Lord Alfred Blakeney walked up the street and crossed the square with great dignity.  He made no acknowledgment whatever of the cheers with which the people greeted him.  They still thought that he was the Lord-Lieutenant, and, expectant of benefits of some sort, they shouted their best.  He glanced at the veiled statue, but turned his eyes away from it immediately, as if it were something obscene or otherwise disgusting.  He took no notice of Mary Ellen, though she smiled at him.  Father McCormack and Doyle followed him, crestfallen.  Major Kent, who seemed greatly pleased, also followed him.  Half way across the square Lord Alfred Blakeney turned round and asked which was Dr. O’Grady.  Father McCormack pointed him out with deprecating eagerness, much as a schoolboy with inferior sense of honour when himself in danger of punishment, points out to the master the real culprit.  Lord Alfred Blakeney’s forehead wrinkled in a frown.  His lips closed firmly.  His whole face wore an expression of dignified severity, very terrible to contemplate.  Dr. O’Grady seemed entirely unmoved.

“I’m delighted to see you,” he said, “though we expected the Lord-Lieutenant.  By the way, you’re not the Lord-Lieutenant, are you, by any chance?”

“My name is Blakeney, Lord Alfred Blakeney.”

“I was afraid you weren’t,” said Dr. O’Grady.  “Father McCormack and Doyle insisted that you were.  But I knew that His Excellency must be a much older man.  They couldn’t very well make anybody of your age Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland, though I daresay you’d do very well, and deserve the honour quite as much as lots of people that get it.”

Lord Alfred Blakeney had been at Eton as a boy and at Christchurch, Oxford, afterwards as a young man.  He was a Captain in the Genadier Guards, and he was aide-de-camp to the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.  It seemed quite impossible that an Irish dispensary doctor could be trying to poke fun at him.  He supposed that Dr. O’Grady was lamentably ignorant.

“I am here,” he said, “at His Excellency’s express command ­”

“Quite so,” said Dr. O’Grady.  “We understand.  You’re his representative.  He was pretty well bound to send somebody considering the way he’s treated us, telegraphing at the last moment.  We’re quite ready to make excuses for him, of course, if he’s got a sudden attack of influenza or anything of that sort.  At the same time he ought to have come unless he’s very bad indeed.  However, as you’re here, we may as well be getting on with the business.  Where’s Doyle?”

Doyle was just behind him.  He was, in fact, plucking at Dr. O’Grady’s sleeve.  He leaned forward and whispered: 

“Speak a word to the gentleman about the pier.  He’s a high up gentleman surely, and if you speak to him he’ll use his influence with the Lord-Lieutenant.”

“Be quiet, Doyle,” said Dr. O’Grady.  “Go off and get the bouquet as quick as you can and give it to Mrs. Gregg.”

Lord Alfred Blakeney, who had gasped with astonishment at the end of Dr. O’Grady’s last speech to him, recovered his dignity with an effort.

“You evidently don’t understand that I have come here, at the Lord-Lieutenant’s express command ­”

“You said that before,” said Dr. O’Grady.

“To ask for ­in fact to demand an explanation of ­”

“I should have thought that you’d have offered some sort of explanation to us.  After all, we’ve been rather badly treated and ­”

“An explanation,” said Lord Alfred sternly, “if any explanation is possible, of the extraordinary hoax which you’ve seen fit to play on His Excellency.”

A group of spectators formed a circle round Dr. O’Grady and Lord Alfred.  Father McCormack, puzzled and anxious, stood beside Mrs. Gregg.  The Major was at a little distance from them.  Mary Ellen stood almost alone beside the statue.  The children of the town, attracted by some new excitement, had left her, and in spite of Sergeant Colgan, were pushing their way towards Lord Alfred.  Dr. O’Grady looked round him and frowned at the people.

Then he took Lord Alfred by the arm and led him away to a corner of the square near the police barrack where there were very few people.

“Now,” he said, “we can talk in peace.  It’s impossible to discuss anything in the middle of a crowd.  You seem to think that the Lord-Lieutenant has some sort of grievance against us.  What is it?”

“You surely understand that,” said Lord Alfred, “without my telling you.  You’ve attempted to play off an outrageous hoax on the Lord-Lieutenant of Ireland.  At least that’s my view of it.”

“Quite a mistaken one!”

