'Yes, but what's happened, Dave?' I asked.
'Nothing,' he said and held out his arm for me to bandage. With his other hand he took a gold case from his hip pocket and lit a cigarette. The lighter was gold too. A diamond ring flashed on his finger. The girl put a pile of clothes on the chair at the foot of the bed. 'Now get the food,' he said. He spoke with the cigarette clinging to his underlip. 'It's time we were going. And see if you can find another raincoat.' The girl's face was sullen and her eyes flickered up at me with fierce hatred. She wanted to be going with him. She went out and I began to bandage his arm. 'Hey, not too tight, bach,' he said. 'Yes, that's better.' He grunted as I pressed against the arm muscles to tie the bandage. 'Was it Mulligan you came over with?' he asked as he began to change his wet clothes.
'Yes,' I said. 'And the dirty bastard robbed me when he brought me ashore.'
'Did he now?'
'You don't seem very surprised,' I said.
'Why should I be surprised? The man's as crooked as an eel.' He turned suddenly. 'Look you now, don't be blaming me, man. The Arisaig is the only vessel we have on the Italian run. It was the best I could do. It's not every skipper who will take the chance of smuggling a deserter into the country.' A flicker of a smile creased the corners of his eyes. 'It wouldn't surprise me, you know, if you were to meet Mulligan again.'
'How's that?' I asked. His back was turned towards me and he was struggling into a dry pair of workman's corduroys. He did not answer. 'Look, Dave,' I said, 'what's this job you've got for me? Is it still available?'
'Yes, I think so,' he said. He pulled on a seaman's jersey. As his head emerged from the neck, his mouth was twisted in pain and the sweat ran down — his face. He put his cigarette back between his lips and drew in a great lungful of smoke. 'It's a good job, you know — mining, did I tell you?'
'Yes,' I said. 'You told me that in your letter.'
He nodded and forced his injured arm into his jacket. 'Come on now,' he said. 'Your way is the same as mine. I'll tell you about it as we go.' He stuffed some cigarettes into his pocket and transferred his case and lighter and a thick wallet from his sodden jacket to the one he had put on. His quick eyes glanced round the room. Then he opened the door. He seemed in a great hurry to be gone.
I followed him down the stairs. In the dark hallway he leaned over the banisters and shouted down into the basement for the girl. 'Just coming, Dave,' she answered. The tip of the cigarette glowed red as we waited. He was puffing at it nervously. The gloom of the little hall was lessened by the light from the street that entered by a dirty fanlight above the front door.
The girl's feet sounded hollow on the bare stairboards. I could — ear her quick, frightened breathing as she emerged from the basement. There's sandwiches and an old raincoat of father's,' she said, her voice breathless.
'Listen, Syl.' Dave's voice was a harsh whisper. 'Those clothes upstairs — burn them. Clean up everything. Leave nothing whatever to show that I returned — you understand? And when they come around asking questions, tell them I never came back. See that the old woman doesn't jabber.'
He turned to leave then, but the girl clung to him. 'Where can I get in touch with you?' she asked quickly.
'You can't.'
'You'll come back, won't you?' This in a fierce whisper.
'Yes, indeed I will,' he assured her. 'I'll send a message. But understand — I never came back here. And don't let on to them where I've gone.'
'How can I when I don't know?'
'Indeed you can't — that's why I didn't tell you.' He turned to me. I could see his eyes in the dim light. 'Open the door and see if there's any one about.'
I pulled the door open. The street was deserted. The rain came down in a steady stream. In the light of the street lamp it slanted in thin steel rods to dance on the roadway and run gurgling down the gutters. I looked back into the hallway. The girl was clinging to Dave, her body pressed to his in a primitive declaration of passion that stripped her bare. Dave was looking past her to the open doorway, the cigarette still in his mouth.
When he saw me nod he detached himself from the girl and came towards me. The girl started to follow him. He turned to her. 'See that you get those things burned,' he said. Then he kissed her quickly and we left Number Two, Harbour Terrace. As I shut the door I saw the girl standing alone at the bottom of the stairs. She was staring straight at me, but she didn't see me. The skin was tight and drawn on her face and I had the impression that she was crying, though there were no tears in her eyes.
It's a strange thing but it never seemed to occur to me to leave Dave to fend for himself. I didn't know what had happened. But a man doesn't get a bullet wound in his arm for nothing. Nor does he abandon his girl and his lodgings, with instructions for his blood-stained clothes to be burned, unless he's been mixed up in something pretty shady. For all I knew he might be involved in murder. But I was swept up in the thing now and, as I say, it never occurred to me to leave him. Probably it was the company and the fact that he was an outcast, like myself. There is nothing to my mind so terrible as loneliness — not the loneliness that comes to a man in a town when he is afraid of his fellow creatures.
We kept to mean, badly lit streets as we threaded our way out of Penzance. We didn't talk. Yet I found immeasurable comfort in the presence of that small figure limping along beside me.
We came out at last on to a main road and as we climbed a short hill through the rain we left the lights of Penzance behind us. At the top I paused and looked back. The town was just a ragged huddle of lights, faintly visible through the driving rain.
'Come on, man,' Dave said impatiently. And I knew he was afraid of those lights.
'How far are we going?' I asked.
'Eight or nine miles,' he answered. We trudged on. 'We'll separate at Lanyon,' he added.
'Where are you going?' I asked.
A farm. I'll be hiding up for a bit.'
Another girl?' I asked.
His teeth showed in the darkness as he grinned up at me. 'Is c Casanova you think I am?' My remark had flattered his vanity. He was one of those men who for no apparent reason is attractive to women, and he enjoyed the sense of power it gave him.
'What about me?' I asked. 'Where am I going?'
'Botallack,' he replied. There's a message I'll be wanting you to carry too.'
'Good God!' I said. 'My father worked at Botallack.'
'Indeed. Then you'd better change your name, you know. Let me see — Canada wasn't it? Any Irish in Canada?'
'Fair number,' I told him.
'In the mining districts?'
'Some.'
'Well then — what do you say to O'Donnel? That's a good Irish name, indeed it is. And it's very suitable for a big man; look you. From now on you're Jim O'Donnel. Okay?'
'Sure,' I said. 'What's in a name?'
He laughed sardonically. 'A hell of a lot sometimes, you know.' He was silent for a moment. I knew he was looking up at me, and I knew what he was thinking. 'Did you have to ask for me by my real name?' he said at length.
'How was I to know you had changed it?' I said.
He grunted. 'She didn't know Jones wasn't my real name.
Damn it, man, you might have thought of that. And showing her the letter. It's pretty mad, she was. She's nothing particular in the way of looks and she knows it.'
After that we walked in silence, mile after weary mile, through the driving rain. We went on through Hea Moor and Madron and then up the long hill flanked by cedar woods and rhododendrons to the moors. We met no one. Only two cars passed us and each time my companion drew me out of the line of the headlights. He was taking no chances of being seen. On the long hill out of Madron his pace became slower and slower, so that I had to keep on waiting for him. His breathing was heavy and his limp more pronounced. Out on the moors at the top we came into the wind and the rain slanted across our faces from the south west. It was pitch dark, and silent save for the steady swish of the rain.