Part 4 (2/2)

They were fair game too. Major Kent was in a different case. To borrow from him was to take a mean advantage of the good nature of a simple, unprofessional man.

Major Kent and Dr. O'Grady walked into Ballymoy together at about half past two on the day of Mr. Billing's arrival. They had lunched at Portsmouth Lodge, the Major's house. Dr. O'Grady had given his opinion of a new filly which the Major had bought a few days before. It was a very unfavourable opinion, and the Major, who had the greatest confidence in the doctor's judgment, was duly depressed.

”If I were you, Major,” said the doctor, ”I'd sell that one at once.

She's no good.”

”I'd sell her fast enough,” said the Major gloomily, ”if I could find a buyer.”

”It was 30 you gave for her in the fair?” said the doctor.

”It was; and if you're right about her she's not worth the half of it.

She's not worth 12.”

”I happen to know that fellow Geraghty,” said the doctor. ”The man who stuck you with her. He's a patient of mine. I pulled him through his last attack of d. t.'s so I know all there is to know about him. He'd stick an archangel. If he happened to be selling him a pair of wings it would turn out afterwards that the feathers were dropping out.”

”If you know him,” said the Major, ”you know a blackguard.”

”After sticking you with the filly,” said the doctor, ”he spent the evening drinking in the hotel.”

”He would.”

”And the more he drank the bigger the price was that he said he got from you. When Doyle turned him out in the end he was saying that he had your cheque for 60 in his pocket. I don't suppose Doyle believed that.

n.o.body would. But he probably thinks you gave 40 or 45.”

”All I gave was 30. But I don't see that it matters what Doyle believes.”

”It does matter,” said Dr. O'Grady. ”If Doyle believes you gave 40 for the filly, and if you were to offer her to him for 35 he'd think he was getting a bargain and he'd jump at it. Doyle's just the kind of fool who thinks he knows all about horses and so he's quite an easy man to stick.

Come on now, and we'll try.”

Major Kent was in all ordinary affairs of life a strictly honourable man. But horses are not ordinary affairs. It is on record that a bishop, an Irishman and therefore intensely religious, once sold a thoroughly unsound horse to an archdeacon for a large price. The archdeacon had a high opinion of the bishop beforehand, regarding him as a saintly man of childlike simplicity. He had a much higher opinion of him after he understood the failings of the animal he had bought. He then respected the bishop for his shrewdness. Horse-dealing is a thing apart from all other buying and selling. Honesty, in the common sense of the word, does not enter into it. Therefore, Major Kent was quite ready to defraud Doyle if he could. He and Dr. O'Grady walked into Ballymoy together for the purpose.

They reached the corner of the market square and caught sight of Mr. Billing's large motor-car standing outside the hotel. Doyle and Gallagher, who had stopped drinking, were standing near it.

”If Doyle's bought that motor,” said the Major, ”he won't look at the filly.”

”He hasn't,” said the doctor. ”What would he do with the motor if he had it? All the same it's queer. I don't know what it's doing there. n.o.body with money enough to own a car like that could possibly be stopping at Doyle's Hotel. Come along and let's find out about it.”

They hurried across the square and greeted Doyle and Gallagher.

”Whose is the big motor?” said Dr. O'Grady.

”It belongs to an American gentleman,” said Doyle, ”who's within in the hotel. We're waiting for him this minute. He's getting his camera, and when he has it got he's going round with Thady Gallagher to photograph the town.”

Gallagher took Major Kent by the arm and drew him apart.

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