Then he looked me square in the face without winking. Cahoon did the same thing exactly. Neither of them spoke. It was clearly my turn to say something; but with four hard grey eyes piercing my skin I found it difficult to think of a remark. In the end I said:
“Really?”
They both continued to stare at me. Then McConkey broke the silence again.
“You’ll no be a Papist?” he said.
“Certainly not,” I replied. “In fact I am a church-warden.”
McConkey thrust his hand deep into a hip pocket in the back of his trousers and drew out a somewhat soiled packet of yellow tracing paper.
“Look at thon,” he said.
I unfolded the tracing paper and found on it drawings of a machine gun. Cahoon peered over my shoulder.
“She’s a bonny wee thing,” said McConkey.