“The particular mess, the cooking of which interests my Government, the English Government, and yours, is now on the point of boiling over. It’s this Irish stew I speak of. Poor devils—they must be crazy, every one of them, to do what they are already beginning to do.... You remember the papers which you secured?”
“Yes.”
“Well, what we did last night at Grogan’s has prematurely dumped the fat into the fire. They know they’ve been robbed; they know that their plans are in our hands. Do you suppose that stops them? No! On the contrary, they are at this very moment attempting, as you say in New York, to beat us to it.”
“How do you mean?”
“This way: the signal for an Irish attempt on Canada is to be the destruction of the Welland Canal. You remember the German suggestion that an ore steamer be seized? They’re going to try it. And if that fails, they’re to take their power boat into the canal anyway and blow up a lock, even if they blow up themselves with it. Did you ever hear of such madness? 343 Mon dieu, if only we had those men under your flag on our western front!”
“Do you know who these men are?” asked Barres.
“Your dinner guest—Murtagh Skeel—leads this company of Death.”
“When?”
“Now! To-morrow! That’s why I’m here! That’s why your Secret Service men are arriving. I tell you the mess is on the point of boiling over. The crew is already on its way to take over the launch. They’re travelling west singly, by separate trains and routes.”
“Do you know who they are—these madmen?”