He pondered this, and then said something that surprised me. It showed which way his thoughts were running.
“The heart of a giant must beat under an agent’s coat. He goes alone about his work. He goes unpraised about his work. He has no armed men at his back. To-day, alone. To-morrow, alone. Every man an oyster he must open. Ha, ha! he cries, and joins once again in the laugh against what he loves. He waits, he waits. He watches, he watches. That is the order of his day. Let him open his eyes a little wider, let him prick his ears a little sharper; some hurt may be coming to the country he serves. He grows tired in the end.
“But he must not grow tired. Here and here and here he steps lightly, surely, certainly. And how does he open each golden gate? His key? He concentrates on what he takes in hand to the exclusion of everything else.”
We had fallen into line and were stalking over the lawn. 47 began again after a few steps.
“Our mutual acquaintance has a story that on a Continental stunt it was necessary he should become a waiter, therefore he chose a waiter in his hotel, and sat down for six weeks and watched him. He looked at no other waiter. He looked at nothing else. He learned how a waiter waited for a tip, how he coughed on the plates, how he picked his teeth with the forks. That mutual acquaintance of ours knew the way to go about things.”
“Are you people any nearer clearing things up?” I asked. “By gad, you all seem to work hard enough for your living. The Auxiliaries and the Black-and-Tans are going day and night.” He made no answer, and I added, “I may as well tell you the Sinn Feiners can go on for ever at the present rate of things. You might have netted them all in the beginning; there are too many of them now. You’ve pricked and pricked and pricked them until you’ve pricked the whole nation alive. Why do you people delude yourselves by making statements every few weeks that the Irish situation is well in hand? It’s pathetic to listen to you, and the awakening must come sooner or later.”
“It’s beginning already in a few places,” 47 answered. “You’ll find there’s a change of policy before long. The police chase will turn into something that can be dignified by the name of war, or there will be an offer made and negotiations will begin. You’ll find it will be negotiations. Whether war or negotiations the issue will be the same. Ireland will obtain a full measure of self-government.” He stalked on a step or two and said, “For the old order is changing and the British Empire, whether it likes it or not, is going to change from a number of nations dominated by a central power to equal nations linked by a common history.”
“It’s time you got a move on,” I retorted. “India and Egypt are starting to go along the same road as Ireland. There are the same symptoms to recognise the disease by. Kidnappings, assassinations, and plenty of intimidation on both sides. Why not give India and Egypt what they are going to get gracefully instead of having them threaten it out of you?”
47 shrugged his shoulders and suffered from one of his bursts of philosophy. “Perhaps it is written the history of man is to be one of confusion and pain from beginning to end. So does the spirit master matter and gather its experience.”
After that we wandered round among the flowers, which were a new lot and as good as usual; then we took our separate ways home.