“Don’t stand to spake to me here,” said the Prophet; “that young scoundrel will see us.  Have you tried Hanlon yet, and will he do?  Yes or no?”

“I haven’t tried him, but I’m now on way to do so.”

“Caution!”

“Certainly; I’m no fool, I think.  If we can secure him, the business may be managed aisily; that is, provided the two affairs can come off on the same night.”

“Caution, I say again.”

“Certainly; I’m no fool, I hope.  Pass on.”

The Prophet and he passed each other very slowly during this brief dialogue; the former, when it was finished, pointing naturally towards the Grange, or young Dick, as if he I had been merely answering a few questions respecting some person about the place that the other was going to see.  Having passed the Prophet, he turned to the left, by a back path that led to the garden, where, in fact, Hanlon was generally to be found, and where, upon this occasion, he found him.  After a good deal of desultory chat, Rody at last inquired if Hanlon thought there existed any chance of his procuring the post of bailiff.

“I don’t think there is, then, to tell you the truth,” replied Hanlon; “old Jemmy is against you bitterly, an’ Masther Richard’s interest in this business isn’t as strong as his.”

“The blackguard ould villain!” exclaimed Rody; “it will be a good job to give him a dog’s knock some night or other.”

“I don’t see that either,” replied Hanlon; “Ould Jemmy does a power of good in his way; and indeed many an act of kindness the master himself gets credit for that ought to go to Jemmy’s account.”

“But you can give me a lift in the drivership, Charley, if you like.”

“I’m afeard not, so long as Jemmy’s against you.”

“Ay, but couldn’t you thry and twist that ould scoundrel himself in my favor?”

“Well,” replied the other, “there is something in that, and whatever I can do with him, I will, if you’ll thry and do me a favor.”

“Me!  Name it, man—­name it, and it’s done, if it was only to rob the Grange.  Ha! ha!  An’ by the way, I dunna what puts robbin’ the Grange into my head!”

And, as he spoke, his eye was bent with an expression of peculiar significance on Hanlon.

“No!” replied Hanlon with indifference; “it is not to rob the Grange.  I believe you know something about the man they call the Black Prophet?”

“Donnel Dhu?  Why—­ahem!—­a little—­not much.  Nobody, indeed, knows or cares much about him.  However, like most people, he has his friends and his enemies.”

“Don’t you remember a murdher that was committed here about two-and-twenty-years ago?”

“I do.”

“Was that before or afther the Black Prophet came to live in this counthry?”

“Afther it—­afther it.  No, no!’” he replied, correcting himself; “I am wrong; it was before he came here.”

“Then he could have had no hand in it?”