With the point of a knife Kinsella scraped the charred ash from the bowl of his pipe. Then he cut several thin slices from a plug of black twist tobacco, rolled them slowly between the palm of one hand and the thumb of the other; spat thoughtfully over the side of the quay into his boat, charged his pipe and put it into his mouth. There he held it for some minutes while he stared glassily at the top of his boat’s mast. He spat again and then drew a match from his waistcoat pocket. Sergeant Rafferty of the Royal Irish Constabulary strolled quietly along the quay. It was his duty to stroll somewhere every day in order to intimidate malefactors. He found the quay on the whole a more interesting place than any of the country roads round the town, so he often chose it for the scene of what his official regulations described as a “patrol.” When he reached Kinsella he stopped. “Good day to you,” he said. Kinsella, without looking round, struck his match on a stone beside him and lit his pipe. He sucked in three draughts of smoke, spat again and then acknowledged the sergeant’s greeting. “It’s a fine day,” said the sergeant “It is,” said Kinsella, “thanks be to God.” The sergeant stirred the pile of gravel on the quay thoughtfully with his foot. Then, peering over Kinsella’s shoulder, he took a look at the gravel which still remained in the boat. “Tell me this, now, Joseph Antony,” he said. “Who might that gravel be for? It’s the third day you’re after bringing in a load and there’s ne’er a cart’s been down for it yet?” “I couldn’t say who it might be for.” “Do you tell me that now? And who’s to pay you for it?” “Sweeny ‘ll pay for it,” said Kinsella. “It was him ordered it.” The sergeant stirred the gravel again with his foot Timothy Sweeny was a publican who kept a small shop in one of the back streets of Rosnacree. He was known to the sergeant, but was not regarded with favour. There is a way into Sweeny’s house through a back-yard which is reached by climbing a wall. Sweeny’s front door was always shut on Sundays and his shutters were put up during those hours when the law regards the consumption of alcohol as undesirable. But the sergeant had good reason to suppose that many thirsty people found their way to the refreshment they craved through the back-yard. Sweeny was an object of suspicion and dislike to the sergeant. Therefore he stirred the gravel on the quay again and again looked at the gravel in the boat. There is no law against buying gravel; but it seemed to the sergeant very difficult to believe that Sweeny had bought four boatloads of it. Joseph Antony Kinsella felt that some explanation was due to the sergeant. “It’s a gentleman up the country,” he said, “that Sweeny’s buying the gravel for. I did hear that he’s to send it by rail when I have the whole of it landed.” He watched the sergeant out of the corners of his eyes to see how he would receive this statement. The sergeant did not seem to be altogether satisfied.