CHAPTER VI.
Meldon opened the door of Mr. Doyle's private sitting-room withoutknocking and walked in. The hotel keeper and Dr. O'Donoghue were sittingat opposite ends of the table, with a bottle of whisky and a jug of waterbetween them. Doyle, who was placed with his back to the door, spokewithout looking round.
"Didn't I tell you, Sabina Gallagher," he said, "that if you came intothis room, interrupting me and the doctor, I'd cut the two ears off you,and send you back to your mother with them in a box in the well of thecar? Did I tell you that or did I not? And now nothing will do you butto fling open the door as if the Lord-Lieutenant and the rest of themplayboys beyond in Dublin Castle was--"
The expression of Dr. O'Donoghue's face made Mr. Doyle pause. He turnedand saw Meldon standing on the threshold.
"Be damn!" he said, "if it isn't Mr. Meldon. The Major was telling melast week he was expecting you. You're looking well, so you are.England agrees with you."
"I can't say as much for you," said Meldon. "You're getting fat. Youought to take more exercise. Why don't you start a golf links? It woulddo you all the good in the world, and be an attraction to the hotelbesides."
"If I'm putting on flesh," said Doyle, "it's a queer thing, for thelife's fair tormented out of me."
"Simpkins, I suppose," said Meldon.
"The same," said Doyle. "The like of that man for making trouble in aplace I never seen; no, nor nobody else."
"I hear," said Meldon, "that the doctor's thinking of poisoning him."
"Whoever told you that told you a lie," said Dr. O'Donoghue; "not butwhat--"
"Myself and the doctor," said Doyle, "was making up plans when you comein on us. We was thinking of what you might call an ambuscade, worked soas we'd get the better of him without his being able to take the law ofus; and he's mighty fond of the law, that same gentleman--too fond."
"If I can be of any help to you," said Meldon, "you can count on me. Ihave a good deal of natural talent for ambuscades. Trot out the detailsof your scheme, and I'll be able to tell you in two words whether it'sworkable or not."
"They do say," said Doyle, "that he has the fishing let to an Englishgentleman; and he's mighty particular about preserving it. Now thedoctor here has the name of being a good fisherman."
"If he goes poaching," said Meldon, "he'll get the worst of it. TheMajor appears to have tried that on, and he simply made things unpleasantfor himself, without annoying Simpkins in the least."
"It's not poaching we're thinking of," said Doyle; "but--you know I'm amagistrate these times, on account of being the Chairman of the UrbanCouncil."
"I know that; but if you're thinking of dragging up Simpkins before thePetty Sessions on a bogus charge, you may as well put the idea out ofyour head at once. It won't work. You'll have the Major on the Benchwith you, and though he doesn't like the man, I don't think he'd commithim to prison for cruelty to children, or breaking windows while underthe influence of drink, or anything of that sort, unless he'd really doneit."
"I wouldn't do the like," said Doyle, "and no more would the doctor."
"Our plan," said the doctor, "is to get a salmon, a large salmon."
"Poach it?" said Meldon.
"No; buy it. Doyle would buy it. Then he'd give it to me in thepresence of several witnesses--"
"Sabina would do for one," said Meldon, "She's a most intelligent girl,and I'm sure she'd swear anything afterwards that she was wanted to."
"She wouldn't have to swear anything but the truth," said Doyle.
"Of course not," said Meldon. "But lots of people won't do even that."
"I'd go up the river," said Dr. O'Donoghue, "and I'd take my rod andlanding-net and the salmon with me, and I'd sit down on the bank andwait."
"Simpkins," said Doyle, "does be walking up along the river everyevening, so the doctor wouldn't be there for very long before he'd becaught."
"I see," said Meldon. "The idea would be for Simpkins to prosecute thedoctor for poaching that salmon, and then to trot out Sabina in court toprove--"
"Sabina and the rest of the witnesses," said Doyle. "We'd have plenty."
"It's not a bad ambuscade at all," said Meldon.
"The Major," said Doyle, "would talk straight to him off the Bench, theway he'd feel small; and I'd have a word or two myself to say to himafter the Major was done. And the police would be standing round smilinglike--"
"I can't imagine anything more unpleasant," said Meldon, "than beinggrinned at by a policeman. All the same, I think it will be better notto catch him in that ambuscade."
"And why not?" said Doyle.
"The fact is," said Meldon, "I'm thinking of dealing with the man myself,and I'd rather he was left entirely in my hands for the present."
