I had no sooner settled down quietly at home and got to work again on
my history than I was assailed by Godfrey. I wish very much that he
was Conroy's nephew and not mine. Conroy goes driving in a motor in
the middle of the night, so he must like disturbances. I hate them.
"I'm sorry, Excellency, but I am afraid I shall have to interrupt
you."
Godfrey, besides being objectionable in other ways, is a liar. He is
not sorry, he is very glad, when he gets the chance of interrupting
me. I should resent the disturbance less if he acknowledged frankly
that he enjoyed annoying me.
"It can't be time," I said, "for another garden-party yet; but, if it
is, I'd rather you made out the invitation list yourself. I'm busy.
Besides making out lists is one of the things you're good at. I should
be sure to leave out somebody."
"I don't want to talk about garden-parties," said Godfrey. "This is
something much more serious."
"There's no use coming to me about it," I said. "I told you last time
that your tailor could bring you into the County Court if he liked. I
shan't pay him again."
The inference was a natural one. Godfrey had said that he wanted to
talk about something more important than a garden-party. But the
inference was wrong. Godfrey looked offended.
"I sent Nicholson and Blackett a cheque last week," he said.
I waited patiently. If Godfrey's business had nothing to do with
garden-parties or tailors' bills, I could only suppose that he meant
to make some fresh complaint about Crossan.
"Pringle cashed it all right," said Godfrey, after a short pause. "I
went in there the day after your party and played tennis with his
daughter. They were awfully pleased."
I dare say they were. People attach a surprising amount of importance
to Godfrey's social patronage. I myself should be more inclined to
cash his cheques for him if he stayed away from my house. But I did
not want to argue with Godfrey about Pringle's taste in guests.
"What's Crossan been doing to you?" I asked at last.
"He hasn't been doing anything to me."
"Then for goodness' sake, Godfrey, let the man alone."
"I don't like the way he's going on."
"You never did. There's nothing fresh about that. You've complained
about him regularly every week for five years."
This was an exaggeration. I am sometimes away from home for more than
a week at a time and Godfrey does not always complain about Crossan in
his letters.
"Look here, Excellency," said Godfrey, "it's far better for you to
know what Crossan's doing. He's going about all over the country day
after day. He's got a motor car."
I can quite understand that Crossan's owning a motor car must have a
very irritating effect on Godfrey. I cannot afford to keep one. That
any one else in the district over which I ought, according to
Godfrey's theory, to be a kind of king, should assume a grandeur
impossible for me is simply an aggravated kind of insolence. No wonder
that Godfrey, with the honour of the family at heart, resented
Crossan's motor car. I tried to soothe him.
"It's probably quite an inferior machine," I said. "It will break down
soon."
"It's not only that," said Godfrey, "though I think Crossan ought to
stay at home and mind his business. He must be neglecting things.
But--I wish you'd walk up to the store with me, Excellency. Crossan's
away."
"I'd much rather go when Crossan's at home," I said; "but, of course,
if you won't leave me in peace until I do, I may as well go at once."
I got my hat and walking stick. On the way up to the store Godfrey
preserved an air of mysterious importance. I had no objection whatever
to his doing this; because he could not talk and look mysterious at
the same time, and I particularly dislike being talked to by Godfrey.
I expect he tried to be dignified with a view to impressing me, but
just before we reached the store he broke down and babbled fatuously.
"Marion told me yesterday," he said, "that she'd had a letter from
that fellow Power."
"She told me that too," I said.
"Well, I think you ought to put a stop to it. It's not right."
"My dear Godfrey," I said, "you appear to forget that he's one of the
Powers of Kilfenora and private secretary to a millionaire."
This twofold appeal to the highest and strongest feelings which
Godfrey possesses ought to have silenced him. He did, I think, feel
the force of what I said. But he was not satisfied.
"If you knew all that was going on," he said, "you wouldn't like it."
We reached the store. The young woman who controls the sale of
miscellaneous goods was alert and smiling behind her counter. Whatever
Crossan might be doing she at all events was attending to her
business. Godfrey took no notice of her. He led me through the shop to
the yard behind it. He pushed open the door of one of the outhouses.
"That door ought to be locked," he said.
This was true. I was somewhat surprised to find it open.
"I forced the lock this morning," said Godfrey, "with a screw driver."
"In that case," I said, "you can hardly blame Crossan for its being
open. Why did you do it?"
"I wanted to see what he had inside," said Godfrey, "and I wanted you
to see."
