There are, as Patsy Devlin reminded Jimmy O’Loughlin on the occasion
of Miss Blow’s first visit to Lord Manton, two ways of getting to the
Castle from the village of Clonmore. There is the longer way by the
great avenue which leads through the demesne and is remarkable for its
fine rows of beech trees. By it all visitors who drive must go. They
leave the public road a mile to the east of the village, having passed,
supposing them to start from Jimmy O’Loughlin’s hotel, both the police
barrack and the railway station. There is also the shorter way through
the deer park, available only for foot passengers, because it is
necessary in the first place to climb a boundary wall. The visitor who
goes by this route, supposing once more that he starts from the hotel,
leaves the village, and walks in a westerly direction until he comes to
the spot where the wall is partially broken down and therefore easy to
climb. He passes no building of any importance on his way, because the
hotel is almost the last house at the west end of the village street.
When luncheon was over Mr. Goddard spoke of going down to Clonmore to
send off his telegrams. Lord Manton offered to order the dog-cart and
have him driven down. Mr. Goddard refused.
“You’d much better let me,” said Lord Manton. “It will save you a lot
of time and do the cob good. He hasn’t been out for two days. I’ve
been afraid to put my nose outside the place for fear of meeting the
police.”
“I’d like to drive well enough,” said Mr. Goddard, “but I daren’t. The
fact is, I want to get into the telegraph office without being seen,
if possible. Miss Blow is sure to be at the barrack, and I’m a little
nervous about passing the door.”
The post-office in Clonmore is a sort of bye-product of Jimmy
O’Loughlin’s commercial activity. The business is carried on in a
corner of his shop, and the shop itself is an adjunct of the hotel.
Approaching the village from the west you come upon the shop door
first, then that of the hotel.
“I dare say you’re right,” said Lord Manton. “Unless Moriarty is a
young man with quite remarkable powers of persuasion, Miss Blow’s
temper is likely to be very bad indeed.”
“She’ll find out, of course,” said Mr. Goddard, “that the sergeant
really has gone off in the direction of Rosivera, and taken Cole with
him. That ought to pacify her to some extent. Still, I think I’ll avoid
an interview as long as I can.”
By walking through the deer park and approaching the village
cautiously, Mr. Goddard succeeded in getting into the post-office
unseen. After a short search he discovered Jimmy O’Loughlin’s
niece, a red-haired girl, who sold stamps and sent off and received
telegrams. She was indulging in what looked like a flirtation with the
station-master, in the millinery department of the shop. Mr. Goddard
called her away from her companion.
“Susy Lizzie,” he said, “come here. I want you.”
“Is it stamps?” she asked, “or is it a postal order?”
“It’s neither the one nor the other,” said Mr. Goddard; “it’s a
telegram. In fact, it’s as many telegrams as will keep you busy for the
rest of the afternoon, so there won’t be any use the station-master
waiting for you till you’ve done.”
Susy Lizzie tossed her head and walked defiantly down the shop to her
proper counter. She established herself behind a sort of wire screen
and pushed a sheaf of telegraph forms towards Mr. Goddard.
“Take those things away,” he said. “I’m coming inside there to watch
you send off my wires and to wait for the answers.”
Susy Lizzie by way of reply drew Mr. Goddard’s attention to a printed
notice which forbade members of the general public entering the inner
precincts of the office.
“If you go on with any more of that nonsense,” said Mr. Goddard,
“I’ll tell your uncle the way I found you this minute with the
station-master.”
It was one thing to be bullied by Miss Blow, quite another thing to
endure the official insolence of Susy Lizzie. Mr. Goddard felt that he
was man enough to make a stand against that.
“There’d be nothing to tell if you did,” said Susy Lizzie.
“Wouldn’t there? I suppose you’d try and make out he was talking to you
about buying a new hat for his mother, and you were showing him the way
it ought to be trimmed.”
Susy Lizzie grinned. Then she removed the official notice of no
admission, lifted up a slab of her counter, and invited Mr. Goddard
to enter. The first telegram he handed her completely restored her
good-humour. It was a message of a delightfully exciting kind.
