“Some of these hillsiders and fenians are a bit too clever if you ask me,” said Mr Henchy. “Do you know what my private and candid opinion is about some of those little jokers? I believe half of them are in the pay of the Castle.” “There’s no knowing,” said the old man. “O, but I know it for a fact,” said Mr Henchy. “They’re Castle hacks.... I don’t say Hynes.... No, damn it, I think he’s a stroke above that.... But there’s a certain little nobleman with a cock-eye—you know the patriot I’m alluding to?” Mr O’Connor nodded. “There’s a lineal descendant of Major Sirr for you if you like! O, the heart’s blood of a patriot! That’s a fellow now that’d sell his country for fourpence—ay—and go down on his bended knees and thank the Almighty Christ he had a country to sell.” There was a knock at the door. “Come in!” said Mr Henchy. A person resembling a poor clergyman or a poor actor appeared in the doorway. His black clothes were tightly buttoned on his short body and it was impossible to say whether he wore a clergyman’s collar or a layman’s, because the collar of his shabby frock-coat, the uncovered buttons of which reflected the candlelight, was turned up about his neck. He wore a round hat of hard black felt. His face, shining with raindrops, had the appearance of damp yellow cheese save where two rosy spots indicated the cheekbones. He opened his very long mouth suddenly to express disappointment and at the same time opened wide his very bright blue eyes to express pleasure and surprise. “O Father Keon!” said Mr Henchy, jumping up from his chair. “Is that you? Come in!” “O, no, no, no!” said Father Keon quickly, pursing his lips as if he were addressing a child. “Won’t you come in and sit down?” “No, no, no!” said Father Keon, speaking in a discreet indulgent velvety voice. “Don’t let me disturb you now! I’m just looking for Mr Fanning....” “He’s round at the _Black Eagle_,” said Mr Henchy. “But won’t you come in and sit down a minute?” “No, no, thank you. It was just a little business matter,” said Father Keon. “Thank you, indeed.” He retreated from the doorway and Mr Henchy, seizing one of the candlesticks, went to the door to light him downstairs. “O, don’t trouble, I beg!” “No, but the stairs is so dark.” “No, no, I can see.... Thank you, indeed.” “Are you right now?” “All right, thanks.... Thanks.” Mr Henchy returned with the candlestick and put it on the table. He sat down again at the fire. There was silence for a few moments. “Tell me, John,” said Mr O’Connor, lighting his cigarette with another pasteboard card. “Hm?” “What he is exactly?” “Ask me an easier one,” said Mr Henchy. “Fanning and himself seem to me very thick. They’re often in Kavanagh’s together. Is he a priest at all?” “Mmmyes, I believe so.... I think he’s what you call a black sheep. We haven’t many of them, thank God! but we have a few.... He’s an unfortunate man of some kind....” “And how does he knock it out?” asked Mr O’Connor.