"Be damn!" said Doyle, "but I wouldn't ask better than just for yourselfto take in hand and hunt him out of the place altogether."
"It's you could do it," said Dr. O'Donoghue.
"It is," said Doyle. "Divil the better man at devising of ambuscadesever I come across, and I've known some in my day that you might callgladiators."
"I'm not precisely a professional gladiator," said Meldon modestly; "butI've studied strategy a little in my time, and I rather think I'll getthe better of Mr. Simpkins. I suppose now you would not object toattending his funeral?"
"I would not," said Doyle, "if so be there was no risk of my being hangedfor any share I might have in bringing the same about."
"There's not the least chance of that," said Meldon. "You won't have todo anything except refrain from making a public fool of the man with anykind of tricks about salmon for the next fortnight."
"What is it you're thinking of doing?" asked Doyle.
"The doctor," said Meldon, "will of course have to sign the deathcertificate."
"I'll do that," said Dr. O'Donoghue, "as soon as ever you satisfy me thatthe man's dead. If there isn't a hole drilled in his skull with abullet, I'll say it's heart failure that finished him. After the way hebehaved to me, I can't be expected to make a _post mortem_ of him. Idaresay the Major was telling you what he did."
"I hear he wanted you to put some ridiculous sanitary act in forceagainst poor Doyle. That, of course, was quite intolerable."
"There was worse besides that," said Dr. O'Donoghue gloomily.
"He had it put out against the doctor," said Doyle, "that old BiddyFinnegan died for the want of proper medical attendance, and her a womanof near ninety, that was bound to die any way, and would have diedsooner, most likely, if the doctor hadn't let her alone the way he did."
"That old woman," said the doctor, "wasn't neglected. She had a bottleby her, when she died, that I sent out to her less than a week before,and she hadn't the half of it drunk. What's more, I wouldn't have mindeda bit if Simpkins had had any right to be interfering; but he hadn't.Thady Flanagan--that's married to old Biddy's grand-daughter--wascontented enough with the way she died, and asked me civilly would I haveany objection to his taking home the half-bottle of medicine for the useof one of his own children. What I say is, that if the woman's ownrelations had no complaint to make, what business had Simpkins to beputting in his oar? What aggravated me was that kind of gratuitous andunnecessary interfering."
"I quite see your point," said Meldon. "It's--"
"You've only heard the half of it," said Doyle. "The doctor's backwardin telling you, and small blame to him; but Simpkins wrote off to theLocal Government Board, preferring a lot of charges against the doctor,and against myself as Chairman of the Board of Guardians--things you'dwonder any man would have the face to say."
"What happened?" said Meldon.
"We've quietened them down for the present," said Doyle, "but there was alot of talk of a sworn enquiry. And what did Simpkins do it for if itwasn't just the delight he takes in destroying the peace of the town?You know very well, Mr. Meldon, the way we all pulled together here,Catholics and Protestants, and never had any bad feeling. And where'sthe good of bringing in t
he Local Government Board to be stirring upstrife among us? But that's not all he did, nor the half or it. Hewrote a letter last October to the Inspector-General of the Police,complaining of the sergeant beyond, that he wasn't doing his duty."
"I wouldn't expect you to be taking the part of the police," said Meldon."You always went in for being a strong Nationalist."
"And so I am," said Doyle. "And so's the doctor. In a general way thereisn't two men in Ireland that hates the police worse than the doctor andmyself; but the sergeant was a decent, poor man, with a long familydependent on him, and I never heard tell of his doing any harm to anyone."
"Perhaps," said Meldon, "that was the reason Mr. Simpkins complained ofhim. After all, Doyle, we must be reasonable. What are the police for,if it isn't to do harm to people--objectionable people? A policeman whonever injures anybody isn't worth his keep. If what you say about thesergeant is true, or anything like true, Simpkins was evidently perfectlyjustified in acting as he did."
"You won't say that," said Doyle, "when you hear the way it happened.There's two apple trees in the garden at the back of the house Simpkinslives in."
"I remember them," said Meldon; "but there never were any apples on themin my time."
"There were apples on them last year," said Doyle, "however they camethere. Simpkins did be saying it was on account of the way he pruned thetrees; but he'd be talking a long time before I'd believe the like ofthat. Any way, the apples were there, and a good many of them. I didn'tsee them myself, but they tell me there might have been up to ten stonealtogether. Well, one night the half of them was gone. The gossuresfrom about the town had them ate."
"Of course they had," said Meldon. "What would you expect?"