“To the Inspector-General of Police, Dublin Castle. Your Members of
Parliament are unfortunately lost. Am making inquiries. Goddard,
District Inspector.”
After this came eight much longer messages. They were addressed to
detective sergeants in Derry, Larne, Belfast, Greenore, Dublin,
Kingstown, Rosslare, and Queenstown. They contained inadequate
descriptions of the appearance of Mr. Dick and Mr. Sanders; and an
earnest request that all steamers leaving for America, Scottish, or
English ports might be watched. While Susy Lizzie was tapping her
way through these messages, Mr. Goddard unrolled an ordnance survey
map, and made a list of all the railway stations within fifty miles
of Clonmore. He then wrote out a series of messages to the police
sergeants of these places, directing them to make inquiries at the
railway stations about all strangers who had left by train that day. He
appended, for the further guidance of the police, his descriptions of
the Members of Parliament, and a note to the effect that one of them
was riding a lady’s bicycle.
Susy Lizzie handed him a reply to his first message.
“From Under Secretary, Dublin Castle. Inspector-General of police in
Belfast quelling riot. Wire forwarded. Lord Lieutenant anxious to know
whether ladies of party safe.”
Mr. Goddard replied at once, “Ladies perfectly safe, but anxious and
tearful.”
Susy Lizzie, by this time in a state of extreme excitement and perfect
good temper, set to work again at the seaport messages. She had got
as far as Greenore when she had to stop to receive another incoming
message.
“From Chief Secretary, Dublin Castle. Please explain first wire.
Unintelligible here.”
This was followed immediately by one from Belfast.
“Inspector-General supposes mistake in transmission of wire. Kindly
repeat.”
Mr. Goddard wrote out two replies.
“To Chief Secretary, Dublin Castle. Members of Parliament completely
lost during night. Deeply regret occurrence. Goddard, District
Inspector.”
“To Inspector-General of Police, Belfast. First message probably
correctly transmitted. Members of Parliament cannot be found. Goddard,
District Inspector.”
Susy Lizzie, working at high speed, got these messages despatched and
went on with those to Dublin, Kingstown, Rosslare, and Queenstown. Then
Mr. Goddard handed her a bundle of forms which contained his appeals
to the police at the railway stations. He felt that he had done all
that could be done to discover the escaped gentlemen. It is impossible,
as Mr. Goddard knew, to get out of Ireland without going either to
Great Britain or America. Derry and Queenstown were the ports of exit
westwards. If, as was far more likely, the fugitives had made a rush
for England or Scotland, he would get news of them at one of the other
places. It was possible, of course, that they were still loitering
about Ireland. In that case he would hear of them from one of his
railway stations. Even the most energetic Member of Parliament would
not be likely to do more than fifty miles on his bicycle over west of
Ireland roads, and Mr. Sanders was afflicted with a weak heart.
“Isn’t there some way of getting from the hotel to the shop,” said Mr.
Goddard, “without going out into the street? I want to speak to your
uncle.”
“There is surely,” said Susy Lizzie. “If you step across to the grocery
counter, the young gentleman that’s there will show you the door.”
The door, as Mr. Goddard found when the young gentleman opened it for
him, led directly to the hotel bar. Jimmy O’Loughlin was serving out
bottles of porter to about a dozen customers. There was a babble of
talk, which ceased abruptly as Mr. Goddard entered.
“Jimmy,” he said, “I want to speak to you for a minute.”
“Affy Ginnetty,” said Jimmy, “come here and attend the bar.”
The young gentleman who had opened the door for Mr. Goddard left the
care of the bacon, flour, and tobacco which strewed his counter, and
took his place behind the bar. Jimmy led the way to the ironmongery
corner of his shop.
“We’ll have this place to ourselves,” he said. “There’s nobody comes
to buy them things”--he indicated an assortment of lamps, pots, and
rat-traps--“unless it would be of a fair day.”
“Jimmy,” said Mr. Goddard, “where are the ladies?”
