“I don’t say I won’t,” said Colligan; “but I don’t see the use. I’m not able to prove anything.”
“I’ll tell you what, Ballindine,” said the parson; “only I don’t know whether it mayn’t be tampering with justice—suppose we were to go to this hell-hound, you and I together, and, telling him what we know, give him his option to stand his trial or quit the country? Take my word for it, he’d go; and that would be the best way to be rid of him. He’d leave his sister in peace and quiet then, to enjoy her fortune.”
“That’s true,” said Frank; “and it would be a great thing to rid the country of him. Do you remember the way he rode a-top of that poor bitch of mine the other day—Goneaway, you know; the best bitch in the pack?”
“Indeed I do,” said the parson; “but for all that, she wasn’t the best bitch in the pack: she hadn’t half the nose of Gaylass.”
“But, as I was saying, Armstrong, it would be a great thing to rid the country of Barry Lynch.”
“Indeed it would.”
“And there’d be nothing then to prevent young Kelly marrying Anty at once.”
“Make him give his consent in writing before you let him go,” said Armstrong.
“I’ll tell you what, Doctor Colligan,” said Frank; “do you get into your own gig, and follow us on, and I’ll talk the matter over with Mr Armstrong.”
The doctor again returned to his buggy, and the parson to his own seat, and Lord Ballindine drove off at a pace which made it difficult enough for Doctor Colligan to keep him in sight.