Major Snaffle covered the two men--the burly, stout Irishman and the lithe, erect, close-knit young American--with a comprehensive glance. The points of his mustache trembled momentarily upward in the beginning of a smile. “No--not the least bit afraid,” the dapper little gentleman replied. The constables at the outer door stood with their big red hands to their caps, and saw with amazement the major, Bernard and Jerry pass them and the cars, and go down the street abreast. The villagers, gathered about the shop and cottage doors, watched the progress of the trio with even greater surprise. It seemed now, though, that nothing was too marvelous to happen in Muirisc. Some of them knew that the man with the flower in his coat was the stipendary magistrate from Bantry, and, by some obscure connection, this came to be interpreted throughout the village as meaning that the bodies of both O’Daly and Miss Kate had been found. The stories which were born of this understanding flatly contradicted one another at every point as they flew about, but they made a good enough basis for the old women of the hamlet to start keening upon afresh. The three men, pausing now and again to make sure they were not followed, went at a sharp pace around through the churchyard to the door of Jerry’s abode, and entered it. The key and the lantern were found hanging upon their accustomed pegs. Jerry lighted the candle, pushed back the bed, and led the descent of the narrow, musty stairs through the darkness. The major came last of all. “I’ve only been down here once myself,” Bernard explained to him, over his shoulder, as they made their stumbling way downward. “It seems the place was discovered by accident, in the old Fenian days. I suppose the convent used it in old times--they say there was a skeleton of a monk found in it.” “Whisht, now!” whispered Jerry, as, having passed through the long, low corridor leading from the staircase, he came to a halt at the doorway. “Maybe we’ll surproise him.” He unlocked the door and flung it open. No sound of life came from within. “Come along out ‘o that, Cormac!” called Jerry, into the mildewed blackness. There was no answer. Bernard almost pushed Jerry forward into the chamber, and, taking the lantern from him, held it aloft as he moved about. He peered under the table; he opened the great muniment chest; he pulled back the curtains to scrutinize the bed. There was no sign of O’Daly anywhere. “Saints be wid us!” gasped Jerry, crossing himself, “the divil’s flown away wid his own!” Bernard, from staring in astonishment into his confederate’s fat face, let his glance wander to the major. That official had stepped over the threshold of the chamber, and stood at one side of the open door. He held a revolver in his gloved, right hand.