Two days later Powerscourt and Johnny Fitzgerald were sitting in the library of Ormonde House, talking to Dennis Ormonde. His anger had faded slightly though Powerscourt thought it could erupt at any moment.
‘No wife?’ had been his first words to Powerscourt. ‘Couldn’t come? What a pity.’
‘It’s Sylvia Butler,’ said Powerscourt. ‘Lucy sends her deepest apologies but feels her place is with her at this time.’
‘Women,’ said Dennis Ormonde. ‘Do you know what my one has done? She’s gone and locked the Picture Gallery, both doors, and she won’t let me have the keys, that’s what she’s done. If I want to work myself into a rage about the missing pictures I have to go and peer in through the window like a bloody burglar.’
Powerscourt and Fitzgerald made sympathetic noises.
‘Now then,’ he went on. ‘Our friend from Dublin Castle is working on a bench in the garden. Doesn’t come in here very much. Doesn’t trust the servants, he says. Can’t say I blame him really. Ulsterman, funny little man with one of those ghastly accents they all have up there. Name of Harkness, William Harkness, probably named after King Billy at the Battle of the Boyne. Seems strange to have one Ulsterman here one day when we may have a hundred of them the day after. Anyway, preparations are well under way for the reception and feeding and sleeping of the Orangemen in the barns and outhouses out the back. Cook is baking mountainous quantities of potato bread. She says they like potato bread, the Ulster people. Harkness does most of his business in the evening. He’s got a lad with him, can’t be more than twenty-five, comes from Dingle, name of O’Gara. One from one end of the island, one from another. God help us all.
‘Now then …’ He rummaged around in a pile of papers on a table beside him. ‘I’ve got a list of all the houses they’ll guard when they come. This copy’s for you, Powerscourt.’
Powerscourt looked at a neat list of grand houses. There was a line drawn halfway down.
‘Don’t think we can manage those places at the bottom of the list,’ Ormonde said. ‘Only got one or two pictures anyway. I’m banking on the thieves only going for houses with pictures. Can’t think of any other means of elimination.’
Ormonde looked at his watch. ‘You’d better go and make your mark with our friend from the Castle. He’s got to go into Westport soon. Must be the only bloody policeman in the whole of Ireland with his office on a park bench.’
‘Just one thing before we do that,’ said Johnny Fitzgerald. ‘Do you know if they’re bringing a band?’
‘Do I know if who is bringing a bloody band?’ Ormonde sounded cross.
‘The Orangemen,’ Johnny persisted, ‘are they bringing a band?’
‘Do I know if the Orangemen are bringing a band? How the hell should I know?’
‘I just thought you might know,’ said Fitzgerald. ‘Could be a bit tricky, having an Orange band marching about the place banging those big drums.’
‘Bugger the band,’ Ormonde was working himself up well now, ‘why don’t you go and talk to Harkness and I’ll see what I can find out about Orange bands. Damn Orange bands!’
William Harkness’s bench was strategically placed two-thirds of the way between the back of Ormonde House and the sea. If he looked to his right he had a clear view of any miscreants who might be foolish enough to approach the house in broad daylight. To his left he could spot any piratical invasion sailing across Clew Bay.
‘How are ye, Lord Powerscourt, are ye well?’ he began. ‘It’s great to meet ye. They’ve got a file on you back there in Dublin, you know, all of it very complimentary.’
‘Have they indeed, Inspector?’ said Powerscourt. ‘Tell us this, sorry to be brief but I understand your time is short, what do you think your chances are of finding the thieves?’
Harkness looked at the two of them carefully. ‘To be honest with you, to be truthful with you now, and I wouldn’t say this in front of your man Ormonde, I don’t think we’re going to do it. Not in a week. Might do it if it was longer. The trouble is that the word has got out about these Orangemen. The constabulary here and in Castlebar are worried sick about them. The commanding officer of the Castlebar garrison has cancelled all leave for the foreseeable future. Everybody’s clammed up.’
‘I don’t want to pry,’ said Powerscourt, ‘but do you have any informants inside the gang of thieves who stole Ormonde’s paintings?’
‘I couldn’t swear that we do,’ admitted Harkness. ‘If we did they’d all be locked up and under interrogation.’
Powerscourt shuddered slightly. He knew what interrogation could mean in these parts.
‘Are you able to tell us,’ asked Johnny, ‘how many informants you do have? Just so we have an idea.’
‘I don’t think that would be helpful at all,’ Harkness replied.
‘You mean you haven’t got any,’ said Johnny.
‘I wouldn’t say that.’ Harkness’s attention was suddenly drawn to a figure who must have been O’Gara from Dingle, ambling slowly towards the house. ‘How’s about ye, O’Gara, you hoor!’ he shouted. ‘What are you doing going over to the house, for Christ’s sake? We’re here, you fool, not there.’ O’Gara broke into a slow run. ‘What do you have to tell us, man? What news?’
‘The policeman has done as you asked, sir,’ he said. ‘All the senior officers from Westport and round about will be meeting you when you go into Westport later this morning. It’s all arranged.’
‘I’ve been to Castlebar and Newport and lots of places talking to the police,’ Harkness told Powerscourt and Fitzgerald. ‘Some good may come of it. I’d better be off.’
The first stirrings of a plan were beginning to form in Powerscourt’s brain. He didn’t want to mention it to anybody yet, not even to Johnny Fitzgerald. But it might, it just might help to catch the thieves.
‘When are you going back to Dublin?’ he asked.
‘The day after tomorrow,’ said Harkness, tidying up the papers lying around on the bottom of his bench.
‘I have an idea I may want to discuss with you,’ said Powerscourt. ‘I need to turn it over in my mind first, Inspector. Would you be able to break your journey home in Athlone? I am staying near there.’
‘I would,’ said Harkness, ‘I’d be happy to. No bother.’
‘In which case I shall send a message to Ormonde tomorrow, if I wish to proceed. No message, no meeting.’
‘Understood,’ said the man from Dublin Castle and fastened his briefcase with the most formidable lock Powerscourt had ever seen. ‘Good day to you, gentlemen.’