The path of duty was not made any easier to him by the behaviour of the sergeant. Instead of being overwhelmed by a sense of discovered guilt, the police, both Rahilly and Constable Malone, were pleasantly chatty, and evidently bent on making the drive home as agreeable as possible for the doctor. They told him the names of the hills and the more distant mountains. They showed the exact bank at the side of the road from behind which certain murderous men had fired at a land agent in 1885. They explained the route of a light railway which a forgotten Chief Secretary had planned but had never built owing to change of Government and his loss of office. Not one word was said about Jimmy, or lunatics, or asylums. It was with great difficulty that Dr. Lovaway succeeded at last in breaking in on the smooth flow of chatty reminiscences. But when he did speak he spoke strongly. As with most gentle and timid men, his language was almost violent when he had screwed himself up to the point of speaking at all. The two policemen listened to all he said with the utmost good humour. Indeed, the sergeant supported him. “You hear what the doctor’s saying to you, Constable Malone,” he said. “I do, surely,” said the constable. “Well, I hope you’ll attend to it,” said the sergeant, “and let there be no more of the sort of work that the doctor’s complaining of.” “But I mean you too, sergeant,” said Dr. Lovaway. “You’re just as much to blame as the constable. Indeed more, for you’re his superior officer.” “I know that,” said the sergeant; “I know that well. And what’s more, I’m thankful to you, doctor, for speaking out what’s in your mind. Many a one wouldn’t do it. And I know that every word you’ve been saying is for my good and for the good of Constable Malone, who’s a young man yet and might improve if handled right. That’s why I’m thanking you, doctor, for what you’ve said.” When Solomon said that a soft answer turneth away wrath he understated a great truth. A soft answer, if soft enough, will deflect the stroke of the sword of justice. Dr. Lovaway, though his conscience was still uneasy, could say no more. He felt that it was totally impossible to report Sergeant Rahilly’s way of dealing with lunatics to the higher authorities. That night Sergeant Rahilly called on Mr. Flanagan, going into the house by the back door, for the hour was late. He chose porter rather than whisky, feeling perhaps that his nerves needed soothing and that a stronger stimulant might be a little too much for him. After finishing a second bottle and opening a third, he spoke. “I’m troubled in my mind,” he said, “over this new doctor. Here I am doing the best I can for him ever since he came to the town, according to what I promised Dr. Farelly.” “No man,” said Flanagan, “could do more than what you’ve done. Everyone knows that.”