There was a good deal inside. In fact the outhouse, a large building,
was filled from floor to ceiling with packing-cases, some of them very
large indeed. Godfrey pointed to a small one near the door.
"Just lift that up, will you, Excellency?" said Godfrey.
"No, I won't. Why should I? I'm not a railway porter, and it looks
heavy."
"It is heavy. Just watch me for a moment if you don't want to lift it
yourself."
Godfrey with evident difficulty lifted the packing-case, staggered a
few steps with it and then set it down. The packing-case may have been
heavy but it was quite small. It seemed to me that Godfrey was making
a rather pitiful exhibition of his physical feebleness.
"You ought to do things with dumb bells," I said. "The muscles of your
arms are evidently quite soft."
Godfrey took no notice of the taunt. He was in a state of tremendous
moral earnestness.
"I want your permission to open these cases," he said.
"I won't give you any such permission," I said. "How can I? They're
not my packing-cases."
Godfrey argued with me for quite a long time, but I remained firm. For
some reason which I could not understand, Godfrey was unwilling to
open the packing-cases without permission from somebody. I should have
supposed that having already forced a door he would not have boggled
at the lid of a packing-case; but he did. He evidently had some vague
idea that the law takes a more serious view of smashing packing-cases
than it does of housebreaking. He may have been right. But my record
so far was clear. I had not forced the lock of the door.
"What do you suppose is in those cases?" said Godfrey.
"Artificial manure," I said.
Our store does a large business in artificial manure. It generally
comes to us in sacks, but there is no reason why it should not come
in packing-cases. It is tremendously heavy stuff.
"Those cases were landed from the _Finola_," said Godfrey. "She
wouldn't come here with a cargo of artificial manure."
"If you've brought me all the way up here to accuse Conroy of
smuggling," I said, "you've wasted your own time and mine."
"I don't accuse Conroy of smuggling," said Godfrey. "In fact, I'm
going to write to him to-night to tell him what's going on."
"Very well," I said. "You can if you like, but don't mix my name up
with it."
We walked back together as far as the village. Godfrey was silent
again. I could see that he still had something on his mind, probably
something which he wanted me to do. He kept on clearing his throat and
pulling himself together as if he were going to say something of
importance. I was uncomfortable, for I felt sure that he intended to
attack me again about Marion's correspondence with Bob Power. I have
never, since she was quite a little girl, interfered with Marion's
freedom of action. I had not the smallest intention of making myself
ridiculous by claiming any kind of authority over her, especially in a
matter so purely personal as the young man she chose to favour.
Besides, I like Bob Power. At worst there was nothing against him
except his smuggling, and smuggling is much less objectionable than
the things that Godfrey does. I should rather, if it came to that,
have a son-in-law who went to prison occasionally for importing
spirits without consulting the government than one who perpetually
nagged at me and worried me. But I did not want to provoke further
arguments by explaining my feelings to Godfrey. I was therefore rather
relieved when he finally succeeded in blurting out what was in his
mind.
"I hope, Excellency," he said, "that you will take the first chance
you get of speaking to Crossan."
In sudden gratitude for escaping a wrangle about Marion and Bob Power
I promised hurriedly that I would speak to Crossan. I was sorry
afterwards that I did promise. Still, I very much wished to know what
was in the packing-cases. I did not really believe it was artificial
manure. I did not believe either that it was smuggled brandy.
My chance came two days later. I met Crossan in the street. He was
standing beside his motor car, a handsome-looking vehicle. He
evidently intended to go for a drive. I felt at once that I could not
ask him a direct question about the packing-cases. I determined to get
at them obliquely if I could. I began by admiring the motor.
"She's good enough, my lord," said Crossan.
He is a man of few words, and is sparing of his praise. "Good enough"
is, from Crossan, quite an enthusiastic compliment.
"If your lordship would care about a drive any day," he said, "it'll
be a pleasure to me."
Crossan always interjects "my lord" and "your lordship" into the
middle of the remarks he makes to me; but he says the words in a very
peculiar tone. It always seems to me that he wishes to emphasize the
difference in our social station because he feels that the advantage
is all on his side. "The rank," so his tone suggests, "is but the
guinea stamp. The man"--that is in this case Crossan himself--"is the
gowd for a' that."
"You can get about the country pretty quickly in that car," I said.
Crossan looked at me with a perfectly expressionless face for some
time. Then he said said--
"If you think, my lord, that I'm neglecting my work, you've only to
say so and I'll go."