“The Lord-Lieutenant himself hopes that there may be some other explanation.  That is why he sent me down here.  He wants to give you the chance of clearing yourselves if you can.  I may say frankly that if he’d asked my opinion I should ­”

“You’d have put us in prison at once,” said Dr. O’Grady, “and kept us there till we died.  You’d have been perfectly right.  We’d have deserved it richly if we really had ­”

“Then you are prepared to offer an explanation?”

“I’ll explain anything you like,” said Dr. O’Grady, “if you’ll only tell me what your difficulty is.  Oh, hang it!  Excuse me one moment.  Here’s that ass Doyle coming at us again.”

Doyle had brought the bouquet out of the hotel and given it to Mrs. Gregg.  He had warned Constable Moriarty not to allow the people to press against the statue.  He was crossing the square in the direction of the police barrack when Dr. O’Grady saw him and went to meet him.

“Doctor,” said Doyle, “will you keep in mind what I was saying to you this minute about the pier?  Get a promise of it out of the gentleman.”

“It’s utterly impossible for me,” said Dr. O’Grady, “to do anything if you keep interrupting me every minute.  I’m in the middle of an extremely difficult negotiation, and unless I’m allowed a free hand there’ll certainly be no pier.”

“If there’s no pier,” said Doyle angrily, “it’ll be the worse for you.  Don’t you forget, doctor, that you owe me a matter of L60, and if I’m at the loss of more money over this statue ­”

Constable Moriarty’s voice rang out across the square.  He was speaking in very strident tones.

“Will you stand back out of that?” he said.  “What business have you there at all?  Didn’t I tell you a minute ago that you weren’t to go near the statue?”

Dr. O’Grady and Doyle turned round to see what was happening.  A man from the crowd, a well-dressed man, had slipped past Constable Moriarty and reached the statue.  He had raised the bottom of the sheet which covered it and was peering at the inscription on the pedestal.

“Doyle,” said Dr. O’Grady, “that’s the American again.  That’s Billing.”

“Bedamn!” said Doyle excitedly.  “You’re right.  It’s him sure enough.”

“Go and seize him.  Take him into the hotel.  Drag his subscription out of him if you have to use a knife to get it.  Whatever happens don’t let him go again.”

Doyle realised what his duty was before Dr. O’Grady had stopped speaking.  He ran across the square to the statue.  Mr. Billing, heedless of Moriarty’s threats, was lifting the sheet still higher.  He had read the inscription and wanted to inspect the statue itself.  Doyle seized him by the shoulder.

“Come you along with me,” he said, “and come quiet if you don’t want me to give you in charge of the police.”

Dr. O’Grady, watching from a distance, saw Mr. Billing marched off towards the hotel.  Then he turned to Lord Alfred again.

“I must apologize,” he said, “for running away from you like that.  But we couldn’t have talked with that fellow, Doyle, pestering us.  You don’t know Doyle, of course.  If you did, and if you happened to owe him a little money you’d realise how infernally persistent he can be.”

Lord Alfred had also been watching the capture of Mr. Billing.  He wanted to understand, if possible; what was going on round about him.

“What is your friend doing with the other man?” he asked.

“Only capturing him,” said Dr. O’Grady.  “You needn’t feel any anxiety about that.  The other man is an American and a thorough-paced swindler.  Nothing will happen to him that he doesn’t deserve.  But we mustn’t waste time.  We’ve still got to unveil the statue.  You go on with what you were saying.  You were just going to tell me what the Lord-Lieutenant’s difficulty is.”

“You invited His Excellency down here,” said Lord Alfred, “to unveil a statue ­”

“Quite right.  And we have the statue ready.  There it is.”  He pointed out the statue as he spoke.

“The statue,” said Lord Alfred, “purports to represent General John Regan.”

“It does represent him.  There’s no purporting about the matter.  The General’s name is on the pedestal.  You’ll see it yourself as soon as you unveil it.”

“It now appears,” said Lord Alfred coldly, “that there never was such a person as General John Regan.”

“Well?  Try and get along a little quicker.  I don’t see yet where the insult to the Lord-Lieutenant is supposed to come in.”

“You asked the Lord-Lieutenant to unveil a faked-up statue, and you have the amazing assurance to say now that you don’t see that you’ve done anything wrong.”

“I don’t.”

“But there never was a General ­”

“Do you mean to say,” said Dr. O’Grady, “that the Lord-Lieutenant supposed that the General really existed?”