“There’s two of them,” said Jimmy, “that’s in their beds.”
“In their beds?”
“I suppose it’s in them they are. Anyway, they said they were going to
lie down, and Bridgy brought up a can of hot water apiece for them, and
I didn’t see them since. There was talk,” he added, “of their being up
and dressed again to be down ready at the barrack at four o’clock,
that being the hour at which they were expecting Sergeant Farrelly to
be back.”
“Those,” said Mr. Goddard, “are probably Mrs. Dick and Mrs. Sanders.”
“They might be.”
“And what about the other two?”
“There’s one of them that’s writing letters above in the drawing-room.
She sent Bridgy for twopenny-worth of paper and envelopes, and I gave
her the loan of a bottle of ink and a writing pen. I heard her say
she’d be down along with the other two at the barrack at four o’clock
to see the sergeant.”
“That’s most likely to be Miss Farquharson.”
“I wouldn’t say,” said Jimmy, “whether the sergeant would be back at
four.”
“He will not, nor yet at five.”
“I was thinking as much.”
“Where’s Miss Blow?”
“The doctor’s young lady,” said Jimmy, “is down at the barrack along
with Moriarty.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
“She wasn’t as much put out as you’d expect,” said Jimmy, “when she
found she couldn’t go on the bicycle. I was thinking she might be in a
bad way and that maybe she’d be too much for Moriarty, so I sent Bridgy
into the yard to her, not caring to go myself----”
“You were right there,” said Mr. Goddard.
“Bridgy told me after, that she never saw in all her born days anything
to equal the state that Moriarty had the tyre in. ‘You could have run
the wisps of it,’ she said, ‘through the teeth of a fine comb.’”
“Get Bridgy,” said Mr. Goddard. “I’d like to hear the story from
herself.”
“I’m not sure could I get her, for she’s busy with the pig’s food and
would be wanting to clean herself before she’d come. But there’s no
need anyway, for I can tell you the way she quietened the doctor’s
young lady as well as she’d tell it herself, and maybe better, for she
might be backward in speaking out before a gentleman. ‘The sergeant bid
me say,’ says Bridgy, ‘that he’s off this quarter of an hour, and has
took Constable Cole along with him.’ Only for Moriarty being there and
listening to her Bridgy says the young lady would have cursed awful
at hearing that. ‘Wild horses,’ says Bridgy, ‘wouldn’t have held the
sergeant back from going, he was that set on catching the blackguards
that ill-treated the poor doctor.’ Bridgy says the young lady seemed
more pacified at them words. ‘The sergeant,’ says Bridgy, ‘is a
terrible man when his temper is riz, and riz it is this day if ever
it was. I’d be sorry for the man that faces him.’ And so she went on
telling stories about the sergeant and Constable Cole that would make
you think they were the blood-thirstiest villains in Ireland, and that
nothing delighted them only getting a hold of murderers and the like.”
“And did Miss Blow believe all that?”
“I’m not sure did she, but it quietened her. She didn’t say a word to
Moriarty, good nor bad, but she went out into the street and she asked
the first three men she met where was Sergeant Farrelly and Constable
Cole.”
“Well, and what did they tell her?”
“They told her the truth, of course. They told her they’d seen the
sergeant and Cole going off on their bicycles back west in the
direction of Rosivera. I’m thinking that after that she began to be
of opinion that there was, maybe, some truth in what Bridgy had been
saying. Anyway, she went off down to the barrack, and Moriarty after
her, and she’s there yet.”
Susy Lizzie emerged from behind the wire screen of the post-office
counter while Jimmy O’Loughlin was speaking. She held in her hand a
bundle of telegraph forms. Her uncle caught sight of her.
“What is it you’re wanting, Susy Lizzie?” he said. “Why wouldn’t you
stay where you’re paid to stay and attend to the wants of the public?”
“It’s a dozen wires and more,” said Susy Lizzie, “that’s after coming
for Mr. Goddard, and I thought maybe he’d like to get them at once.”
“You thought right,” said Mr. Goddard. “Hand them over.”
