Occasionally Sergeant Colgan spoke a word of kindly advice to anyone who looked as if he had drunk more than two bottles of porter.

"It would be as well for you, Patsy," he would say, "to be getting along home."

Or, "I'm thinking, Timothy John, that you'd be better this minute if you were at home."

There are no stronger believers in the value of the domestic hearth than the police. They always want everyone to go home.

No one, least of all the individuals who received the advice personally, was inclined to leave the square. The meeting might be over, but there was still hope that young Kerrigan would muster the town band again and play "The Bonnie, Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond" once or twice more. He did not do so, but the waiting people were rewarded for their patience by two events of some interest. Mr. Gregg came out of the barrack and crossed the square rapidly. He caught Dr. O'Grady and Major Kent just as they were turning to follow Mr. Billing into the hotel. Mr. Gregg was in uniform, and the determined way in which he took Dr. O'Grady by the arm would have made most people uncomfortable. It is not pleasant, even if your conscience is quite clear, to be grabbed suddenly by a police officer in the middle of the street. But Dr. O'Grady did not seem to mind. He went, though not very willingly, with Mr. Gregg into the police barrack. Major Kent followed them. Several men, perhaps a dozen, drifted across the square towards the barrack door. They had some hope of finding out what Mr. Gregg wanted with the doctor. They were not, however, given the opportunity of peering through the barrack windows.

Sergeant Colgan saw them in good time and dispersed them at once.

"Get along home now out of that," he said, "every one of yez."

Then another event of great interest occurred. Mr. Billing backed his large motor-car along the lane which led from Doyle's back yard, and emerged into the square. There the car growled angrily while he shifted the levers and twisted the steering wheel. The people scattered this way and that while the machine, darting backwards and forwards, was gradually turned round. A splendid burst of cheering pursued him when he finally sped down the street and disappeared. It was understood by those who heard his speech that he had gone off at more than twenty miles an hour to ransack the great European libraries for information about General John Regan. Everyone felt that the splendid eagerness of his departure reflected a glory on Ballymoy.

Mr. Gregg led Dr. O'Grady and Major Kent into his office. He shut the door, offered his two guests chairs, and then lit a cigarette.

"It's rather an awkward business," he said, "and perhaps I oughtn't to say anything about it."

"If it hasn't anything to do with me personally," said the Major, "I think I'll leave you and the doctor to settle it together. I want to get home as soon as I can."

"Well, it does affect you more or less," said Mr. Gregg. "But of course you'll regard anything I say to you now as strictly confidential."

"Out with it, Gregg," said Dr. O'Grady. "I know by the look in your eye that you can't possibly keep it to yourself, whatever it is. You're simply bursting to tell it, whatever it is, whether we promise to keep it secret or not."

"All the same," said Gregg, "it wouldn't suit my book to have it generally known that I told you. It wouldn't suit at all. That fellow Ford is a vindictive sort of beast."

"Oh, it's Ford, is it?" said Dr. O'Grady. "I was afraid he might turn nasty. What an a.s.s he is! Why can't he see that we're giving him the chance of his life?"

"He's doing his best to put a spoke in your wheel, O'Grady."

"Has he got anything against the statue?"

"Not exactly the statue."

"Or found out anything discreditable about the General?"

The doctor asked this question a little anxiously.

"No," said Gregg, "I don't think he knows a thing about the General. He asked me this morning who he was."

"Look here, O'Grady," said the Major. "You'd far better drop this whole business. What's the good of going on with it? A joke's a joke all right, but there's no use pushing things too far."

"What Ford's trying to do," said Gregg, "is to crab the Lord-Lieutenant part of the business. I thought I'd better tell you, so that you'd know exactly how things stand."

"You've not told me much, so far," said Dr. O'Grady. "What's Ford's particular line?"

"I expect he has more than one card up his sleeve," said Gregg, "but what he said to me this morning was that you couldn't possibly have the Lord-Lieutenant down here for any kind of public function unless??"

