“Humph.” The barman glared at them, then moved away to assist another customer.
The patrons in the pub barely glanced their way, making Henry think this sort of altercation was familiar. Still, he preferred to question the man in private.
“Look who I found meandering down the alley.” Fletcher grinned as Henry joined them.
“You weren’t trying to avoid us, were you?” was his first question as he gestured for them to step into the alleyway.
“Don’t know what you’re speaking of.” The lilt of an Irish brogue colored his tone.
“We have a few questions for you regarding Seamus Doyle,” Henry said once the door had closed behind them.
“Who?”
Henry shook his head. “If you’d rather have this conversation at Scotland Yard, that could be arranged.”
The man’s eyes darkened. “Wot questions?”
“Your name?”
He hesitated a moment before reluctantly spitting, “Patrick. Byrne.”
“And how long have you known Doyle?” Henry pulled out his notebook, doing his best to ignore the stench of their surroundings.
“Since we were laddies. What of it?”
“When’s the last time you saw him?”
Fletcher bumped the suspect’s arm when the man didn’t immediately answer.
“Give a man a moment to think,” he protested, glaring at Fletcher.
“Just making sure you were still listening.” The sergeant glared back.
“Must’ve been three or four days ago. He came by for a wee drink after work.”
“Did he mention he intended to blow up innocent civilians?” Fletcher’s blunt question had Henry sending him a warning look.
The man’s face turned a mottled red, though whether from anger or upset was unclear. “I told him not to get involved. Nowt good could come of it.”
Fletcher scoffed, but otherwise heeded Henry’s silent warning.
“Not to get involved in what?” he pressed, hoping they were getting somewhere.
“The…the Fenians. Don’t get me wrong, I understand the cause, but I don’t agree with the violence.”
“I assume they hold meetings to discuss their plans.” When Byrne reluctantly nodded, Henry continued, excitement building. “Where and when?”
“Cannae help you with that. They move them around so as not to get caught.”
“Who decides the time and place?” They needed another name. Some sort of lead to pursue, and the sooner the better.
Byrne shook his head as his accent thickened. “Nae idea. Ne’er been to a meeting, I tol’ ye, I don’t hold wi’ violence. I’m no’ even sure how Seamus got involved.”
It wasn’t a dead end yet. “If you were looking for them, where would you start?” Henry asked.
That question had Byrne shifting nervously. “I’d…I’d take a closer look at the docks. Shipments from America might require a few extra workers to unload particular...items.” He glanced around as if to see who watched them, despite the fact they stood in an empty alley. He leaned closer. “Rumor has it a shipment’s due this afternoon.”
“We need more than that.” Fletcher shared a look with Henry. “If you’d prefer to take a trip to the Yard with us instead of answering our questions here, just say the word.”
