“Are you coming with us, Denis Ryan?” asked Murnihan.
There was silence in the room for a minute. All eyes were fixed on Denis. There was not a man in the room who did not know how things were between him and Mary Drennan. There was not one who did not feel that Denis’ faithfulness was doubtful. And each man realised that his own safety, perhaps his own life, depended on the entire fidelity of all his fellows. Denis felt the sudden suspicion. He saw in the faces around him the merciless cruelty which springs from fear. But he said nothing. It was the delegate from Dublin who broke the silence. He, too, seemed to understand the situation. He realised, at all events, that for some reason this one man was unwilling to take part in the raid. He pointed his finger at Denis.
“That man,” he said, “must go, and must take a leading part!”
So, and not otherwise, could they make sure of one who might be a traitor.
“I’m willing to go,” said Denis. “I’m not wanting to hang back.”
Murnihan drew two revolvers from his pocket. He handed one of them to Denis.
“You’ll stand over the old woman with that pointed at her head,” he said. “The minute we enter the house we’ll call to her to put her hands up, and if she resists you’ll shoot. But there’ll be no need of shooting. She’ll stand quiet enough!”
Denis stepped back, refusing to take the revolver.
“Do it yourself, Murnihan,” he said, “if it has to be done!”
“I’m not asking you to do what I’m not going to do myself. I’m taking the other revolver, and I’ll keep the girl quiet!”