‘Make no apologies about the hour, Mr. Kearney,’ said he. ‘An old bachelor’s house is never very tight in discipline. Allow me to introduce Mr. Adams, Mr. Kearney, the best preacher in Ireland, and as good a judge of port wine as of theology.’
The responsive grunt of the parson was drowned in the pleasant laugh of the others, as Kearney sat down and filled his glass. In a very few words he related the reason of his visit to the town, and asked Mr. Flood to tell him what he knew of the late misadventure.
‘Sworn information, drawn up by that worthy man, Pat McEvoy, the greatest rascal in Europe, and I hope I don’t hurt you by saying it, Mr. Kearney. Sworn information of a burglarious entry, and an aggravated assault on the premises and person of one Peter Gill, another local blessing—bad luck to him. The aforesaid—if I spoke of hi before—Gorman O’Shea, having, suadente diabolo, smashed down doors and windows, palisadings and palings, and broke open cabinets, chests, cupboards, and other contrivances. In a word, he went into another man’s house, and when asked what he did there, he threw the proprietor out of the window. There’s the whole of it.’
‘Where was the house?’
‘O’Shea’s Barn.’
‘But surely O’Shea’s Barn, being the residence and property of his aunt, there was no impropriety in his going there?’
‘The informant states that the place was in the tenancy of this said Gill, one of your own people, Mr. Kearney. I wish you luck of him.’
‘I disown him, root and branch; he is a disgrace to any side. And where is Miss Betty O’Shea?’
‘In a convent or a monastery, they say. She has turned abbess or monk; but, upon my conscience, from the little I’ve seen of her, if a strong will and a plucky heart be the qualifications, she might be the Pope!’
‘And are the young man’s injuries serious? Is he badly hurt? for they would not let me see him at the gaol.’