bernard had never before had occasion to look into the small and ominously black muzzle of a loaded revolver. an involuntary twitching seized upon his muscles as he did so now, but his presence of mind did not desert him.
“no! don’t shoot!” he called out. the words shook as he uttered them, and seemed to his nervously acute hearing to be crowded parts of a single sound. “that’s rank foolishness!” he added, hurriedly. “there’s no trick! nobody dreams of touching you. i give you my word i’m more astonished than you are!”
the major seemed to be somewhat impressed by the candor of the young man’s tone. he did not lower the weapon, but he shifted his finger away from the trigger.
“that may or may not be the case,” he said with a studious affectation of calm in his voice. “at all events, you will at once do as i said.”
“but see here,” urged bernard, “there’s an explanation to everything. i’ll swear that old o’daly was put in here by our friend here—jerry higgins. that’s straight, isn’t it, jerry?”
“it is, sir!” said jerry, fervently, with eye askance on the revolver.
“and it’s evident enough that he couldn’t have got out by himself.”
“that he never did, sir.”
“well, then—let’s figure. how many people know of this place?”
“there’s yoursilf,” responded jerry, meditatively, “an’ mesilf an’ linsky—me cousin, joseph higgins, i mane. that’s all, if ye l’ave o’daly out. an’ that’s what bothers me wits, who the divil did l’ave him out?”
“this cousin of yours, as you call him,” put in the resident magistrate—“what did he mean by speaking of him as linsky? no lying, now.”
“lying, is it, your honor? ’t is aisy to see you’re a stranger in these parts, to spake that word to me. egor, ’t is me truth-tellin ’s kept me the poor man i am. i remember, now, sir, wance on a time whin i was only a shlip of a lad—”
“what did you call him linsky for?” major snaffle demanded, peremptorily.
“well, sir,” answered jerry, unabashed, “’t is because he’s freckles on him. ‘linsky’ is the irish for a ‘freckled man!’ sure, o’daly would tell you the same—if yer honor could find him.”
the major did not look entirely convinced.
“i don’t doubt it,” he said, with grim sarcasm; “every man, woman and child of you all would tell the same. come now—we’ll get up out of this. link your arms together, and give me the lantern.”
“by your lave, sir,” interposed jerry, “that trick ye told us of your father—w’u’d that have been in a marteller tower, on the coast beyant kinsale? egor, sir, i was there! ’t was me tuk the gun-rags from your father’s mouth. sure, ’t is in me ricolliction as if ’t was yesterday. there stud the o’mahony—”
at the sound of the name on his tongue, jerry stopped short. the secret of that expedition had been preserved so long. was there danger in revealing it now.
to bernard the name suggested another thought. he turned swiftly to jerry.
“look here!” he said. “you forgot something. the o’mahony knew of this place.”
“well, thin, he did, sir,” assented jerry. “’t was him discovered it altogether.”
“major,” the young man exclaimed, wheeling now to again confront the magistrate with his revolver, “there’s something queer about this whole thing. i don’t understand it any more than you do. perhaps if we put our heads together we could figure it out between us. it’s foolishness to stand like this. let me light the candles here, and all of us sit down like white men. that’s it,” he added as he busied himself in carrying out his suggestion, to which the magistrate tacitly assented. “now we can talk. we’ll sit here in front of you, and you can keep out your pistol, if you like.”
“well?” said major snaffle, inquiringly, when he had seated himself between the others and the door, yet sidewise, so that he might not be taken unawares by any new-comer.
“tell him, jerry, who this o’mahony of yours was,” directed bernard.
“ah, thin—a grand divil of a man!” said jerry, with enthusiasm. “’t was he was the master of all muirisc. sure ’t was mesilf was the first man he gave a word to in ireland whin he landed at the cove of cork. ‘will ye come along wid me?’ says he. ‘to the inds of the earth!’ says i. and wid that—”
“he came from america, too, did he?” queried the major. “was that the same man who—who played the trick on my father? you seem to know about that.”
