Chapter 18
Rain splattered the windscreen of the tram as it accelerated with a whine along Dame Street.
Sidney had managed to contact the guard who had found Lieutenant Harlow and arranged to meet him at the Forty Steps.
Being located along the western exterior of the Castle, it was a shade too close as yet for my liking, but I was determined to be present for the interview even if I did feel a bit wobbly in the stomach.
The stench of onion, tobacco, and carbolic soap permeating the crowded interior of the tram certainly didn’t help.
If not for the wind and rain, I might have suggested we brave the top deck.
When we clambered out at the tram stop outside City Hall I could only be relieved to be free despite the damp, muck-strewn streets.
There were far more horses still in use in Dublin than I’d grown accustomed to in London because of the laws regarding motorcar use, which were meant to curb the rebels’ activities.
As such, few Dubliners drove motorcars within the city.
Instead, they opted to ride bicycles, take the electric trams, or employ horse-drawn carts.
Even supplies were more often transported by tram or cart.
I was grateful when Sidney took my arm, for my steps were a bit unsteady.
Something I blamed on the uneven cobblestone street rather than the hulk of Dublin Castle looming over us as we rounded the corner of City Hall to ascend Castle Street.
We huddled under the umbrella Sidney held over us, trying our best to stay dry in the occasional gusts of wind hurtling down the street toward us.
The guard, Rory Gallagher, was just coming off duty, and as promised, was waiting for us at the open iron gate leading into the Forty Steps.
This was my first visit to the lane that had been constructed as a buffer between the Castle and the buildings next door.
True to the descriptions I’d heard from others, it was narrow and confined, the gray stone walls of the Castle rising skyward to the left and about a twelve-foot-tall brick wall on the right, blocking access to St. Werburgh’s churchyard, among other properties.
As we greeted Private Gallagher and stepped inside the gate, I became glad of its closeness, for it shielded us from much of the wind.
“Thank you for being willing to meet with us,” Sidney told the guard, adopting what I considered his “officer voice.” It was the tone he used whenever he encountered one of the men who had been under his command or he needed compliance from a current soldier. Most of the time it worked.
“Aye, well, my CO said it was important. That I should cooperate.”
Gallagher was young and still in possession of a baby face.
I doubted he’d seen combat during the war.
Most likely, he’d joined up during the last few months just as the conflict was ending.
As such, I doubted this was the sort of duty he’d thought he would be performing, but he seemed to take it seriously.
I couldn’t tell yet what he thought of me, but the way his eyes kept darting toward me even as he stood at attention, almost as if he couldn’t help himself, told me he was either fascinated by or wary of me. Maybe both.
“We understand you were on duty the evening Lieutenant Harlow was attacked,” Sidney coaxed. “Did you know him?”
“Aye, sir. I knew ’im by sight. He was in and out of the Castle often enough.”
Sidney nodded. “At ease, soldier. Can you tell us what you remember from that evening? What alerted you?”
Gallagher assumed a slightly more relaxed pose, adjusting the rifle slung over his shoulder.
“I was doin’ my rounds, like usual,” he began in his Wiltshire accent.
“I’d just entered the Forty Steps. I’m always cautious at that point, owin’ to how dark ’tis.
There’s lamps every few feet.” He gestured down the length of the passage.
“But not enough, for my mind. Makes the place ripe for an ambush if’n yer not vigilant. ”
He adjusted his hat. “So I’d paused as I entered through the gate, like I usually do, lookin’ and listenin’ for anythin’ out of place.
That’s when I heard a sort o’ muffled shout and I saw a pair o’ figures grapplin’ about …
oh … there.” He pointed down the passage.
“Past that first set o’ stairs and about halfway to the second set. ”
This was a distance of about thirty or forty feet, no small amount in such a dark and shadowy place.
There was also the difference in elevation to contend with.
For as its name suggested, there were Forty Steps in total, spaced in groups of eight periodically down the lane leading to Ship Street at the opposite end.
“I began to move towards ’em as one o’ ’em fell to the ground,” Gallagher explained. “I shouted for the other fellow to stop, but he took off at a run towards Ship Street.”
Sidney tilted the umbrella to a better angle to block the rain falling from above. It pattered against the guard’s steel helmet. “You could tell that they were men?”
“Aye. Too tall and broad in the shoulders to be a woman.” This was stated with a lingering glance at me.
Sidney’s lips quirked upward at one corner. “Go on.”
