chapter twenty seven

75a Great Britain Street

They passed through the shop with the aid of the weak gas-light filtered in from the street. O’Connell led the way past the counter and he gave a triple tap at the door behind it. Frank heard the stairs beyond creak under the feet of whoever descended, and then the quiet breathy question: “Who is without?”

“Professor O’Connell. I have brought the friend of whom we spoke.”

The door was opened and Clarke appeared; a spectral shadow against the rusty wallpaper. “The others are in attendance above. You were not followed?”

“No, the Constabulary believe that our friend is a dangerous lunatic and accompanied us to the adjacent Magdalane Asylum. I can assure you they have no intelligence as to our purpose,” replied O’Connell as they made their way up the narrow flight of stairs. They entered a room dominated by a large mahogany dining table. The committee were seated around it, studying a large Dublin street map. Clarke sat down and pushed a plug of orange tobacco into his pipe. A younger man stood and offered the newcomers chairs. Frank was impressed by his intelligent eyes under a firm brow.

“Padraic Pearse,” he introduced himself, “you are Mr Kørner, I believe. I wonder if you might address us on the subject of your weapon.” Frank had considered this interview for a number of days and had already decided upon his policy. He realised that their revolutionary zeal would make them want to believe whatever he said, but he was going to tell them nothing but the truth. He even had a sample contained within a die in his pocket. He had previously arranged with O’Connell that an anonymous madman could be made available should they require a demonstration. As it turned out Connolly, Ceannt and Griffiths favoured a demonstration in order to be sure about the military reliability of the gas, but the others, led by Pearse thought the sacrifice of an innocent unwarranted.

It was nearly eleven o’clock before they returned to O’Connell’s apartment in the asylum. They had proceeded from the tobacconist’s shop in silence, but as O’Connell shut the door against the groans and mutterings of the patients a broad smile suffused his features. “Splendid work Mr Kørner; you have given us the heart and the advantage to bring forward the day of liberation. I am now sure that it will happen within days, possibly soon after Easter. Have you sufficient quantities of the gas to hand?”

“Did I not assure the committee of that very fact?” Frank despised the Professor for his naivety. He managed a polite smile of complicity to mask his rapid recalculation: he might not return to Galway before it was time for O’Connell to die. He did not welcome having to prepare the foam without his instruments; however this asylum was a type of hospital, perhaps he could find something that could serve his purpose. “I find the prospect of contributing to your just cause very stimulating and I fear I shall not sleep. May we inspect the facilities here to settle my thoughts?”

“Now? It nears midnight.”

“I’m sure you are equally excited by the outcome of this evening’s meeting, and I know you are an expert in this field of medicine,” Frank hoped that flattery would encourage the professor to accede to his request. O’Connell’s hand hovered over the whisky bottle and then fell to his side.

“You are correct, it would help me sleep. Let’s go, there is an excellent collection of special tools and some fine samples of trepanned skulls.” Frank was delighted; the oaf was going to introduce him to the means by which his brain would be soon liquefied. The moment could not come soon enough.