“egor, ’t was the same!” cried jerry, slapping his fat knee and chuckling with delight at the memory. “’t was all in the winkin’ of an eye—an’ there he had him bound like a calf goin’ to the fair, an’ he cartin’ him on his own back to the boat. up wint the sails, an’ off we pushed, an’ the breeze caught us, an’ whin the soldiers came, faith, ’t was safe out o’ raych we were. an’ thin the o’mahony—god save him!—came to your honor’s father—”
“yes, i know the story,” interrupted the major. “it doesn’t amuse me as it does you. but what has this man—this o’mahony—got to do with this present case?”
“it’s like this,” explained bernard, “as i understand it: he left ireland after this thing jerry’s been telling you about and went fighting in other countries. he turned his property over to two trustees to manage for the benefit of a little girl here—now miss kate o’mahony. o’daly was one of the trustees. what does he do but marry the girl’s mother—a widow—and lay pipes to put the girl in a convent and steal all the money. i told you at the beginning that it was a family squabble. i happened to come along this way, got interested in the thing, and took a notion to put a spoke in o’daly’s wheel. to manage the convent end of the business i had to go away for two or three days. while i was gone, i thought it would be safer to have o’daly down here out of mischief. now you’ve got the whole story. or, no, that isn’t all, for when i got back i find that the young lady herself has disappeared; and, lo and behold, here’s o’daly turned up missing, too!”
“what’s that you say?” asked major snaffle. “the young lady gone, also?”
“is it miss kate?” broke in jerry. “oh, thin, ’t is the divil’s worst work! miss kate not to be found—is that your m’aning? ’t is not consayvable.”
“oh, i don’t think there’s anything serious in that,” said bernard. “she’ll turn out to be safe and snug somewhere when everything’s cleared up. but, in the meantime, where’s o’daly? how did he get out of here?”
the major rose and walked over to the door. he examined its fastenings and lock with attention.
“it can only be opened from the outside,” he remarked as he returned to his seat.
“i know that,” said bernard. “and i’ve got a notion that there’s only one man alive who could have come and opened it.”
“is it lin—me cousin, you mane?” asked jerry.
“egor! he was never out of me sight, daylight or dark, till they arrested us together.”
“no,” replied bernard. “i didn’t mean him. the man i’m thinking of is the o’mahony himself.”
jerry leaped to his feet so swiftly that the major instinctively clutched his revolver anew. but there was no menace in jerry’s manner. he stood for a moment, his fat face reddened in the candle’s pale glow, his gray eyes ashine, his mouth expanding in a grin of amazed delight. then he burst forth in a torrent of eager questioning.
“don’t you mane it?” he cried. “the o’mahony come back to his own ag’in? w’u’d he—is it—oh, thin, ‘t is too good to be thrue, sir! an’ we sittin’ here! an’ him near by! an’ me not—ah, come along out ’o this! an’ ye’re not desayvin’ us, sir? he’s thruly come back to us?”
“don’t go too fast,” remonstrated bernard “it’s only guess-work there’s nothing sure about it at all. only there’s no one else who could have come here.”
“thrue for ye, sir!” exclaimed jerry, all afire now with joyous confidence. “’t is a fine, grand intelligince ye have, sir. an’ will we be goin’, now, major, to find him?”
under the influence of jerry’s great excitement, the other two had risen to their feet as well.
the resident magistrate toyed dubiously with his revolver, casting sharp glances of scrutiny from one to the other of the faces before him, the while he pondered the probabilities of truth in the curious tale to which he had listened.
the official side of him clamored for its entire rejection as a lie. like most of his class, with their superficial and hostile observation of an alien race, his instincts were all against crediting anything which any irish peasant told him, to begin with. furthermore, the half of this strange story had been related by an irish-american—a type regarded by the official mind in ireland with a peculiar intensity of suspicion. yes, he decided, it was all a falsehood.
then he looked into the young man’s face once more, and wavered. it seemed an honest face. if its owner had borne even the homeliest and most plebeian of saxon labels, the major was conscious that he should have liked him. the milesian name carried prejudice, it was true, but—
“yes, we will go up,” he said, “in the manner i described. i don’t see what your object would be in inventing this long rigmarole. of course, you can see that if it isn’t true, it will be so much the worse for you.”
