“Well,” said Bat, “an’ how did that ruin him?”

“Why, by the present law,” returned Phats, “it’s the townland that must pay the fine.  Poor Adam wasn’t to say very rich; he had to pay the fine, however, and now he’s a beggar—­root an’ branch, chick an’ child out of it.  Do you undherstand that, Misther Hycy?”

“No,” replied Hycy, “you’re mistaken; I have recourse to the still, because I want cash.  Honest Jemmy the gentleman has taken the sthad an’ won’t fork out any longer, so that I must either run a cast or two every now an’ then, or turn clodhopper like himself.  So much I say for your information, Mr. Phats.  In the meantime let us see what’s to be done.  Here, Ned, is a five-pound note to buy barley; keep a strict account of this; for I do assure you that I am not a person to be played on.  There’s another thirty-shilling note—­or stay, I’ll make it two pounds—­to enable you to box up the still-house and remove the vessels and things from Glendearg.  Have you all ready, Philip?” he said, addressing himself to Hogan.

“All,” replied Philip; “sich a Still, Head, and Worm, you’d not find in Europe—­ready to be set to work at a minute’s notice.”

“When,” said Hycy, rising, “will it be necessary that I should see you again?”

“We’ll let you know,” replied Phats, “when we want you.  Kate here can drop in, as if by accident, an’ give the hand word.”

“Well, then, good-night—­stay, give me a glass of whiskey before I go; and, before I do go, listen.  You know the confidence I place in every one of you on this occasion?”

“We do,” replied Philip; “no doubt of it.”

“Listen, I say.  I swear by all that a man can swear by, that if a soul of you ever breathes—­I hope, by the way, that these young savages are all asleep—­”

“As sound as a top,” said Bat, “everyone o’ them.”

“Well, if a single one of you ever breathes my name or mentions me to a human being as in any way connected, directly or indirectly, with the business in which we are engaged, I’ll make the country too hot to hold you—­and you need no ghost to tell you how easily I could dispose of you if it went to that.”

Kate, when he had repeated these words, gave him a peculiar glance, which was accompanied by a short abrupt laugh that seemed to have something derisive in it.

“Is there anything to be laughed at in what I am saying, most amiable Mrs. Hogan?” he asked.

Kate gave either a feigned or a real start as he spoke.

“Laughed at!” she exclaimed, as if surprised; “throth I wasn’t thinkin of you at all, Mr. Hycy.  What wor you sayin’?”

“That if my name ever happens to be mentioned in connection with this business, I’ll send the whole kit of you—­hammers, budgets, and sothering-irons—­to hell or Connaught; so think of this now, and goodnight.”

“There goes as d——­d vagabond,” said Ned, “as ever stretched hemp; and only that it’s our own business to make the most use we can out of him, I didn’t care the devil had him, for I don’t like a bone in his skin.”