“I’d be backward about asking the doctor,” said Moriarty, “on account of what passed between us a minute ago when I thought he was wanting to take away the girl’s character.”
Mr. Billing completed his arrangements and stood beside his camera ready to release the shutter.
“You’re quite sure,” said Dr. O’Grady, “that you wouldn’t care to have her face washed?”
“Certain,” said Mr. Billing. “The General was a genuine democrat if ever there was one. He wouldn’t have thought a bit the worse of her for having a dirty face.”
Dr. O’Grady started slightly and then looked questioningly at Mr. Billing. It struck him that there was something suspicious about this repetition of his words. He glanced at the Major, at Doyle, and then at the two policemen. They all seemed completely absorbed in the taking of the photograph. Mr. Billing’s last remark had not struck them as in any way odd.
The shutter clicked. One of Mary Ellen’s sweetest smiles was secured on the sensitive plate. Constable Moriarty, greatly daring, asked Mr. Billing for a print of the photograph. Mr. Billing promised him a copy of the life of General John Regan when it appeared. He said that there would be a full page reproduction of Mary Ellen’s portrait in the second volume.
“The Major and I must be off,” said Dr. O’Grady, “but if I may call on you to-morrow morning, Mr. Billing, I should like to make arrangements about the public meeting. We want to have you at it.”
“The meeting?” said Doyle.
“The meeting about the statue,” said Dr. O’Grady. “By the way, Doyle, you might call on Father McCormack this evening.” He spoke with a glance at Mr. Billing which he hoped that Doyle would interpret correctly. “You’d better remind him that he’s to take the chair. He promised a week ago, but he may have forgotten. That’s the worst of these good-natured men,” he added, speaking directly to Mr. Billing. “They promise anything, and then it’s ten to one they forget all about it.”
“I’m not quite sure,” said Mr. Billing, “that my arrangements will allow me——”