The Black Hills by M. J. Trow

Author:M. J. Trow [Trow, M. J.]
Language: eng
Format: epub
ISBN: 9781780291215
Goodreads: 48477763
Publisher: Creme de la Crime
Published: 2019-09-30T00:00:00+00:00

NINE

‘Gentlemen,’ Myles Keogh was off duty and lounging in an expensive smoking jacket when Grand and Batchelor knocked on his door. ‘To what do I owe the pleasure?’

‘Trooper McGee,’ Grand said. ‘One of yours, I believe?’

‘Well, now,’ Keogh’s smile was tight. ‘In the light of what we now know, I’m not so sure.’

‘She was a member of I Company?’ Batchelor’s face was stony. Keogh looked at him.

‘She was,’ the captain said, ‘and already I’m having difficulty with that concept.’ He ushered them to comfortable seats. ‘I’ll be looking at all my troopers more carefully from now on.’

‘It goes without saying, I assume, that you had no idea?’ Batchelor had to raise the question.

‘That McGee was a woman?’ Keogh handed round the cigars. ‘Of course not.’ He rang a little silver bell on the table and Bugler Dobbs appeared, ramrod straight and ready to serve. ‘Coffee, gentlemen? I don’t approve of anything stronger at this hour of the morning – you’ve had breakfast, I presume?’

‘We have,’ Grand said. ‘And thank you.’

‘Three coffees, Dobbs,’ Keogh said. ‘Then make yourself scarce. These gentlemen and I have things to discuss.’

‘Very good, sir.’ Dobbs saluted and scuttled off into the kitchen, clattering pots and pans. Buglers like him were in short supply – a man whose job it was to communicate, but who knew when to shut up and when not to hear. Buglers like him were all three wise monkeys, rolled into one. At least, that was how Bugler Dobbs saw himself.

‘What do you know about McGee?’ Batchelor asked Keogh.

The captain twirled his cigar for a while, then said, ‘I’m intrigued to know your interest in all this, Mr Batchelor – other than the prurient, I suppose.’

‘Prurience has nothing to do with it, Captain,’ Batchelor snapped. ‘I happened to be with Charley Reynolds when we found McGee, out on the prairie.’

Keogh narrowed his eyes. ‘You don’t much like the Irish, do you, Mr Batchelor?’ He was smiling, but Grand felt uneasy.

‘The Irish, Captain Keogh,’ Batchelor said, ‘spend a lot of their time blowing up parts of my home town, not to mention Manchester. You’ll forgive me if I’m a little partisan in such matters.’

‘I will,’ Keogh said, ‘but I’m not sure I’ll forgive you for the potato famine.’

‘You were telling us about Trooper McGee.’ Grand thought it was time to intervene.

Slowly, Keogh turned his gaze to the American. ‘So I was. Ah, Dobbs, thank you. Find Lonesome Charley for me, will you? Tell him I’d like a word.’

‘Yessir.’ Dobbs saluted and left.

‘Reynolds doesn’t say a great deal but what he does say is worth listening to.’ Keogh poured the coffee. ‘I’ll be mother,’ he said, winking, ‘with all due respect to Trooper McGee.’

‘How long had he … she … been with the Seventh?’ Grand asked.

‘Joined in ’73 if memory serves,’ Keogh said, ‘in Kentucky. A paper-hanger before that. Apprentice and all.’

‘Why the army?’ Batchelor asked.

Keogh laughed. ‘Do you want me to answer that one, Captain Grand?’ he said. ‘Or will you?’

‘For me, it was a means of getting out from under my father’s business,’ Grand shrugged.

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