But how was he going to get away, and he without a penny to his name! And it would take some days for him to get any more by that means he was employing. And he must lose no time.
The only thing to be done was, to get a hold of that bag of money he had seen with Marg. Have it he must, by hook or by crook! Maybe she’d go with him. That would be the simplest, though not what he’d like best. But he spoke to her very nice and soft, saying how he thought the world and all of her, and trying to get to coax her....
“I must be shortening the road home!” was all Marg said in answer. And she went over to the window, and stood there, looking out at where the rain was coming down in white sheets of wet, and running down the street in streams, all choked up with mud, after the traffic of the day, and the trampling feet of the sheep and cattle. It wasn’t very tempting; and she turned away from it, as if she couldn’t make up her mind ought she to go, or to wait a while longer.
Ratigan all the time was watching her, like a cat with a mouse.
“Maybe it would be as good for you to start off at once!” he said; “it’s not better it will be getting ... only the dark night coming down....”
He was mad to be off, knowing it wouldn’t answer for him to be delaying there, so close to the barracks, and even wondering how soon he’d have to make a run for it, money or no money. But if only he could get Marg outside the town, and on a lonely piece of the road, how simply he could be coming along behind her in the dark, and take the bag from her; and she never to know who he was. Or if she did itself, what loss! A man like Ratigan can’t be too particular.
“No, it’s not better it will be getting!” he said again.... “Sure, if only I dar’ go with ye, to see you safe ... but that mightn’t answer....”
“The Lord save us!” says Marg, interrupting him there. “That’s Mickey! I thought to know the rattling sound of the side-car; it never can go by annonst....”
Sure enough, there it was, coming up the street, and Heffernan sitting balanced upon it, looking little and bent and perished-looking, with the dint of the wind and wet, in spite of the big frieze coat he had on, with the collar shaving his ears, and his hands lost in the length of the sleeves.
“Holy Mother of God!” said Marg, “sure it’s not down he’s wanting to get, there, in that thronged place! He’ll be kilt dead! Wait, wait a minute, Mickey!” she said, as if he could hear her through the window, “wait! there’s no one can humour that poor leg only meself, when he does be getting down off the car....” and in her hurry to save Mickey, she threw off the heavy cloak and left it, money and all, down upon the floor, and ran out, through the heavy polters of rain, over to Mickey upon the car.