CHAPTER NINEDAWN IN IRELAND.
An angry ocean hurled itself against the granite coast, covering it with foam. The violent wind twisted the masts of the boats and then carried their lament far into the moors. It was as though nature was using the gale to try and cleanse itself of human turpitude.
Inspector O’Leary switched off the engine of his estate car in front of the Ballybunion clubhouse. Then turning to Sweeney, he asked:
“Do you think the general’s there?”
The red-bearded inspector looked at his watch and replied:
“It’s ten to seven. I’m sure he’s in. He’s probably reading the papers or listening to the news on the radio… So O’Leary, are you ready to go in now?”
“Wait a minute Sweeney… I’ve listened carefully to everything you’ve told me since we left Tralee. If what Olsson told
