“Facts!” said the Major.
“Go home, Major,” said Dr. O’Grady. “You’ve no tact, and in an affair of this kind where the highest kind of diplomacy is necessary, you’re not only useless, you’re actually dangerous. Now, Doyle, do you or do you not want to have the handling of that American gentleman’s £100? You do, of course. Very well then. Leave the matter in my hands and don’t annoy me by asking frivolous questions. Thady, the birthplace of the General is one of those ruined cottages—it doesn’t in the least matter which—on the grass farm where Doyle has his cattle ever since you and your League prevented anyone else taking the place. You ought to have known that without bothering me. Good Heavens! Here’s the police sergeant coming to ask questions now.”
Sergeant Colgan and Constable Moriarty were approaching at a rapid walk.
“Begging your pardon, doctor,” said the sergeant, “but is that a camera that the gentleman has, and is he thinking of taking a picture of the barrack?”
“He is,” said the doctor, “but he’s not photographing it as a barrack at all. He’s doing it in an entirely different spirit. So there’s no necessity for you to start any theory about his being a German spy, or to raise stupid objections.”
“I wasn’t thinking of objecting,” said the sergeant. “It makes no matter to me what notion he has in his head. But what Constable Moriarty was saying to me this minute——” he hesitated, and then added, “speak up now, Moriarty.”
“What the sergeant said to me,” said Moriarty, “as soon as ever he seen the gentleman with the camera——”
“It wasn’t me passed the remark,” said the sergeant, “but yourself. I’ll not have it put out that I was the one——”
Mr. Billing, standing bare-headed beside his camera, squeezed a yellow bulb and clicked the shutter of his lens. He turned smiling.
“A successful photograph, I hope, gentlemen,” he said. “The people of Bolivia will be interested to see it. It will adorn the first volume of the General’s life.”