“It’s not for me to condemn ye,” he said; “maybe yer not responsible.” “Blast ye,” yelled Gypo, jumping to his feet. “What does he mean, Commandant Gallagher, about me not bein’ res-re-prosible? What does he mean by it? I want to know what he’s drivin’ at.” “Sit down, Nolan,” cried Gallagher. “Sit down immediately and keep quiet. Sit down, I say.” Gypo sat down with a clutter. He stared at Gallagher, with the strange, bewildered look of a dog that has been reprimanded by his master and is wondering why he has been reprimanded. For the first time he realized that there was a cold, dangerous ring in Gallagher’s voice. He sat immovable for two moments, without drawing breath, meditating on this hostile ring which he had heard in Gallagher’s voice. Unconsciously he took off his little, tattered, round, slouch hat. He pushed it, without looking at it, into his right-hand trousers pocket. Mulligan began again to talk. “Lemme see,” he said, “where was I? Oh, yes. I worked on till about half-past three or maybe a quarter to four, when Charlie Corrigan came in an’ said that his brother Dave had just come outa jail, after bein’ on hunger strike for eighteen days. Ye remember he was thrown in on account of the Slum Rents Agitation. ‘He’s upstairs,’ says Charlie. Well, I went up an’ we talked over a cup o’ tay until about six o’clock. It was just six when I left, because I heard the angelus beginnin’ to strike an’ I on me way down the stairs, because I stopped to cross mesel’. Then I ran down home an’ put on me overcoat and went out to the chapel. I’m makin’ the Stations o’ the Cross for . . .” He stopped and flushed. . . . “Well, it’s no matter to no man why I’m makin’ em.” “All right, then,” snapped Gallagher. “We don’t want to know why you are making them. We merely want facts, not superstitions. You went into the chapel at six o’clock, or a few minutes afterwards to be precise. How far is the chapel from your house?” “Maybe it’s a hundred yards, maybe it’s more. If ye go around the corner be Kane’s it’s less, but be goin’ the other road around——” “Oh, damn the other road. Pardon me, Miss McPhillip. Let us say it’s one hundred yards. You arrived at the chapel then at about three minutes past six. That correct?” “Uh . . . that ud be right . . . about that.” “Well? How long did you stay there?” “I stayed there until about half-past six. An’ then I stayed talkin’ outside the door to Fr. Conroy for maybe ten minutes. He wanted to know——” “Did you talk to anybody other than the priest you mention?” “I’m comin’ to that. After I left Fr. Conroy I met Barney Kerrigan.” “Where? Near the chapel?” “Yes. It must have been within fifty yards of it, as yer goin’ be measurements, although we never——” “Just a moment. Were you ever a member of the Revolutionary Organization?” “What makes ye ask that? Does any man know better than yersel’ whether I was or not?” “_Were you a member?_” “Sure I was.” “That’s better. Why did you leave it?”