The Red Hand of Ulster Part 25

"Her ladys.h.i.+p must be got away," he said. "And your daughter, Kilmore.

She's here, isn't she? This town will be no place for women to-morrow.

Luckily I have the car. You'll take them, won't you? Castle Affey will be the best place for the present."

"What are you going to do yourself?" I asked.

We pa.s.sed through the door and down the flight of steps to the street.

The crowd outside caught sight of us at once. Some one shouted aloud.

"More traitors!"

The news of the result of the meeting and the part we took in it had somehow reached the people already. An angry roar went up from the crowd. Those who were nearest to us cursed us. A police-officer with eight men forced a way through the crowd. At a word from their officer the men drew their batons and stood in front of us.

"I think, my lord," said the officer to Moyne, "that you'd better go back. We had the greatest difficulty in getting Mr. Babberly through, and the crowd is angrier now."

"I'm going on," said Moyne.

"I cannot be responsible," said the officer. "I haven't enough men to control this crowd. If you go on--"

Moyne pushed his way through the cordon of police. I followed him. At first the people drew back a little and let us pa.s.s into the middle of the crowd. Then one man after another began to hustle us. Moyne linked his arm in mine and helped me along. A man struck him in the face with the flat of his hand. It was a sharp slap rather than an actual blow.

Moyne flushed deeply, but he neither spoke nor struck back. Then suddenly the people seemed to forget all about us. A wild cheer burst from them. Hats were flung into the air. Sticks were waved. Some one began firing shots from a revolver in rapid succession. It was a fusillade of joy, a kind of salute to McNeice who appeared at the window of the committee-room. Moyne and I pushed our way on. When we were clear of the crowd Moyne spoke to me again.

"You'd better take them at once," he said. "It's impossible to know what'll happen here to-night."

"But you?" I said.

"Oh, I shall stay."

"Don't be a fool, Moyne," I said. "You're the one of all others who ought not to stay. Don't you see that whatever way things go you're in for it? The mob thinks you're a traitor. I wouldn't trust those fellows we've just left not to kill you. And when the soldiers have shot them down and the subsequent investigation begins, the Government is bound to fix on you as a ringleader. There'll be panic to-morrow and savage vindictiveness the next day. McNeice and Malcolmson will frighten the Government and the Government will have you hanged or beheaded afterwards for causing the trouble. The English people will clamour for a victim, and you're exactly the sort of victim they'll like. Your one chance is to get out of this. Go to Castle Affey to-night, and telegraph to _The Times_ to-morrow to say that you dissociate yourself--"

Moyne stopped me.

"Look here, Kilmore," he said. "I've heard all you have to say, and I agree with it, more or less. I don't suppose I'll be either murdered by the mob or shot by the military, but--"

"You will," I said, "if you stay here."

"Even if I am," he said, "I'll have to stay."

"In the name of goodness, why?"

"You know the way we've been talking for the last two years--our side, I mean."

I knew the way Babberly had been talking. I knew the way Lady Moyne had goaded him and others to talk, but poor Moyne hardly ever talked at all. All he ever wanted was to be left alone.

"Well, I can't exactly go back on them now when they're doing what we said they ought to do. I've got to see the thing through. After all it's my fault that those poor fellows are in this horrible mess."

He glanced back as he spoke. He was thinking of the angry crowd we had left behind us.

"So you'll take care of the ladies," he said. "Run them down to Castle Affey and make yourself as comfortable as you can. They won't be expecting you, but they'll manage some sort of dinner."

"I'm not going," I said. "I'm staying on in Belfast."

"But why should you? You've no responsibility. You've never taken any part in our--It's very good of you to think of staying. It really is.

And I appreciate the spirit in which--But--"

"For goodness' sake, Moyne," I said, "don't give me credit for any kind of heroism. That _n.o.blesse oblige_ att.i.tude of yours doesn't suit me a bit. It isn't in my line."

"But hang it all, Kilmore, you can't be staying here for the fun of it."

"I've often told you," I said, "that I'm writing a history of the Irish Rebellions. I naturally want to see one, and there isn't likely to be another in my time. That's my only reason for staying in Belfast."

We found Lady Moyne waiting for us when we reached the hotel. She was wearing a long cloak, and had a motor-veil tied over her head. She was evidently prepared to start at once.

"I've ordered the car," she said. "It ought to be round now. Marion's coming with me, Lord Kilmore. I think she'd be better out of Belfast for the next few days."

The news of the decision of our committee seemed to have spread with quite unexampled rapidity. We came straight from the meeting, and we found that Lady Moyne had already recognized the necessity for flight.

"I'm glad you're going," said Moyne, "and I'm glad you're taking Marion with you. But how did you know? Who told you what--?"

"That young man who's Mr. Conroy's secretary," said Lady Moyne. "I forget his name."

"Bob Power," I said.

"He came in to see Marion, and he told us."

Bob must have known beforehand what the committee's decision was to be. I realized that Conroy must have had the whole plan cut and dried; that the meeting at which Moyne presided was simply a farce. However, there was nothing to be gained by discussing that.

"I think," I said, "that Moyne ought to go with you. I don't think Belfast is particularly safe for him just now; and--"

"Moyne must stay, of course," said Lady Moyne.

"There'll be trouble afterwards," I said. "He ought not to be mixed up in it. If he clears out at once--"

Lady Moyne looked at me with an expression of wonder on her face. Her eyes opened very wide.

"Surely," she said, "you don't expect him to run away."

"Of course not," said Moyne; "of course not. And there's really no risk. I'll--"

"That's not the kind of people we are," said Lady Moyne.

"I'll join you at Castle Affey in a couple of days," said Moyne.

"Castle Affey," said Lady Moyne. "I'm not going to Castle Affey. I'm going to London."

"What for?" I said. "And how are you going to get there? There are no steamers on Sunday night."

"I'm taking possession of Mr. Conroy's yacht," said Lady Moyne. "She's lying off Bangor, and that young man, Mr. Power, said we could have her. We'll get across to Stranraer this evening, and I'll have a special train and be in London to-morrow morning."

"London!" said Moyne. "But why London? Surely Castle Affey--"