When Bobby had sufficiently rested himself, he took the car to the inn at Crowsnest and put it up, and then came back to The Martens, where a bed was made up for him, and where he slept the sleep of the just for ten hours, reappearing at half-past nine that night for some supper and a pipe. Then he retired to rest, and put another ten hours of slumber behind him, awakening in the morning a new man.

Nothing important came by the post, only a few circulars and a postcard effusively thanking Miss Grimshaw for some flowers which she had sent to a female friend. As the day wore on, and as nothing appeared in the form of a bailiff, the hopes of the party rose steadily. Mr. Dashwood had suggested that the horse should be taken right away to Epsom, but French was too old a practitioner to make such a false move as that. For, if a bailiff arrived and found the horse gone, it would be the easiest thing in the world to track him. You cannot entrain a racehorse without the fact being known. Even if he were ridden up to London, a telegram would have to be sent on to get a horse-box for the journey to Epsom. There was nothing to be done but wait and trust in luck.

The morning of the 12th broke fair and unclouded, with no threat—at all events, in the weather—of bailiffs. French had made all his arrangements for moving the horse on the morrow. A horse-box was to be attached to the 10:15 train from Crowsnest; also to the London train for Epsom that started at 1:55. In less than twenty-four hours now the horse would be out of Crowsnest, and the day-after-the-day-after-to-morrow was the race.

Garryowen was not even mentioned in the betting lists. White Moth was favourite, Vodki was second favourite; after Vodki you might have read such names as your fancy wills, but not the name of Garryowen. Only in the lists of the big English and Continental betting agents did this name obscurely appear. French had been getting his money steadily on the horse at 65 and 70 to 1. He reckoned that when the flag fell he would stand to win seventy-five thousand pounds, and the thought of this, when it came on him now and then, put him into such a fever that he could not sit still.

They were all sitting at luncheon to-day and merry enough for the moment, when a knock came to the door, and Norah entered.

"Plaze, sorr," said Norah, "there's a man wants to see you."

French half rose from the table.

"A man?"

"Yes, sorr. He came round be the kitchen way and 'What are yiz doin' in me yard?' says Mrs. Driscoll. 'Is your masther in?' says he. 'If he is, tell him a person wants to see him.'"

French, without a word, rose and left the room.

"He's come!" said Bobby, putting down his knife and fork.

"It sounds like it," said the girl. "But it may be only a tradesman."

"Shall I go out and listen at the kitchen door?" asked Effie, half slipping from her chair.

"No," said Miss Grimshaw, "sit still. You are too fond of listening at doors, and only for you, you naughty child——"

She checked herself. Only for Effie and her mischievous letter they might have been in security now, and not threatened like this.

"Only for me, what?" asked Effie.

Miss Grimshaw had no time to reply, for at that moment Mr. French re-entered the room. His face was flushed; he shut the door; and then, "May the divil fly away with Dick Giveen!" he said. "He's got me at last, confound him! It's the bailiff."

"Oh, heavens!" said Bobby.

"What's he like?" asked Miss Grimshaw the practical.

"Like!" cried French. "He's like a chap you see in a nightmare—white as tallow and no legs to him, and he's going out now to inspect the horses. Mark you, that chap's no use to us; he's one of the Methodist-parson type, and he's not got the heart in him to help us."

"What is his name?" asked the girl.

"Piper," replied French, pouring himself out some whisky.

"Well," she said, "wait here, both of you; one never knows what one can do till one tries."

She left the room hurriedly, and sought the stableyard, where she found Moriarty.

"Moriarty," she said, "the bailiff has come, and he's just going to look at the horses. Be sure that, whatever you do, you be civil to him."

"Yes, miss," replied Moriarty.

"Tell Andy the same."

"Yes, miss."

"I'm going round to the kitchen now to bring him."

"Yes, miss."

She left the stableyard and sought the kitchen. Seated in the kitchen, hat in hand, was an individual of uncertain age. French's description hit him off to a "T." Pale-faced, scanty-haired, with a trace of side-whiskers, he had about him a suggestion of aggressiveness and a suggestion of weakness very disheartening to his new beholder, who, however, smiled upon him as she entered.

"Mr. Piper, I believe?" said Violet, speaking in a hurried and offhand and friendly manner. "I have come round to take you to see the horses. But have you had any luncheon?"

"Yes, thank you," said Mr. Piper, rising to his feet.

"May I not get you a glass of wine, or something after your journey?"

"No, thank you. I never touch liquor," said Mr. Piper.

"Oh, well, then, will you follow me?"

She led the way to the stables round by the kitchen entrance. All this was French's duty, if any one's, but the girl would not trust him; she determined to show Mr. Piper that the horses were safe, treat him as civilly as possible, and try to gauge his corruptibility in the process.

"You know, I suppose, that this is a hired house," said she, as she led the way, "and that there is nothing here belonging to Mr. French but the horses?"

"Yes," said Mr. Piper. "I asked at the station about that, although my instructions mainly concerned the horses. House and furniture belong to Mr. Emmanuel Ibbetson. Still," concluded he, "I must attend to it that nothing is moved from here, neither stick nor stone, till further orders."

