Part 10 (2/2)

”If you think, my lord, that I'm neglecting my work, you've only to say so and I'll go.”

I hastened to a.s.sure 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 lords.h.i.+p.”

”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 lords.h.i.+p is aware,” he said.

”Wors.h.i.+pful” is the t.i.tle 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 lords.h.i.+p'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 G.o.d-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 lords.h.i.+p 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 antic.i.p.ated.

G.o.dfrey 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 sc.r.a.p 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.

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