take your hands down. G-men don’t give way to anyone.’
Slowly, one after another, the G-men lowered their arms. Then they followed each other to cross the room, joining Mossop at the desk.
‘You obstinate bastard.’ Kelly spat the words. ‘Do you realise you’re being given a direct instruction from the office of Her Majesty’s Permanent Under-Secretary?’
‘And do you realise that you’re getting a direct instruction from the Remington Firearms Company of Connecticut to piss off now and get out of this room along with your English pals?’
Kelly’s frame shook with anger.
‘Stupid bastard . . . you stupid Paddy.’
Mossop grinned.
‘My first name is Patrick, true enough. Patrick Edgar Mossop, Detective Sergeant, since you asked my rank. But I’m no Paddy in the sense that you use the word. I’m a Belfast Protestant, a King Billy man, through and through. True to the Crown. A bit like yourself, Charlie, only more so.’
Kelly glared. For a moment Mossop thought he would try to grab the barrel of the Remington, but instead he took a step back. He gestured to his men to lower their guns. One after another the Webleys went back into their shoulder-holsters. Kelly nodded towards the door. The men nearest to it started towards the street outside.
‘You’ll live to regret this I promise you, Detective Sergeant Mossop,’ Kelly hissed. ‘I won’t be responsible for a bloodbath here, and I won’t let you provoke one either. But I will be back. And when I come, you’ll learn to respect rank, and you’ll understand your duty to those in authority.’
Mossop grinned.
‘You don’t hold any rank in this department, Charlie, me chum. And I know my duty, never you fear. So if you do come back, maybe you’ll remember to bring your manners with you. Then we can a nice chat without my having to bring out this fellow to make you behave yourself.’
He tapped the Remington’s wooden stock, and gently eased the twin hammers to safety. Then his whole body started to tremble.
When they had gone, he turned to the G-man standing nearest.
‘You’d better go down the yard and tell the chief what’s after happening here,’ he said slowly.
He fumbled in his pocket and handed the man a half-crown.
‘And before you come back, slip across the street to Brogan’s and get me a naggin of whiskey to save me life.’