"If Mr. Ibbetson wanted to take his furniture away," said Miss Grimshaw, almost losing command of her temper, "I don't think you could stop him."

"That's not the question at isha," replied Mr. Piper. "I'm thinking of French."

"You mean, I presume, Mr. French?"

"Precisely."

"Moriarty," said Miss Grimshaw, "show this—man the horses."

Moriarty opened the upper door of a loose-box, and The Cat thrust her evil head out. The Cat by Isonomy II. out of Express, would have won her owner much money, only for her temper. She had a fleering eye. The Cat's under lip and the cock of her ears were the two points you noticed at close quarters, till she nobbled you, and took a piece out of your arm, or let fly, and, to use the language of Moriarty, "kicked you to flinders."

"Look out!" yelled Moriarty. He wasn't a moment too soon, for in another second The Cat would have had the bailiff.

Piper stepped back and wiped his forehead with his sleeve. To be snapped at by a horse is not a pleasant experience.

"It's only her play," said Moriarty, "but don't you ever open the door of the box be yourself, for, begad, if she once got a hoult of you, it's into the box she'll have you, over the dure top, and after that, begorra, it id be all over but the funeral. Here's the other horse."

He opened Garryowen's box.

Garryowen projected his lovely head and expanded his nostrils at the stranger. Miss Grimshaw looked from the horse to the bailiff, and from the bailiff to the horse, contrasting the two animals in her mind.

"Are these carriage horses?" asked Mr. Piper, as Miss Grimshaw retired to the house, leaving him in charge of Moriarty.

"Carriage what?"

"Horses."

"Sure, where were you born that you never saw a racehorse?"

"If you arsk me where I was born, I was born in Peckham," said Mr. Piper, "and if you arsk me if I have ever seen a racehorse, I am proud to say I have not, nor a race-meeting; and if you arsk me what I'd do with jockeys and publicans and all those who corrupt the people and take honest men's wages out of their pocket—I say, if you arsk me what I'd do with them, I'd answer you that I'd put them in a sack and the sack in the Thames."

"Faith," said Moriarty, contemplating his vis-a-vis, "if I hadn't fallen into conversation wid you I'd never have guessed there was so much 'arsk' about you; but, faith, you're right. It's the whisky and the horses that plays the divil and all wid men. Now, I'd lay, from your face, you'd never been dhrunk in your life."

"I've never even tasted alcohol," said Piper. "Neither alcohol nor tobacco has ever sullied my mouth, nor shall it ever sully a child of mine."

"Have you any children?"

"No, I have not."

"That's a pity," said Moriarty, "for with such a father they couldn't help turnin' out fine men. May I ax, are you a Liberal or a Conservative?"

"I'm a Socialist."

"The masther has tould me about thim," said Moriarty, closing the door of Garryowen's box and taking his seat on a bucket. "You're wan of thim that b'laves every man is born equal, and we should all share alike. D'you mane to tell me that, now?"

Mr. Piper, led on to his favourite topic, expanded, taking his seat on the edge of an old bin by the stable door.

"So," said Moriarty, "thim's your opinions? A big puddin', and every man wid a plate and spoon. And who, may I ax, is to make the puddin', and who's to wash the plates?"

Mr. Piper explained that every man would help to make the pudding, and every man would wash his own plate.

"And s'pose," said Moriarty, "one chap takes a double helpin' before his turn, or cracks his plate over another chap's head?"

Mr. Piper explained that every man would be equally ungreedy and equally well disposed to his neighbour.

"And where are you going to get thim men?" asked the tireless Moriarty. "And, see here, they're not going to be all men, unless you smother the women. And, droppin' the puddin', for the sake of argument, and comin' to the question of bunnets, d'you think one woman is going to be content wid as good a bunnet as her next-door neighbour, and the same price? D'you think Mrs. Moriarty won't be sayin' to her husband, 'Mick, you blackguard, why don't you stir your stumps and make more money to buy me a hat and feather that'll squash Mrs. Mooney's?' And Mick, he'll say, 'Sure, Norah, how'm I to make more money when these Social chaps won't let me earn more'n five pound a week?' And what'll she say but 'Be hanged to Socialism, I want a blazin' big hat wid a feather twice as big as Mrs. Mooney's, and I'm goin' to get it.'"

"That's not the point at isha."

"Isha or not, you see here. You may plot and plan and collar your masther's money and pay it out all round to the likes of yourself, but it's the wimmen'll quare your pitch, for begob, a man may get rid of a masther, but he'll never get rid of a misthress as long as the world rowls, and wather runs. Tell me," said Moriarty, with his eyes examining Mr. Piper's legs critically and not complimentarily, "tell me now, are you wan of them chaps the masther spakes of who're always boo-hooin' about the souldiers and ba-haain' about the sailors and wishin' to live in pace and contintment, sittin' on your starns under fig-trees wid the figs droppin' into your open gobs?"

Mr. Piper explained that he was a peace party man.

