“We could, surely. But there’s no harm in them ones. What the sergeant said to the gentleman Patsy the smith couldn’t hear but it was maybe half an hour after when the sergeant went home again and he had a look on him like a man that was middling well satisfied. Patsy the smith saw him for he was in the ditch when he passed, terrible sick, retching the way he thought the whole of his liver would be out on the road before he’d done. Well, there was no more happened last night; but it wasn’t more than nine o’clock this morning before that same sergeant was off up to the big house and I wouldn’t wonder but it was to tell the strange gentleman that’s there whatever it was he heard him last night. He had that kind of a look about him anyway.” “I don’t like the way things is going on,” said Sweeny. “What is it that’s up at the big house at all?” “They tell me,” said Walsh, “that he’s a mighty high up gentleman whoever he is.” “He may be, but I’d be glad if I knew what he’s doing here, for I don’t like the looks of him.” Patsy the smith, pallid after the experience of the night before, walked into the shop. “If Peter Walsh is there,” he said, “the sergeant is down about the quay looking for him.” “You better go to him,” said Sweeny, “and mind now what you say to him.” “You’ll not say much,” said Patsy the smith, “for he’ll have you whipped off into one of the cells in the barrack before you’ve time to speak. He’s terrible determined.” Patsy’s face was yellow--a witness to the fact that his liver was still in him--and he was inclined to take a pessimistic view of life. Peter Walsh paid no attention to his prophecy. Sweeny looked anxious. The sergeant was standing outside the door of Bran-nigan’s shop. He accosted Peter Walsh as soon as he caught sight of him. “Sir Lucius bid me tell you,” he said, “that you’re to have the Tortoise ready for him at twelve o’clock, and that his lordship will be going with him, so he won’t be needing you in the boat.” “It would fail me to do that,” said Peter, “for she’s out, Miss Priscilla and the young gentleman with the sore leg has her.” “Sir Lucius was partly in doubt,” said the sergeant, “but it might be the way you say, for I told him myself that the boat was gone. But his lordship wouldn’t be put off, and you’re to hire another boat.” “What boat?” “It was Joseph Antony Kinsella’s he mentioned,” said the sergeant, “when I told him it was likely he’d be in with another load of gravel. But sure one boat’s as good as another so long as it is a boat. His lordship wouldn’t be turned aside from going.” “Them ones,” said Peter Walsh, “must have their own way whatever happens. It’s pleasure sailing they’re for, I’m thinking, among the islands?” “It might be,” said the sergeant “I didn’t ask.” “You could guess though.” “And if I could, do you think I’d tell you? It’s too fond of asking questions you are, Peter Walsh, about what doesn’t concern you.”