Moylan and Barry Lynch had only met once, since the former had been entrusted to receive Anty’s rents, on which occasion Moylan had been grossly insulted by her brother.  Barry, remembering the meeting, felt very awkward at the idea of entering into amicable conversation with him, and crept in at the door like a whipped dog.  Moylan was too old to feel any such compunctions, and consequently made what he intended to be taken as a very complaisant bow to his future patron.  He was an ill-made, ugly, stumpy man, about fifty; with a blotched face, straggling sandy hair, and grey shaggy whiskers.  He wore a long brown great coat, buttoned up to his chin, and this was the only article of wearing apparel visible upon him:  in his hands he twirled a shining new four-and-fourpenny hat.

As soon as their mutual salutations were over, Daly commenced his business.

“There is no doubt in the world, Mr Lynch,” said he, addressing Barry, “that a most unfair attempt has been made by this family to get possession of your sister’s property—­a most shameful attempt, which the law will no doubt recognise as a misdemeanour.  But I think we shall be able to stop their game without any law at all, which will save us the annoyance of putting Mr Moylan here, and other respectable witnesses, on the table.  Mr Moylan says that very soon afther your father’s will was made known—­”

“Now, Mr Daly—­shure I niver said a word in life at all about the will,” said Moylan, interrupting him.

“No, you did not:  I mane, very soon afther you got the agency—­”

“Divil a word I said about the agency, either.”

“Well, well; some time ago—­he says that, some time ago, he and Martin Kelly were talking over your sister’s affairs; I believe the widow was there, too.”

“Ah, now, Mr Daly—­why’d you be putting them words into my mouth? sorrow a word of the kind I iver utthered at all.”

“What the deuce was it you did say, then?”

“Faix, I don’t know that I said much, at all.”

“Didn’t you say, Mr Moylan, that Martin Kelly was talking to you about marrying Anty, some six weeks ago?”

“Maybe I did; he was spaking about it.”

“And, if you were in the chair now, before a jury, wouldn’t you swear that there was a schame among them to get Anty Lynch married to Martin Kelly?  Come, Mr Moylan, that’s all we want to know:  if you can’t say as much as that for us now, just that we may let the Kellys know what sort of evidence we could bring against them, if they push us, we must only have you and others summoned, and see what you’ll have to say then.”

“Oh, I’d say the truth, Mr Daly—­divil a less—­and I’d do as much as that now; but I thought Mr Lynch was wanting to say something about the property?”

“Not a word then I’ve to say about it,” said Barry, “except that I won’t let that robber, young Kelly, walk off with it, as long as there’s law in the land.”