“we ought to see it by this time,” said bernard, with a suggestion of weariness. “you’ve mentioned it often enough. here, take the lantern. we’ll go up ahead. the door locks itself. i have the key.”
the three men made their way up the dark, tortuous flight of stairs, replaced the lantern and key on their peg in jerry’s room, and emerged once more into the open. they filled their lungs with long breaths of the fresh air, and then looked rather vacuously at one another. the major had pocketed his weapon.
“well, what’s the programme?” asked bernard.
before any answer came, their attention was attracted by the figure of a stranger, sauntering about among the ancient stones and black wooden crosses scattered over the weed-grown expanse of the churchyard. he was engaged in deciphering the names on the least weather-beaten of these crosses, but only in a cursory way and with long intermittent glances over the prospect of ivy-grown ruins and gray walls, turrets and gables beyond. as they watched him, he seemed suddenly to become aware of their presence. forthwith he turned and strolled toward them.
as he advanced, they saw that he was a tall and slender man, whose close-cut hair and short mustache and chin tuft produced an effect of extreme whiteness against a notably tanned and sun-burnt skin. though evidently well along in years, he walked erect and with an elastic and springing step. he wore black clothes of foreign, albeit genteel aspect. the major noted on the lapel of his coat a tell-tale gleam of red ribbon—and even before that had guessed him to be a frenchman and a soldier. he leaped swiftly to the further assumption that this was the o’mahony, and then hesitated, as jerry showed no sign of recognition.
the stranger halted before them with a little nod and a courteous upward wave of his forefinger.
“a fine day, gentlemen,” he remarked, with politeness.
major snaffle had stepped in front of his companions.
“permit me to introduce myself,” he said, with a sudden resolution, “i am the stipendiary magistrate of the district. would you kindly tell me if you are informed as to the present whereabouts of mr. cormac o’daly, of this place?”
the other showed no trace of surprise on his browned face.
“mr. o’daly and his step-daughter,” he replied, affably enough, “are just now doing me the honor of being my guests, aboard my vessel in the harbor.”
then a twinkle brightened his gray eyes as he turned their glance upon jerry’s red, moon-like face. he permitted himself the briefest of dry chuckles.
“well, young man,” he said, “they seem to have fed you pretty well, anyway, since i saw you last.” for another moment jerry stared in round-eyed bewilderment at the speaker. then with a wild “huroo!” he dashed forward, seized his hand and wrung it in both of his.
“god bless ye! god bless ye!” he gasped, between little formless ejaculations of dazed delight. “god forgive me for not knowin’ ye—you’re that althered! but for you’re back amongst us—aloive and well—glory be to the world!”
he kept close to the o’mahony’s side as the group began now to move toward the gate of the churchyard, pointing to him with his fat thumb, as if to call all nature to witness this glorious event, and murmuring fondly to himself: “you’re come home to us!” over and over again.
“i am much relieved to learn what you tell me, mr.—— or rather, i believe you are o’mahony without the mister,” said major snaffle, as they walked out upon the green. “i dare say you know—this has been a very bad winter all over the west and south’, and crime seems to be increasing, instead of the reverse, as spring advances. we have had the gravest reports about the disaffection in this district—especially among your tenants. that’s why we gave such ready credence to the theory of murder.”
“murder?” queried the o’mahony. “oh, i see—you thought o’daly had been murdered?”
“yes, we arrested your man higgins, here, yesterday. i was just on the point of starting with him to bantry jail, an hour ago, when this young gentleman—” the major made a backward gesture to indicate bernard—“came and said he knew where o’daly was. he took me down to that curious underground chamber—”
“who took you down, did you say?” asked the o’mahony, sharply. he turned on his heel as he spoke, as did the major.
to their considerable surprise, bernard was no longer one of the party. their dumfounded gaze ranged the expanse of common round about. he was nowhere to be seen.
the o’mahoney looked almost sternly at jerry.
“who is this young man you had with you—who seems to have taken to running things in my absence?” he demanded.
poor jerry, who had been staring upward at the new-comer with the dumb admiration of an affectionate spaniel, cowered humbly under this glance and tone.
“well, yer honor,” he stammered, plucking at the buttons of his coat in embarrassment, “egor, for the matter of that—i—i don’t rightly know.”