"What nobody would expect," said Doyle, "was the temper Simpkins was inin the morning. He was up and down, in and out of the police barrack,cursing all sorts. Well, the sergeant came out and looked at the trees,and he asked Simpkins did he have the apples counted before they weretook, and would he be prepared to swear to them if so be that the policefound them for him. You'd think that would have pacified him, but itdidn't. So the sergeant, who wanted to do the best he could for thepeace of the town, went down to the house again after he had his dinnerate, and two constables along with him, and asked the girl that does bewith Mr. Simpkins--"
"Sabina's red-haired cousin," said Meldon.
"Asked her," said Doyle, "was there ever a boy about the place at night;which of course there wasn't, her being a respectable girl that wasn'tkeeping company with any boy, unless it might be walking out now and thenof a Sunday with Jamesy Carroll. Believe you me, it took the sergeantall he knew to quieten down her mother that was over at the barracksasking for the name of the villain that was taking away her daughter'scharacter. That night the rest of the apples was took, and Simpkins wasfit to be put in the asylum in the morning. He said the sergeant was anincompetent jackass.--Wasn't them the words he used, doctor?"
"And others along with them," said Dr. O'Donoghue.
"The sergeant, being a man who'd always kept himself to himself anddidn't mix with bad company, wasn't going near the house while the likeof that language was going on. But he sent down the whole of the fourconstables to look at the apple trees; which they did. But Simpkins gotworse instead of better. He wrote off a note to the District Inspectorcomplaining of the sergeant. But the D.I. had more sense than to takeany notice, knowing well that if there's an apple in the place thegossures will get it, and small blame to them."
"Sensible man," said Meldon.
"When Simpkins got no satisfaction out of him," said Doyle, "he wrote tothe County Inspector. I can tell you he took mighty little by that. Itwas a week after, or maybe more, when he got an answer back. It wasSabina Gallagher told me what was in it, having got it out of her cousin,that's servant to Simpkins and seen the letter, so I know what I'mtelling you is the truth. The County Inspector said that if there wasboycotting in the place, or cattle driving, or any kind of lawlessness,he'd be quick enough to have extra police drafted in and a baton chargeup and down upon the streets of the town; but that he wasn't going toupset the policy of the Government, and maybe have questions asked abouthim in Parliament, for the sake of a few shillings' worth of apples.You'd think that would have been enough for Simpkins, but it wasn't. Hewrote another letter, up to Dublin Castle, to the Inspector-General ofPolice, no less, and the end of it, was that the sergeant was moved outof this."
"Poor fellow," said Meldon. "Did he mind much?"
"He did not then, for they sent him to a better station. It was onlylast week they moved him, there being a lot of enquiries to be gonethrough that occupied them the whole of the winter and the spring. Thedoctor and myself is thinking of getting up a subscription to present himwith an illuminated address on account of the way he conducted himself tothe satisfaction of the inhabitants of this town while he was in it, andas a protest against the underhand way that Simpkins went about trying toinjure him and take the bread out of the mouth of his children."
"I'll see that the Major subscribes to that," said Meldon.
"Tell Mr. Meldon," said Doyle, "what it was you were saying ought to beon the address."
"It isn't worth speaking about," said the doctor modestly.
"You'd better tell me," said Meldon. "If I'm to be responsible forrevenging the wrongs of the community on Simpkins, I ought to be well upin every detail of what's going on."
"It was nothing but just an idea that came across my mind," said thedoctor.
"It may be only that," said Meldon, "but it may be more. The properperson to judge of its importance is me. You must have frequentlyobserved, doctor, that the man to whom an idea occurs is not by any meansthe best judge of its value. Sometimes he thinks too much of it. TakeGalileo, for instance. He hit upon the fact that the earth goes roundthe sun, and it struck him as immensely important. He gassed on about ituntil everybody got so tired of the subject that the authorities had toput him in prison and keep him there until he said it wasn't true, andthat he'd stop writing books to say it was. As a matter of fact it wastrue, but it didn't matter. We'd all be doing exactly the same things weare doing to-day if he had never made his beastly telescope. On theother hand, men who get a hold of really important ideas often think verylittle of them. Look, for example, at the case of the man who firstthought of collecting a lot of people together and making them pass aunanimous resolution. He didn't even take the trouble to patent theprocess, and now there's no record left of when and where he hit upon hisidea. And yet, where would we all be without unanimous resolutions?Doyle will tell you that government couldn't be carried on andcivilisation would practically become extinct. It may be the same withthis idea of yours, and I've no doubt that I'll be able to judge if youtell me what it is."
