The sergeant stirred the pile of gravel on the quay thoughtfully with his foot. Then, peering over Kinsella’s shoulder, he took a look at the gravel which still remained in the boat.
“Tell me this, now, Joseph Antony,” he said. “Who might that gravel be for? It’s the third day you’re after bringing in a load and there’s ne’er a cart’s been down for it yet?”
“I couldn’t say who it might be for.”
“Do you tell me that now? And who’s to pay you for it?”
“Sweeny ‘ll pay for it,” said Kinsella. “It was him ordered it.”
The sergeant stirred the gravel again with his foot Timothy Sweeny was a publican who kept a small shop in one of the back streets of Rosnacree. He was known to the sergeant, but was not regarded with favour. There is a way into Sweeny’s house through a back-yard which is reached by climbing a wall. Sweeny’s front door was always shut on Sundays and his shutters were put up during those hours when the law regards the consumption of alcohol as undesirable. But the sergeant had good reason to suppose that many thirsty people found their way to the refreshment they craved through the back-yard. Sweeny was an object of suspicion and dislike to the sergeant. Therefore he stirred the gravel on the quay again and again looked at the gravel in the boat. There is no law against buying gravel; but it seemed to the sergeant very difficult to believe that Sweeny had bought four boatloads of it. Joseph Antony Kinsella felt that some explanation was due to the sergeant.
“It’s a gentleman up the country,” he said, “that Sweeny’s buying the gravel for. I did hear that he’s to send it by rail when I have the whole of it landed.”
He watched the sergeant out of the corners of his eyes to see how he would receive this statement. The sergeant did not seem to be altogether satisfied.
“What are you getting for it?” he asked.
“Five shillings a load.”