'Any man can know about things,' Fallon said. 'It's knowing the significance of things that's important.'

He paused and Father da Costa said, 'Go on.'

'What do you want me to do, drain the cup?' Fallon demanded. 'The gospel according to Fallon? All right, if that's what you want.'

He mounted the steps leading up to the pulpit and stood at the lectern. 'I never realised you had such a good view. What do you want me to say?'

'Anything you like.'

'All right. We are fundamentally alone. Nothing lasts. There is no purpose to any of it.'

'You are wrong,' Father da Costa said. 'You leave out God.'

'God?' Fallon cried. 'What kind of a God allows a world where children can be happily singing one minute -' here, his voice faltered for a moment - 'and blown into strips of bloody flesh the next. Can you honestly tell me you still believe in a God after what they did to you in Korea? Are you telling me you never faltered, not once?'

'Strength comes from adversity always,' Father da Costa told him. 'I crouched in the darkness in my own filth for six months once, on the end of a chain. There was one day, one moment, when I might have done anything. And then the stone rolled aside and I smelled the grave, saw him walk out on his own two feet and I knew, Fallon I knew!'

'Well, all I can say is, that if he exists, your God, I wish to hell you could get him to make up his mind. He's big on how and when. Not so hot on why.'

'Have you learned nothing, then?' Father da Costa demanded.

'Oh yes,' Fallon said. 'I've learned to kill with a smile, Father, that's very important. But the biggest lesson of all, I learned too late.'

'And what might that be?'

'That nothing is worth dying for.'

It was suddenly very quiet, only the endless rain drifting against the windows. Fallon came down the steps of the pulpit buckling the belt of his trenchcoat. He paused beside Father da Costa.

'And the real trouble is, Father, that nothing's worth living for either.'

He walked away down the aisle, his footsteps echoing. The door banged, the candles flickered. Father da Costa knelt down at the altar rail, folded his hands and prayed as he had seldom prayed before.

After a while, a door clicked open and a familiar voice said, 'Uncle Michael? Are you there?'

He turned to find Anna standing outside the sacristy door. 'Over here,' he called.

She moved towards him and he went to meet her, reaching for her outstretched hands. He took her across to the front pew and they sat down. And as usual she sensed his mood.

'What is it? she said, her face full of concern, 'Where's Mr Fallon?'

'Gone,' he said. 'We had quite a chat. I think I understand him more now.'

'He's dead inside,' she said. 'Everything frozen.'

'And tacked by self-hate. He hates himself, so he hates all of life. He has no feelings left, not in any normal sense. In fact it is my judgement that the man is probably seeking death. One possible reason for him to continue to lead the life he does.'

'But I don't understand,' she said.

'He puts his whole life on the scales, gave himself for a cause he believed was an honourable one - gave everything he had. A dangerous thing to do, because if anything goes wrong, if you find that in the final analysis your cause is as worthless as a bent farthing, you're left with nothing.'

'He told me he was a dead man walking,' she said.

'I think that's how he sees himself.'

She put a hand on his arm. 'But what can you do?' she said. 'What can anyone do?'

'Help him find himself. Save his soul, perhaps. I don't really know. But I must do something. I must!'

He got up, walked across to the altar rail, knelt down and started to pray.

12

More Work for the Undertaker

Fallon was in the kitchen having tea with Jenny when the doorbell rang. She went to answer it. When she came back, Jack Meehan and Billy followed her into the room.

'All right, sweetheart,' Meehan told her. 'Make yourself scarce. This is business.'

She gave Fallon a brief troubled look, hesitated, then went out. 'She's taken a shine to you, I can see that,' Meehan commented.

He sat on the edge of the table and poured himself a cup of tea. Billy leaned against the wall by the door, hands in his pockets, watching Fallon sullenly.

'She's a nice kid,' Fallon said, 'but you haven't come here to discuss Jenny.'

Meehan sighed. 'You've been a naughty boy again, Fallon. I told you when I left you this morning to come back here and keep under cover and what did you do at the first opportunity? Gave poor old Varley the slip again and that isn't nice because he knows how annoyed I get and he has a weak heart.'

'Make your point.'

'All right. You went to see that bloody priest again.'

'Like hell he did,' Billy put in from the doorway. 'He was with that da Costa bird in the churchyard.'

'The blind girl?' Meehan said.

'That's right. She kissed him.'

Meehan shook his head sorrowfully. 'Leading the poor girl on like that and you leaving the country after tomorrow.'

'She's a right whore,' Billy said viciously. 'Undressing at the bloody window, she was. Anybody could have seen her.'

'That's hardly likely,' Fallon said. 'Not with a twenty-foot wall round the churchyard. I thought I told you to stay away from there.'

'What's wrong?' Billy jeered. 'Frightened I'll queer your pitch? Want to keep it all for yourself?'

Fallon stood up slowly and the look on his face would have frightened the Devil himself. 'Go near that girl again, harm her in any way, and I'll kill you,' he said simply and his voice was the merest whisper.

Jack Meehan turned and slapped his brother across the face backhanded. 'You randy little pig,' he said. 'Sex, that's all you can think about. As if I don't have enough troubles. Go on, get out of it!'

Billy got the door open and glared at Fallon, his face white with passion. 'You wait, you bastard. I'll fix you, you see if I don't. You and your posh bird.'

'I said get out of it!' Meehan roared and Billy did just that, slamming the door behind him.

Meehan turned to Fallon, 'I'll see he doesn't step out of line, don't you worry.'

Fallon put a cigarette between his lips and lit it with a taper from the kitchen fire. 'And you?' he said. 'Who keeps you in line?'

Meehan laughed delightedly. 'Nothing ever throws you, does it? I mean, when Miller walked into church yesterday and found you talking to the priest, I was worried, I can tell you. But when you sat down at that organ.' He shook his head and chuckled. 'That was truly beautiful.'

There was a slight frown on Fallon's face. 'You were there?'

'Oh yes, I was there all right.' Meehan lit a cigarette. 'There's one thing I don't understand.'

'And what would that be?'

'You could have put a bullet in my head last night instead of into that mirror. Why didn't you? I mean, if da Costa is so important to you and you think I'm some sort of threat to him, it would have been the logical thing to do.'

'And what would have happened to my passport and passage on that boat out of Hull Sunday night?'

Meehan chuckled. 'You don't miss a trick, do you? We're a lot alike, Fallon, you and me.'

'I'd rather be the Devil himself,' Fallon told him with deep conviction.

Meehan's face darkened. 'Coming the superior bit again, are we? My life for Ireland. The gallant rebel, gun in hand?' There was anger in his voice now. 'Don't give me that crap, Fallon. You enjoyed it for its own sake, running around in a trenchcoat with a gun in your pocket like something out of an old movie. You enjoyed the killing. Shall I tell you how I know? Because you're too bloody good at it not to have done.'

Fallon sat there staring at him, his face very white, and then, by some mysterious alchemy, the Ceska was in his hand.