"He was thinking," said Doyle, "of having a picture of an apple tree inthe top left-hand corner of the address with apples on it, and the sametree in the top right-hand corner with no apples. He says it would beagreeable to the sergeant."
"I don't think much of that," said Meldon. "It strikes me as a pooridea, for three reasons. In the first place, you'll not be able to getan artist who can draw the apple trees so that any ordinary man couldrecognise them. I know what I'm talking about, for apple treesnecessarily come a good deal into ecclesiastical art, the kind of art I'mmost familiar with. I give you my word that the most of them might aswell be elms, and I've seen lots that look like Florence Court yews. Asa general rule, you wouldn't have a ghost of a notion what they weremeant for if it wasn't for Eve and the serpent. In the next place, Idon't think the sergeant would care for it. The whole business must bepainful to him, and he won't care to be obliged every day of his life tobe staring at something that would remind him of Simpkins. In the thirdplace, it would almost certainly irritate Simpkins when he heard of it."
"It's that," said Doyle, "that we were hoping it might do."
"Well, then, you may put the idea out of your heads. I can't have
Simpkins irritated at present. It's of the utmost possible importancethat he should be lulled into a sense of security. I can't deal with himif his suspicions are aroused in the slightest. I've been with himmyself this morning, lulling him."
"Were you, then?" said Doyle.
"I was, and I think I may say that for the immediate present he's lulled."
"And how did you like him?" said Doyle.
"My feelings don't matter," said Meldon. "As a matter of fact, judgingfrom a single interview, I should say he was a pleasant enough,straightforward sort of man who is trying to do what is right."
"If he tried less," said Doyle, "he'd get on better."
"Quite so. And you mustn't think that I'm going to allow my personalfeelings to interfere with my action in the matter. The Major is myfriend, and I have a great regard for the poor old rector, in spite ofhis suffering from bronchitis. Also I like the people of Ballymoy, andI'm ready to help them in any way I can. So, whatever opinion I haveformed of Simpkins, I'm going to deal with him precisely as if he were mypersonal enemy."
"What do you mean to do to him?" said the doctor. "You were speakingthis minute of a _post mortem_."
"It won't come to that," said Meldon, "unless you boggle over the deathcertificate. But the precise details of my scheme I must keep to myselffor the present, merely saying that I shall be severe with him. Icouldn't, in fact, be severer if I caught him throwing stones at myinfant daughter."
"Is that the one the Major stood for?" said Doyle. "He was talking to meabout her. A fine child she is by all accounts."
"She was a fine child," said Meldon, "until she got the whooping-cough.Since then she's been wakeful at night.--By the way, doctor, what do youthink is the proper way to feed a child that has the whooping-cough? Atthe present time she's living chiefly on a kind of yellow drink made upout of a powdery stuff out of a tin which tastes like biscuits when it'sdry. Would you say now that was a good food for her?"
"You can rear a child," said the doctor, "whether it has thewhooping-cough or not, on pretty near anything, so long as you give itenough of whatever it is you do give it."
"I'm glad to bear you say that," said Meldon; "for my wife has a notionthat food ought to be weighed out by ounces, so that the child wouldn'tget too much at a time."
"Did she get that out of a book?"
"She did--a little book with a pink cover on it. Do you know it?"
"I do not; but if I were you I'd burn it."
"I did," said Meldon. "I burned it before it was a week in the house.If I hadn't been a good-tempered man, I'd have burned the baby along withit. She spent the whole of four nights crying, and that was before shegot the whooping-cough, so there was no excuse for her."
"It was hunger ailed her then," said the doctor.
"It was," said Meldon. "I found that out afterwards, for she stoppedcrying as soon as ever she got enough to eat. If I'd allowed her to bebrought up on the principles laid down in that book her temper would havebeen ruined for life, and she'd have been a nuisance to every one shecame across."
"I wouldn't wonder," said Doyle, "but it might be according to that bookthat Simpkins was reared. It would be hard to account for the kind ofman he is any other way."
"It might be that," said the doctor; "but I'd say myself it's more likelyto be the want of beating when he was young that's the matter with him."
"Will you stay and have a bit of dinner now you're here, Mr. Meldon?"said Doyle. "I wouldn't like your temper would be destroyed for the wantof what I'd be glad to give you."
Meldon looked at his watch.
"Thank you," he said, "I will. It's one o'clock, and Sabina ought tohave the bacon ready by now if she started cooking it the time I toldher."