The duet went on, McNiece capping Gallaher’s pounds with a monotonous repetition of the word guineas until the price rose to twenty pounds. At that point McNiece faltered for a moment. The auctioneer, watching keenly, saw him turn half round and look at Colonel Eden. The Colonel nodded slightly, so slightly that no one except Mr. Robinson and McNiece himself saw the gesture. “At twenty pounds,” said Mr. Robinson, “going, and at twenty pounds----” “Thirty,” said McNiece. The crowd of watchers gasped audibly. This was something outside of all experience. A man might willingly pay a few shillings, even a pound, too much for the sake of getting the better of an opponent; but to give thirty pounds for half a ton of hay--not even the natural enmity of an Orangeman for a Sinn Feiner would account for such recklessness. “Guineas,” said Dan Gallaher. It was his turn to say guineas now, and he repeated the word without faltering until the price rose to fifty pounds. Mr. Robinson took off his hat and wiped the sweat from his forehead. Never in all his experience of auctions had he heard bidding like this. He lit a fresh cigarette, holding the match in fingers which trembled visibly. “You will understand, gentlemen, that I am only selling the hay, not the barn or the stable.” “Guineas,” said Dan Gallaher. It was the last bid. As he made it Colonel Eden turned and walked out of the group round the auctioneer. James McNiece took his pipe from his pocket and filled it slowly. “The hay is yours, Mr. Gallaher,” said the auctioneer. Dan Gallaher, having secured the hay, left the yard. He found his horse, which he had tethered to a tree, and mounted. He rode slowly down the rough lane which led from the farm. At the gate leading to the high road the police sergeant stopped him. “If you wouldn’t mind waiting a minute, Mr. Gallaher,” said the sergeant, “the D.I. would like to speak to you.” “What about?” said Gallaher. The sergeant winked ponderously. “It might be,” he said, “about the hay you’re just after buying.” “If he wants it,” said Gallaher, “he can have it, and I’ll deliver it to him at his own home at half the price I paid for it.” The District Inspector, smiling and tapping his gaiters with a riding switch, explained in a few words that he did not want the hay and did not intend to pay for it. “I’m taking over the contents of that loft,” he said, “in the name of the Government under the provisions of D.O.R.A.” “I don’t know,” said Gallaher, “that you’ve any right to be taking over what I’ve bought in that kind of way, and what’s more you’ll not be able to do it without you show me a proper order in writing, signed by a magistrate.”