“Well, what’s the programme?” asked Bernard.
Before any answer came, their attention was attracted by the figure of a stranger, sauntering about among the ancient stones and black wooden crosses scattered over the weed-grown expanse of the churchyard. He was engaged in deciphering the names on the least weather-beaten of these crosses, but only in a cursory way and with long intermittent glances over the prospect of ivy-grown ruins and gray walls, turrets and gables beyond. As they watched him, he seemed suddenly to become aware of their presence. Forthwith he turned and strolled toward them.
As he advanced, they saw that he was a tall and slender man, whose close-cut hair and short mustache and chin tuft produced an effect of extreme whiteness against a notably tanned and sun-burnt skin. Though evidently well along in years, he walked erect and with an elastic and springing step. He wore black clothes of foreign, albeit genteel aspect. The major noted on the lapel of his coat a tell-tale gleam of red ribbon—and even before that had guessed him to be a Frenchman and a soldier. He leaped swiftly to the further assumption that this was The O’Mahony, and then hesitated, as Jerry showed no sign of recognition.
The stranger halted before them with a little nod and a courteous upward wave of his forefinger.
“A fine day, gentlemen,” he remarked, with politeness.
Major Snaffle had stepped in front of his companions.
“Permit me to introduce myself,” he said, with a sudden resolution, “I am the stipendiary magistrate of the district. Would you kindly tell me if you are informed as to the present whereabouts of Mr. Cormac O’Daly, of this place?”
The other showed no trace of surprise on his browned face.
“Mr. O’Daly and his step-daughter,” he replied, affably enough, “are just now doing me the honor of being my guests, aboard my vessel in the harbor.”
Then a twinkle brightened his gray eyes as he turned their glance upon Jerry’s red, moon-like face. He permitted himself the briefest of dry chuckles.