"Can't I?" said Dr. O'Grady. "As it just happens I have a letter in my pocket this minute??. It came by the midday post, just before the meeting, and I haven't shown it to anyone yet. He's coming this day fortnight, and will unveil the statue with the greatest pleasure."

"That settles it," said the Major, "you'll have to drop it now, whether you want to or not. You can't possibly have a statue ready by this day fortnight."

"Ford's point," said Gregg?"and there's something in it, you know?is that the Lord-Lieutenant can't attend a public function unless 'G.o.d Save the King' is played when he arrives. He simply must have that tune on account of his position. That's what Ford says, anyhow. And I'm inclined to think he's right. It always is played, I know."

"Well," said Dr. O'Grady, "we'll play it."

"You can't," said the Major. "If you attempt to get the town band to play 'G.o.d Save the King'??"

"I don't think you can really," said Gregg. "I know you have a lot of influence with these fellows, but that blackguard Gallagher would get their backs up and??"

"There'll be a riot," said the Major.

"There'll be no riot whatever," said Dr. O'Grady, "if the thing's managed properly."

"It's your affair, of course," said Gregg, "but I don't particularly want to have you going about under police protection, and that's what you'll be doing if Thady Gallagher catches you corrupting the nationalist principles of the people of Ballymoy by teaching the town band to play 'G.o.d Save the King.'"

This threat seemed to produce a certain effect on Dr. O'Grady. He sat silent for nearly a minute. Then he asked Gregg for a cigarette, lit it, and smoked thoughtfully.

"I say, Gregg," he said at last. "How many people are there in Ballymoy, do you think, who would recognise 'G.o.d Save the King' if it was played suddenly when they weren't expecting it?"

"Oh, lots," said Gregg, "lots."

"You would, I suppose," said Dr. O'Grady, "and the Major would. Ford would, I suppose. Father McCormack might. What about your police?"

"The sergeant might think it was 'Auld Lang Syne,'" said Gregg, "he has no ear whatever. But Moriarty would know it the minute he heard it."

"Moriarty might be made to keep his mouth shut," said Dr. O'Grady. "You could threaten him."

"Your idea," said Gregg, "is to spring it on the town band under some other name and have it played as if??"

"I'd tell them that it was one of Moore's Melodies."

"No good," said Gregg. "Far too many people know it. Even if you shut up Moriarty in a cell between this and then??"

"The thing for you to do, O'Grady," said the Major bitterly, "is to get a version of 'G.o.d Save the King 'with variations. I once heard 'Home, Sweet Home,' done that way and it was all I could do to make out what tune it was meant to be."

"That's probably meant to be sarcastic," said Dr. O'Grady, "but it's not at all a bad idea. I've heard 'Home Sweet Home' done that way and I know exactly how it goes. 'Tum?tum??tiddle?adle?diddle?tum?tum?twee? Mid pleasures and palaces?Tiddle?tiddle?tum?tiddle?rat?a ti?tee? too?though we may roam.' Just as you think that you're going to recognise the tune it kind of fades away and you're left with the impression that small dogs are chasing each other up and down the piano. I don't see why something of the same kind mightn't be done with 'G.o.d Save the King,'

The Lord-Lieutenant would be quite satisfied, because he'd think we were always just going to begin and probably come to the conclusion in the end it was the fault of the band that the tune never quite came off. On the other hand Gallagher, whatever suspicions he might have, couldn't possibly swear that we were playing anything objectionable. I wonder if there's a version of 'G.o.d Save the King' with variations to be got anywhere?"

"Never heard of one," said Gregg.

"I'll write to-night," said Dr. O'Grady. "If there isn't such a thing I might work one up myself. It can't be very difficult."

"That will be just what's wanted," said the Major, "to ensure the success of the day. A musical composition of yours, O'Grady, played by our own town band, will be quite likely to distract the Lord-Lieutenant's attention from the fact that here's no statue here for him to unveil."

"You won't mind my using your piano, Major," said Dr. O'Grady. "I haven't got one of my own, and I'll have to strum it out for a bit before I get it into shape for the band."

"It'll be a score off Ford," said Gregg, "if you succeed. But I don't expect you will."