“Of course he supposed it.  How could there be a statue to him if he didn’t?  We all supposed it.  It wasn’t until His Excellency began to prepare the speech he was to make that we found out the truth.  He wrote to the British Museum and to the Librarian at the Bodleian ­”

“I’m sorry he took all that trouble.  We didn’t expect anything of the sort.”

“What did you expect?”

“Oh, I don’t know.  A few words about the elevating nature of great works of art ­particularly statues.  You know the sort of thing I mean.  How the English nation occupies the great position it does very largely because it flocks to the Royal Academy regularly every year.  How the people of Ballymoy are opening up a new era for Ireland.  But I needn’t go on.  You must have heard him making speeches scores of times.  That was all we wanted, and if we’d had the slightest idea that he was taking a lot of trouble to prepare a learned lecture we’d have told him that he needn’t.”

“But how could he make any speech about a General who never existed?”

“My dear Lord Alfred!  What has the General got to do with it?  We didn’t want a speech about him.  We wanted one about his statue.”

“But it isn’t his statue.  If there was no General there can’t be a statue to him.”

“There is,” said Dr. O’Grady.  “There’s no use flying in the face of facts.  The statue’s under that sheet.”

“It’s not.  I mean to say that there may be a statue there, but it’s not to General John Regan.  How can there be a statue to him when there was no such person?”

“Was there ever such a person as Venus?” said Dr. O’Grady.  “There wasn’t.  And yet every museum in Europe is half full of statues of her.  Was there ever such a person as the Dying Gladiator?  Was there ever a man called Laocoon, who strangled sea serpents?  You know perfectly well that there weren’t any such people, and yet some of the most famous statues in the world are erected in memory of them.”

“But His Excellency naturally thought ­”

“Look here,” said Dr. O’Grady, “if we’d asked him to unveil a statue of Hercules in Ballymoy, would he have gone round consulting the librarians of London and Oxford to find out whether there was such a person as Hercules or not?  Would he have said he was insulted?  Would he have sent you here to ask for an apology?  You know perfectly well he wouldn’t.”

Lord Alfred seemed slightly puzzled.  Dr. O’Grady’s line of argument was quite new to him.  He felt sure that a fallacy underlay it somewhere, but he could not at the moment see what the fallacy was.

“The case of Hercules is quite different,” he said feebly.

“It’s not in the least different.  It’s exactly the same.  There was no such person as Hercules.  Yet there are several statues of him.  There was no such person as our General, but there may be lots of statues to him.  There’s certainly one.  There’s probably at least another.  I should think the people of Bolivia are sure to have one.  We’ll ask Billing when we see him.”

“Is he the priest who mistook me for the Lord-Lieutenant?”

“Oh, no.  He’s the swindler whom Doyle caught.  By the way, here’s Doyle coming out of the hotel again.  Do you mind if I call him?”

Doyle crossed the square very slowly, because he stopped frequently to speak to the people whom he saw.  He stopped when he came to Father McCormack and whispered something to him.  He stopped when he came to Major Kent.  He stopped for a moment beside Mrs. Gregg.  He seemed to be full of some news and eager to tell it to everybody.  When he saw Dr. O’Grady coming to meet him he hurried forward.

“I have it,” he said, “I have it safe.”

“The cheque?” said Dr. O’Grady.

“Better than that.  Notes.  Bank of Ireland notes.”

“Good,” said Dr. O’Grady.  “Then it won’t make so much matter if we don’t get the pier.  I’m having a hard job with Lord Alfred.  It appears that the Lord-Lieutenant is in a pretty bad temper, and it may not be easy to get the pier.  However, I’ll do my best.  I wish you’d go and fetch the illuminated address.  Is Thady Gallagher safe?”

“He’s making a speech this minute within, in the bar, and Mr. Billing’s listening to him.”

“Good.  Get the illuminated address for me now as quick as you can.”

Doyle hurried off in the direction of the hotel.  Dr. O’Grady turned once more to Lord Alfred.

“By the way,” he said, “before we go on with the unveiling of the statue would you mind telling me this:  Have you got an ear for music?”

Lord Alfred had recovered a little from the bewildering effect of Dr. O’Grady’s argument.  He reminded himself that he had a duty to perform.  He regained with an effort his original point of view, and once more felt sure that the Lord-Lieutenant had been grossly insulted.

“I’ve listened to all you have to say,” he said, “and I still feel, in fact I feel more strongly than ever, that an apology is due to His Excellency.”

