ok his seat on one of the windows of Brannigan's shop. Four out of
the six habitues of this meeting place were already seated. Peter Walsh
made the fifth. The sixth man had not yet arrived.

At half past ten Timothy Sweeny left his shop and walked down to the
quay. Timothy Sweeny, though not the richest, was the most important man
in Rosnacree. His public house was in a back street and the amount
of business which he did was insignificant compared to that done by
Brannigan. But he was a politician of great influence and had been
made a Justice of the Peace by a government anxious to popularise the
administration of the law in Ireland. The law itself, as was recognised
on all sides, could not possibly be made to command the respect of any
one; but it was hoped that it might excite less active hostility if it
were modified to suit the public convenience by men like Sweeny who had
some personal experience of the unpleasantness of the penalties which it
ordained.

It was seldom that Timothy Sweeny left his shop. He was a man of
corpulent figure and flabby muscles. He disliked the smell of fresh air
and walking was a trouble to him. The five loafers on Brannigan's window
sills looked at him with some amazement when he approached them.

"Is Peter Walsh here?" said Sweeny.

"I am here," said Peter Walsh. "Where else would I be?"

"I'd be glad," said Sweeny, "if you'd step up to my house with me
for two minutes the way I could speak to you without the whole town
listening to what we're saying."

Peter Walsh rose from his seat with quiet dignity and followed Sweeny up
the street.

"You'll take a sup of porter," said Sweeny, when they reached the bar of
the public house.

Peter finished the half pint which was offered to him at a draught.

"They tell me," said Sweeny, "that the police sergeant was up at the
big house again this morning. I don't know if it's true but it's what
they're after telling me."

"It is true," said Peter. "I'll say that much for whoever it was that
told you. It's true enough. The sergeant was off last night after dark.
He thinks he's damned smart that sergeant, and it was after dark he went
the way nobody would see him; but he was seen, for Patsy the smith was
on the side of the road, mortal sick after the way that Joseph Antony
Kinsella made him turn to making a rudder iron and him as drunk at the
time as any man ever you seen. It was him told me about the sergeant and
where he went last night