“She wasn’t coaling,” said Godfrey.
I knew that, of course; so I said nothing, but left Godfrey to develope his grievance whatever it was.
“Ever since that night,” said Godfrey, “there has been something or other going on in the yard behind the stores. Those carters are in it, whatever it is, and a lot more men, fishermen and young farmers. They’re up there every night.”
“Probably dancing,” I said.
“Much more likely to be drinking.”
“I wish you wouldn’t talk nonsense, Godfrey. You know perfectly well that the store has not got a licence, and there’s no drink sold there. Besides Crossan is a fanatical teetotaller.”
“That wouldn’t stop him,” said Godfrey, “if he could sell the stuff cheap and make money on it; if”—here he sank his voice—“if it hadn’t paid duty.”
Now Crossan is one of those Christians who has added to the original Ten Commandments a Mohammedan prohibition of alcohol in any form. Godfrey, I have no doubt, would break any of the commandments which he recognized, if he saw his way to making a small profit on the sin. But I did not think that even a 25 per cent. dividend would tempt Crossan to disregard his self-imposed prohibition of alcohol.
“That’s all nonsense,” I said. “In the first place the Finola didn’t come in here to land a cargo of smuggled goods.”
“Then what did she come for?”