“So the master’s at Malin, after the smugglers?” said he.
“Troth, yes,” said I; “but they’re hard boys to catch.”
“I wouldn’t thank you for fools that ran into your arms,” said he.
“’Deed you won’t find many such in these parts.”
“What’s that building on the far point there?” he asked presently, pointing to Kilgorman.
“That’s Kilgorman House, colonel.”
“Oh! There’s some story about that house surely. Somebody was murdered or robbed—what was it?”
“His honour’s brother, Terence Gorman, owned it. And he was shot on the hill fifteen years ago; and nobody will go near the place since.”
“Oh, I remember now,” said he. “And there was something about a lady and child that died too. I heard about it from a cracked body that was servant to my sister-in-law in Paris.”
“Biddy McQuilkin,” said I. “Sure she’s in France still!”