The first he looked at was from Derry.
“Two men, answering the description given, but without bicycles, left
this last night at eight P.M., on steamer _Rose_ for Glasgow.
Have wired Chief of Police there.”
“That’ll hardly be them,” said Jimmy O’Loughlin, who was looking over
Mr. Goddard’s shoulder.
“It can’t possibly be them,” said Mr. Goddard. “I defy them to get
from this to Derry between twelve o’clock yesterday and eight in the
evening. I hope to goodness those silly asses won’t go and arrest two
total strangers and dump them down on us here. We have worry enough
without that.”
“I don’t know,” said Jimmy, “if so be the men they got were decent sort
of men, it might be----”
“What’s that you’re saying?” said Mr. Goddard.
He had glanced at five more telegrams which came from the police who
lived in towns where trains stopped. They all denied any knowledge of
the Members of Parliament.
“I was saying,” said Jimmy, “that maybe since the gentlemen that’s
wanted can’t be found, the ones they’d be sending over to us from
Glasgow might be some comfort to the ladies. Susy Lizzie, what are you
doing standing there with a grin on your face that a man could post a
letter through? Aren’t you ugly enough the way God made you without
twisting the mouth that’s on you into worse than it is? Get back with
you and mind the telegraph machine. I hear it ticking away there as if
the devil was in it. Be off with you now, and don’t let me be obliged
to speak to you twice. I was saying, Mr. Goddard----”
“I heard what you were saying,” said Mr. Goddard, “and I never heard
greater nonsense in my life.”
He was scattering more pink papers on the floor as he spoke. Every
railway station about which he inquired had been drawn blank.
“Do you suppose,” he went on, “that a lady like Mrs. Dick, who has been
crying the whole day because she’s lost her husband, would take up
straight off with any strange man the police happened to send her over
from Glasgow? Have some sense, Jimmy.”
“It’s them ones that cries the most,” said Jimmy, “that is the quickest
to get married again if so be there’s anybody willing to take them.”
“I don’t deny that,” said Mr. Goddard; “but, hang it all! you must give
her time to make sure that the first one’s really dead. I don’t believe
he is myself. Damn it all! look at this.”
He held out a telegram, the last of his batch, to Jimmy O’Loughlin.
“From Inspector-General of Police. Matter of disappearance of Members
of Parliament serious. Keep news out of papers if possible. Am leaving
Belfast to-night. Shall reach Clonmore to-morrow noon. Meet train and
report.”
“I don’t know,” said Jimmy, “will he be expecting to stay the night at
the hotel, for if he is there’s no place for him to sleep. There’s the
doctor’s young lady has the big front room, and yourself and the other
three ladies has all the rest of the bedrooms there is in it, and the
like of a high-up man such as the Inspector-General will be looking for
something better than a sofa in the drawing-room. I don’t know either
is Bridgy fit to cook the sort of dinner he’d be accustomed to.”
“I don’t care a straw where he sleeps. What I’m thinking about is the
abominable fuss there’ll be when he arrives. One comfort is he won’t be
able to find these wretched Members of Parliament any more than I can
myself.”
“He might, then,” said Jimmy hopefully.
“He will not; but I tell you what he’ll do. He’ll find out about the
doctor being gone and Patsy Devlin. Then he’ll come to the conclusion
that there’s some sort of a conspiracy on foot in the country. He’ll
draft in a lot of extra police, and he’ll have the life worried out of
me. Look here, Jimmy, I can’t stand much more of this sort of thing
to-day. You’ll have to keep those women off me somehow. I’ll count on
you to do it. I shall go and shut myself up in the telegraph office
along with Susy Lizzie, and if you let one of them in on me I’ll never
forgive you. Let them fight it out with Sergeant Farrelly when he gets
back. Let Cole try them with another stratagem if he likes. All I ask
is to have them kept off me.”
“I’ll do the best I can,” said Jimmy; “and if you send Susy Lizzie into
the hotel any time, Bridgy’ll give her a cup of tea for you. You’ll be
wanting it.”