Argosy (UK), January 1955 — page 142: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

Ge 9 ee ag OS OE i ee ee Ett Se ee ae oe eS - * . 7 = . ‘ 140 W. R. BURNETT get away from them. First Donnell. Now Martin. Utterly ridicu- lous. If I was governor of the prison, I guarantee there’d be no escapes. Ah Binny, can’t you stay? ”’ “ Sorry, Billy.” “Well . . . I suppose I’d better let you pass on. Not even one drink—a stirrup-cup, Binny? ” “Sorry, old man. Sorry.” And so they passed on, escorted by the sergeant, and Whisky Billy stood in the dust of the roadway, regretfully looking after the big coach. And so Lord Clayton and party passed on unremarked to Belfast. It was dawn when they arrived, and the still water of the Lough was dark greenish, with faint glazes of pink and gold from the rising sun. A mild west wind was blowing. The ship was ready to sail, and there was only space for a brief a good-bye. Lord Clayton, more than a little upset, shook hands | with Michael and said: ‘‘ Good-bye, lad, and good luck. And for me, it’s good-bye to Ireland for ever. I’m taking the Liverpool boat at ten.” _ And then he kissed Ara on the cheek and caressed her, somewhat unnecessarily, Michael thought, compressing his lips again; and at last Michael and Ara were aboard, and the Northern Star drew away slowly, and Belfast seemed to be moving rather than them- selves, and Lord Clayton waved and waved and finally turned away with a despairing shrug. And now Michael and Ara stood alone, holding hands. **T am glad to see the last of Clayton,” said Michael finally. Ara glanced at him, then laughed lightly. ‘‘ Oh, we needed him, Mick. Mick, do you know we haven’t but a little over two hundred guineas to our name? ”’ ‘“* So? ”’ said Michael indifferently. ‘‘ Where did it all go? ” “Roughly,” said Ara, “‘ thirty-three hundred guineas to Lady Anne. That was Anne’s share—one third. And six thousand to Binny for the bribery and for himself—didn’t have a guinea to his name, poor old man! Even so, he didn’t want to be mixed up in it, but I persuaded him.”’ “TI thought as much,” said Michael coldly. “Oh Mick—it was no more than a little cuddling. I could twist him round my finger.” Michael was silent for a long time. Finally, he said: ‘“‘ Ara— you're a wicked girl.” “Yes,” said Ara, “it’s true. And as for you, Mick—you are not a wicked man at all. You are just a creature of circumstance.” And now, little by little, they sailed into the fog-bank, and as the Northern Star of Belfast was slowly swallowed up by the dense white fog of the North Channel, Michael Martin, sometimes called Captain Lightfoot, silently disappeared from history’s stage and was heard of no more. And the years passed, and there was much gossip about Michael Martin around the peat fires at night, and finally he was added to the 7. > comiclbooks.comn)