“Very well,” said Dr. O’Grady, “I’ve no objection whatever to apologising.  I’m extremely sorry that he was put to such a lot of unnecessary trouble.  If I’d had the least idea that he wouldn’t have understood about the General ­ but I thought he’d have known.  I still think he ought to have known.  But I won’t say a word about that.  Tell him from me that I’m extremely sorry.  And now, have you an ear for music?”

“That’s not an apology,” said Lord Alfred.  “I won’t go back to His Excellency and tell him ­ hang it!  I can’t tell him all that stuff about Venus and Hercules.”

“I wish you’d tell me whether you have an ear for music or not.  You don’t understand the situation because you haven’t met Thady Gallagher.  But I can’t ask you to unveil the statue until I know whether you’ve an ear for music or not.”

“I don’t know what you mean, but ­”

Dr. O’Grady made a click with his tongue against the roof of his mouth.  He was becoming very impatient.

“Well, I haven’t,” said Lord Alfred.  “I don’t see what business it is of yours whether I have or not; but anyhow, I haven’t.”

“None at all?  You wouldn’t know one tune from another?”

“No, I wouldn’t.  And now will you tell me ­”

“I’ll tell you anything you like when this business is over.  I haven’t time to enter into long explanations now.  The people are beginning to get very impatient.”

Young Kerrigan, with his bandsmen grouped around him, was standing a little below the police barrack.  Dr. O’Grady walked quickly over to him.  He told him to be ready to begin to play the moment he received the signal.

“And ­ listen to me now,” he said.  “You’re to play some other tune, not the one I taught you.”

“I’m just as glad,” said young Kerrigan.  “It’s equal to me what tune I play, but Thady Gallagher ­What tune will I play?”

“Anything you like,” said Dr. O’Grady.  “Whatever you know best, but not the one I taught you.  Remember that.”

He left young Kerrigan, and hurried over to where Major Kent, Father McCormack and Mrs. Gregg were standing together near the statue.

“We’re now going to unveil the statue,” he said, “and everybody must be ready to do his part.  Father McCormack, I want you to take charge of Mary Ellen.  In the absence of the Lord-Lieutenant she’ll pull the string.  You’re to see that she does it when I give the word.  Then you must go across to the door of the hotel and keep a look out for Thady Gallagher.  If he tries to make any sort of disturbance quell him at once.”

“I’m willing to try,” said Father McCormack, “and so far as Mary Ellen is concerned I’m right enough.  She’s a good girl, and she’ll do as I bid her.  But it’d take more than me to pacify Thady when he hears the band.”

“It’s all right about that the band won’t play that tune at all.  As it happens Lord Alfred has no ear whatever for music.  That lets us out of what was rather an awkward hole.  Young Kerrigan can play anything he likes, and so long as we all take off our hats, Lord Alfred’ll think it’s ‘God Save the King.’  Thady won’t be able to say a word.”

“If that’s the way of it,” said Father McCormack, “I’ll do the best I can with Thady.”

“Mrs. Gregg,” said Dr. O’Grady, “you can’t present that bouquet, so the best thing for you to do is to step forward the moment the sheet drops off and deposit it at the foot of the statue.  Major ­”

“You may leave me out,” said Major Kent.  “I’m merely a spectator.”

“You’ll support Mrs. Gregg when she’s paying her floral tribute to the memory of the dead General.”

“I’ll do no such thing.”

“You must, Major.  You can’t let poor Mrs. Gregg go forward alone.”

“Please do,” said Mrs. Gregg.  “I shall be frightfully nervous.”

“But ­but ­hang it all, O’Grady, how can I?  What do you mean?”

“It’s perfectly simple.  Just walk forward beside her and smile.  That’s all that’s wanted.  The band will be playing at the time and nobody will notice you much.  Now, I think everybody understands thoroughly what to do, and there’s no reason why the proceedings shouldn’t be a flaming success in spite of the conduct of the Lord-Lieutenant.”

“What about the Lord-Lieutenant?” said Father McCormack.  “I’d be glad if I knew what the reason is of his not coming to us when he promised.”

“The reason’s plain enough,” said the Major.  “He evidently has some common sense.”

“As a matter of fact,” said Dr. O’Grady, “the exact contrary is the case.  What Lord Alfred says is that he wouldn’t come because he found out at the last moment that there was no such person as General John Regan.  I don’t call that sensible.”

“I was thinking all along,” said Father McCormack, “that there was something queer about the General.”