“As soon as ever you’ve got the sergeant,” said Sweeny, “you’ll go round for the doctor.” “And what’ll he say when there’s no shot in you?” “Say! He’ll say what I bid him? Ain’t I Chairman of the Board of Guardians, and doesn’t he owe me ten pounds and more this minute, shop debts. What would he say? “He’s a gentleman that likes a drop of whisky,” said Peter Walsh. “I’ll waste no whisky on him. Where’s the use when I can get what I want without?” Peter Walsh meditated on the situation for a minute or two. Then the full splendour of the plan began to dawn on him. “The master,” he said, “will be taking down the depositions that you’ll be making in the presence of the sergeant.” “He will,” said Sweeny, “for there’s no other magistrate in the place only myself and him, and its against the law for a magistrate to take down his own depositions and him maybe dying at the time.” “There’ll be only myself then to take the strange gentleman to Inishbawn in the boat.” “And who’s better fit to do it? Haven’t you known the bay since you were a small slip of a boy?” “I have surely.” “Is there a rock or a tide in it that isn’t familiar to you?” “There is not.” “And is there a man in Rosnacree that’s your equal in the handling of a small boat?” “Sorra the one.” “Then be off with you and get the gun the way I told you.” At half-past ten Sir Lucius and Lord Torrington drove into the town and pulled up opposite Brannigan’s shop. The Tortoise lay at her moorings, a sight which gratified Sir Lucius. After his experience the day before he was afraid that Peter Walsh might have beached the boat in order to execute some absolutely necessary repairs. He congratulated himself on having suggested to Sergeant Rafferty that one of the constables should keep an eye on her. “There’s the boat, Torrington,” he said. “She’s small, and there’s a fresh breeze. But if you don’t mind getting a bit wet she’ll take us round the islands in the course of the day. If your daughter is anywhere about we’ll see her.” Lord Torrington eyed the Tortoise. He would have preferred a larger boat, but he was a man of determination and courage. “I don’t care how wet I get,” he said, “so long as I have the chance of speaking my mind to the scoundrel who has abducted my daughter.” “We’ll take oilskins with us,” said Sir Lucius, getting out of the trap as he spoke. The police sergeant approached him. “Well, Rafferty,” said Sir Lucius, “what’s the matter with you?” “Have you any fresh news of my daughter?” said Lord Torrington. “I have not, my Lord. Barring what Professor Wilder told me I know no more. There was a lady belonging to his party out on the bay looking out for sponges and she came across----” “You told us all that yesterday,” said Sir Lucius. “What’s the matter with you now?” “What they say,” said the sergeant cautiously, “is that it’s murder.” “Murder! Good heavens! Who’s dead?” “Timothy Sweeny,” said the sergeant