I hastened to assure him that I had no intention of finding fault with
him in any way. My apology was as ample as possible. After another
minute spent in silent meditation Crossan expressed himself satisfied.
"It suits me as little to be running round the country," he said, "as
it would suit your lordship."
"I quite understand that," I said. "But then I don't do it. You do."
"It has to be," said Crossan.
I did not quite see why it had to be; but Crossan spoke with such
conviction that I dared not contradict him and did not even like to
question him. Fortunately he explained himself.
"I'm the Grand Master, as your lordship is aware," he said.
"Worshipful" is the title of courtesy applied to Grand Masters, and
I'm sure no one ever deserved it better than Crossan.
"If we're not ready for them, my lord, they'll have our throats cut in
our beds as soon as ever they get Home Rule."
"They," of course were the "Papishes," Crossan's arch enemies.
I wanted very much to hear more of his activities among the Orangemen.
I wanted to know what steps he, as Grand Master, was taking to
prevent cut-throats creeping in on us while we slept. I thought I
might encourage him by telling him something he would be pleased to
hear.
"McConkey," I said, "who is foreman in the Green Loaney Scutching
Mill, is buying a splendid quick-firing gun."
The remark did not have the effect I hoped for. It had an exactly
opposite effect. Crossan shut up like a sea anemone suddenly touched.
"Your lordship's affairs won't be neglected," he said stiffly. "You
may count on that."
I felt that I could. I have the utmost confidence in Crossan's
integrity. If a body of "Papishes" of the bloodiest kind were to come
upon Crossan and capture him; if they were to condemn him to death
and, being God-fearing men, were to allow him half an hour in which to
make his soul; he would spend the time, not in saying his prayers, not
even in cursing the Pope, but in balancing the accounts of the
co-operative store, so that any auditor who took over the books
afterwards might find everything in order.
"If you really feel it to be your duty," I said, "to go round the
district working up--"
"You'll have heard of the Home Rule Bill, maybe," said Crossan.
I had heard of it, several times. After my visit to Castle Affey I
even understood it, though it was certainly a measure of great
complexity. I think I appreciated the orthodox Protestant view of it
since the day I talked to McConkey. I wanted Crossan to realize how
fully I entered into his feelings, so I quoted a phrase from one of
Babberly's speeches.
"In this supreme crisis of our country's destiny," I said, "it is the
duty of every man to do his uttermost to avert the threatened ruin of
our common Protestantism."
That ought to have pacified Crossan even if it did not rouse him to
enthusiasm. Huge crowds have cheered Babberly for saying these moving
words. But Crossan received them from me in sullen silence.
"It would be well," he said at last, "if your lordship and others like
you were more in earnest."
Crossan is not by any means a fool. I have occasionally been tempted
to think he is, especially when he talks about having his throat cut
at night; but he has always shown me in the end that he has in him a
vein of strong common sense. He recognized that I was talking bombast
when I spoke about the supreme crisis; but, curiously enough, he is
quite convinced of Babberly's sincerity when he says things of that
sort.
It was nearly an hour after Crossan left me when I recollected that I
had not found out anything about the packing-cases. The subject
somehow had not come up between us, though I fully intended that it
should. Our talk about Home Rule gave me no clue to what was in the
cases. I could scarcely suppose that they were full of gorgets for
distribution among Orangemen, defensive armour proof against the
particular kind of stabs which Crossan anticipated.
Godfrey called on me the next morning in a white heat of righteous
indignation. He had received an answer to the letter which he wrote to
Conroy. Before showing it to me he insisted on my reading what he
called his statement of the case. It occupied four sheets of quarto
paper, closely type-written. It accused Bob Power and McNeice of
using the _Finola_ for smuggling without the owner's knowledge. It
made out, I am bound to say, quite a good case. He had collected every
possible scrap of evidence, down to Rose's new brooch. I suppose
Marion told him about that. He said at the end of the letter that he
had no motive in writing it except a sincere wish for Conroy's
welfare. This was quite untrue. He had several other motives. His love
of meddling was one. Hatred of Crossan was another. Jealousy of Bob
Power was a third.
"Now is there anything objectionable in that letter? Anything that one
gentleman would not write to another?"
I admitted that on the whole it was a civil letter.
"Now look at his answer," said Godfrey.
Conroy's answer was on a post-card. It consisted of six words only.
"Do not be a damned fool."
"Well," I said, "that's sound advice even if it's not very politely
expressed."
"Conroy's in it too," said Godfrey, vindictively, "and I'll make them
all sorry for themselves before I've done with them."