Gallagher startled slightly as if he’d been poked. “Right. Well, I would’ve given chase, but the other fellow was injured. So I had to hope the guard at the other end would catch ’im.”
“But he didn’t?”
He scowled. “Nay. ’Twas mizzlin’ and he was dawdlin’ ’neath the gateway. Didn’t even hear me shout. Not ’til later.”
This seemed rather convenient for the culprit. Sidney also seemed to think so. “What’s the other guard’s name?”
“Martin. Alvin Martin. Served with the Machine Gun Corps during the war and seems to resent ’is assignment here.”
That might explain why he hadn’t hear Gallagher’s shout, then, for many of the men who’d served with the Machine Gun Corps as well as the Artillery had suffered hearing loss.
Sidney’s friend Crispin was almost totally deaf in his left ear.
Regardless, it would still be worthwhile to speak to this Martin fellow.
“Is he on duty?” Sidney asked.
“Not ’til tonight.”
He indicated he understood. “So you remained with Harlow?”
“Aye. Recognized ’im almost straight off. He was clutchin’ ’is throat and from the way the blood was seepin’ through his fingers I could tell ’twas bad.” His gaze widened and flashed to me.
“Go on,” I encouraged, letting him know I wasn’t shocked. I’d seen far worse during the war.
“Right, well, I ripped open my field dressin’ kit and tried to help ’im, all the while askin’ ’im what happened and who’d done this to ’im, but the only sound he could make was an awful gurglin’ noise.
And when I tried to move ’is hands to press the gauze to ’is neck, he wouldn’t let me.
” He shook his head as if still in shock and bewilderment at what had happened.
“Ripped the gauze from my hand and forced it open so he could drag ’is finger across my palm.
Took me a moment to realize he was tryin’ to communicate somethin’.
I could’ve sworn he wrote the letters A, R, and D, but o’ course, I … I can’t say for sure.”
Sidney and I exchanged a look, for it sounded like someone had gotten to him, making him begin to doubt his own impressions.
“It all happened so fast!” Gallagher exclaimed in his defense. “The RAMC surgeon said there was nothin’ that could’ve been done for him. The cut was too wide and too deep.”
“I’m sure you did what you could,” I offered in consolation.
“Has someone been saying otherwise?” Sidney interjected. “Or unduly questioning your account?”
It was clear from the fretful glint in his pale eyes that these questions had struck home, but after a moment’s hesitation, he denied it. “Nay.”
“Are you sure about that, Private?” Sidney countered. “Because whatever you have to say here will remain strictly between us.”
A furrow formed between his brows. “’Tis just the normal razzing between comrades, sir.
” His gaze shifted to the side. “Some o’ the men in my company decided I might be swampin’ when I claimed Harlow wrote letters in my palm.
” His eyes twitched. “They suggested instead he was simply tryin’ to hold my hand. ”
“Don’t let them sway you, lad,” Sidney advised softly.
Gallagher’s regard returned to his, and I was reminded again how young he was.
“If you feel confident in what you experienced, stick to your guns. They’ll respect you for it later.”
He swallowed. “Aye, sir.”
Sidney nodded. “Good man.” He shifted his grip around the umbrella handle, making it bob up and down. “Now, is there anything else we should know? Anything else you observed either that night or before or since?”
“No, sir.” But then he seemed to reconsider. “Perhaps you already know, but … you’re not the first person who’s questioned me about the lieutenant’s murder.”
“Who else questioned you?”
“The undersecretary, General Macready, and Colonel Winter.”
These men we were already aware of, for Anderson had told us.
“There was also a reporter for the Independent.” Gallagher glowered. “But I didn’t tell ’im anythin’.”
This must have been Wick’s colleague.
“And a chap who claimed he was the secretary for some lord.” His nose screwed up as if he’d smelled something foul. “I didn’t tell ’im anythin’ either.”
I felt the same jolt run through Sidney’s arm as it did through me.
“Do you recall the name of the lord he claimed to work for?” he asked the guard.
“Somethin’ that started with an A.” Gallagher’s eyes narrowed. “Arlington? Arklow?”
“Ardmore?”
“That might be it,” Gallagher considered. “Aye, I think so.” He hesitated, suddenly uncertain. “Why? Should I have answered ’im?”
“Not if your CO didn’t direct you to,” Sidney replied, sparing us from having to explain.
The guard accepted this answer without further question. So we thanked him and began to make our way back toward the tram stop while Gallagher hurried inside his barracks to get dry and have a doss, as the Tommies said.