not come
in packing-cases. It is tremendously heavy stuff.

"Those cases were landed from the _Finola_," said Godfrey. "She
wouldn't come here with a cargo of artificial manure."

"If you've brought me all the way up here to accuse Conroy of
smuggling," I said, "you've wasted your own time and mine."

"I don't accuse Conroy of smuggling," said Godfrey. "In fact, I'm
going to write to him to-night to tell him what's going on."

"Very well," I said. "You can if you like, but don't mix my name up
with it."

We walked back together as far as the village. Godfrey was silent
again. I could see that he still had something on his mind, probably
something which he wanted me to do. He kept on clearing his throat and
pulling himself together as if he were going to say something of
importance. I was uncomfortable, for I felt sure that he intended to
attack me again about Marion's correspondence with Bob Power. I have
never, since she was quite a little girl, interfered with Marion's
freedom of action. I had not the smallest intention of making myself
ridiculous by claiming any kind of authority over her, especially in a
matter so purely personal as the young man she chose to favour.
Besides, I like Bob Power. At worst there was nothing against him
except his smuggling, and smuggling is much less objectionable than
the things that Godfrey does. I should rather, if it came to that,
have a son-in-law who went to prison occasionally for importing
spirits without consulting the government than one who perpetually
nagged at me and worried me. But I did not want to provoke further
arguments by explaining my feelings to Godfrey. I was therefore rather
relieved when he finally succeeded in blurting out what was in his
mind.

"I hope, Excellency," he said, "that you will take the first chance
you get of speaking to Crossan."

In sudden gratitude for escaping a wrangle about Marion and Bob Power
I promised hurriedly that I would speak to Crossan. I was sorry
afterwards that I did promise. Still, I very much wished to know what
was in the packing-cases. I did not really believe it was artificial
manure. I did not believe either that it was smuggled brandy.

My chance came two days later. I met Crossan in the street. He was
standing beside his motor car, a handsome-looking vehicle. He
evidently intended to go for a drive. I felt at once that I could not
ask him a direct question about the packing-cases. I determined to get
at them ob