"I thought you was," said Moriarty, still with his eyes fixed on his examinee's legs, "and faith, I'm almost converted meself to the cause whin I look at you. We had a man wanst, and he might ha' been your twin brother, and he came down to Cloyne, lecturin' on all thim things, and settin' up to contist the seat in Parli'mint wid ould Mr. Barrin'ton, of Inchkillin Haal. Ould Mr. Barrin'ton stud six-fut-four. He'd never missed a meet of the houn's for sixty years, 'cept whin he was lad up wid broken limbs or sittin' in Parli'mint. This chap called ould Mr. Barrin'ton his 'ponent, said he was wastin' the money of the people keepin' houn's and horses, and went on till wan day the bhoys got hold of him—and d'ye know what they did to him?"

"No."

"Faith, they headed him up in a barr'l, and rowled him into the river."

Moriarty, without another word, got up, left Mr. Piper to his meditations, and strode towards the kitchen.

"Where's the masther?" asked Moriarty of Norah.

"In the sittin'-room," replied Norah.

He passed through the kitchen, crossed the little hall, and knocked at the sitting-room door.

"Come in," said French's voice, and he entered.

French, Miss Grimshaw, and Bobby Dashwood were seated about the room. The men were smoking and in arm-chairs, Miss Grimshaw was at the table, sitting erect, with her elbows upon it. Her lips were pursed, for they had been discussing Mr. Piper.

"If you plaze, sorr," said Moriarty when French bade him speak, "I've been takin' the size of that chap in the yard."

"And what do you think of him, Moriarty?"

"Faith, sorr, I'm thinkin' he was one of the leftovers whin they was makin' parr'ts, and the divil thried to make a monkey of him, and spiled it in the bakin'. He's no use at all, sorr, to be talked over or talked under."

"We couldn't bribe the man, do you think?" asked Mr. French.

"No, sorr," replied Moriarty, "he's not the man to take a bribe to do a decent turn. He's wan of those chaps that hates his betthers—soci—what d'you call 'em, sorr?"

"Socialists?"

"That's thim."

"Oh, Lord!" said Bobby.

"I thought he looked like it," said Miss Grimshaw.

"Hang him!" said French. "I thought there was something wrong with the beast besides white liver and Board school——"

"If you plaze, sorr," said Moriarty, with a grin, "I've had a long talk wid him, and he's convarted me."

"Hullo!" said French, staring at his henchman, "what's this you're saying?"

"I've come to b'lave, sorr, in sharin' and sharin' alike. If you plaze, sorr, have you everythin' ready for gettin' the horse away in the mornin'?"

"Getting the horse away!" burst out French, forgetting Moriarty's conversion and everything else in an outburst of rage. "How the dickens do you think I'm to get him away with that beast stuck here?"

"All the same, sorr," replied Moriarty, "if you'll lave things to me, you won't find any thrubble in the mornin', and not for some days afther, I'm thinkin."

"What do you propose to do?"

"If you plaze, sorr, I'd rather just keep me tongue shut in me head. It's not that I aren't wishful to tell you, sorr, but it's the divil to spake whin you're fishin'. Do you remimber, sorr, young Mr. James and his wife, whin they came to Drumgool, and went out fishin' the black water? Him and she wid a luncheon-basket and tame minnows presarved in bottles of glycerin' and the hoight of fine rods and patent hucks, and landin' nets, and groun' bate, and the Lord knows all; and you could hear thim chatterin' to wan another half a mile away, and the wather thick wid fish. And the divil a thing they caught in three days but a craw-been."

"Moriarty is right," said Miss Grimshaw, who had a profound belief in the capacity of Moriarty for doing the right thing just in the right way, when the thing was a matter of diplomacy.

"Look here, Moriarty," said French, "are you thinking of making a prisoner of this chap? For that won't do."

"No, sorr," said Moriarty. "I'm not."

"He doesn't drink?"

"No, sorr."

"You're not going to bribe him?"

"No, sorr."

"Well, all I can say is, if you can find some other means of putting him out of action you're a cleverer man than I am."

"If you'll just lave it to me, sorr, you may rest contint."

French poured out a glass of whisky, which Moriarty swallowed neat. Then, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand and saluting the company assembled, he left the room.

"He'll do it," burst out Mr. Dashwood, who seemed suddenly and for the first time to fully comprehend the possibilities and impossibilities of Moriarty.

"Faith," said French, "I believe he will. I've never known Moriarty fail yet. Upon my word, I haven't. Looking back now, I never remember him not getting the better of any man he crossed the foils with. Do you remember that blackguard who came to hamstring Garryowen? And the best of the matter is he always does things in such a way the laugh is on his side, and the law, begad! Do you remember that bailiff he drove to the old castle? Well, the law couldn't have touched him for that. The man wanted to be driven to my house, and that was my house, though I didn't live there."

"It's a man like Moriarty that comes over to the States with a bundle under his arm," said Miss Grimshaw, "one moment a poor exile from Erin, standing on a shore that is lonely and chill, and the next day, to quote one of our poets, he's 'Alderman Mike inthrodjucin a Bill.' I wonder why the Moriartys are so much nicer in their own country."