Barney, seeing the pencil and tablets in hand, and besides not being much, or at all, acquainted with magisterial investigations, felt rather blank, and somewhat puzzled at this query.

He accordingly resorted to the usage of the country, and commenced scratching a rather round bullet head.

“My name, your honor,” he replied; “my name, couldn’t you pass that by, sir?”

“No,” said Greatrakes, “I cannot pass it by.  In this business it is essential that I should know it.”

“Ay,” replied Barney, “but maybe you have some treacherous design in it, and that you are goin’ to take the part of the wealthy scoundrel against the poor man; and even if you did, you wouldn’t be the first magistrate who did it.”

Greatrakes looked keenly at him.  The observation he expressed was precisely in accordance with the liberality of his own feelings.

“Don’t be alarmed,” he added; “if you knew my character, which it is evident you do not, you would know that I never take the part of the rich man against the poor man, unless when there is justice on the part of the wealthy man, and crime, unjustifiable and cruel crime, on the part of the poor man, which, I am sorry to say, is not an unfrequent case.  Now, I must insist, as a magistrate, that you give me your name.”

“Well, then,” replied the other, “I’m one Barney Casey, sir, who lives in Rathfillan House, as a servant to Mr. Lindsay, step-father to that murtherin’ blackguard.”

Greatrakes then examined him closely, and made him promise to come to Rathfillan that night, in order that he might accompany him to the hut of old Sol Donnel, the herbalist.

“I am resolved,” said he, “to investigate this matter, and in my capacity of a magistrate to bring the guilty to justice.”

“Faith, sir,” replied Barney, “and I’m not the boy who is going to stand in your way in such a business as that.  You know that it was I that put you up to it, and any assistance I can give you in it you may reckon on.  Although not a magistrate, as you are, maybe I’m just as fond of justice as yourself.  Of coorse I’ll attend you to-night, and show you the devil’s nest in which Sol Donnel and his blessed babe of a niece, by name Caterine Collins, live.”

Greatrakes took down the name of Caterine Collins, and after having arranged the hour at which Barney was to conduct him to Sol Donnel’s hut, they separated.

About eleven o’clock that night Barney and Greatrakes reached the miserable-looking residence in which this old viper lived.

“Now,” said Greatrakes, addressing the herbalist, “my business with you is this:  I have a bitter enemy who wants to establish a claim upon my property, and I wish to put him out of my way.  Do you understand me?  I am a wealthy man, and can reward you well.”

“I never talk of these things in the presence of a third party,” replied the herbalist, looking significantly at Barney, whom he well knew.