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Her playground was O'Farrell Street, dry and hot in summer, wrapped in soft fog four mornings a week the year round, reeking of stale beer, and echoing to the rattle of cable cars.
As I spoke, it occurred to me that now, if ever, was the moment when I might still succeed in spoking the wheel of Mr. and Miss O'Farrell before that wheel had time to crush me. I could throw doubt upon their good faith. I could hint that, if they had really been doing Red Cross or other work at St. Raphael, I should certainly have heard of them.
In 1329, McGeoghegan of West-Meath defeated and slew Lord Thomas Butler, with the loss of 120 men at Mullingar; but the next year suffered an equal loss from the combined forces of the Earls of Ormond and Ulster; his neighbour, O'Farrell, contended with even better fortune, especially towards the close of Edward's reign , when in one successful foray he not only swept their garrisons out of Annally, but rendered important assistance to the insurgent tribes of Meath.
"I do hope that horrible cat will be killed at once," she cried hysterically. "I can't stay in Beechfield if she's left alive." Dr. O'Farrell answered soothingly, "Don't you fret, Mrs. Crofton. She's a vicious brute, and shot she shall be." No one noticed that Timmy had heard every word of this conversation; no one noticed the expression on his face.
Left an orphan in childhood, O'Farrell, though of a good family, had been bred in France in so menial a condition that he first visited England as a domestic servant. From that condition he rose to be a dexterous and successful captain in the contraband trade, so extensive in those times.
It was not yet late; only a few minutes after ten o'clock; and though the Becketts and Brian were on the road to sleep, the hotel was awake, and even lively in its wakefulness. The door of the public salon stood open, and the electric light had come on again. At the table, in the centre of the room, sat Mr. Julian O'Farrell, alias Giulio di Napoli, conspicuously interested in an illustrated paper.
"I wouldn't go in there, not to collect the rent! It's catching, ain't it?" "In all probability it is a contagious or zymotic disease." The politician shook his head, much impressed, as it was intended he should be. "Cleaning-up time for you, I guess, O'Farrell," pursued the other. "All right, if you say so. But I won't have any Board o' Health snitches bossing it.
"What I mean is that in some way as yet unexplained by science, he can create simulacra of what people are thinking about, or of what may simply be hidden far away in the recesses of their memory. In a sort of way Timmy Tosswill can make things seem to appear which, as a matter of fact, are not there. But how he does it? Well, I can't tell you that." Enid Crofton stared at Dr. O'Farrell.
As he said nothing for a moment, she added rather defiantly: "I daresay you think it is absurd that I should listen to village gossip, but the truth is, I've a kind of horror of the child. He terrifies me!" Dr. O'Farrell looked round the room as if he feared eavesdroppers. He even got up and went to see if the door was really shut. "That's very curious," he said thoughtfully. "Very curious indeed.
Crofton would have been surprised to know how suddenly repelled was the genial Irishman when she exclaimed eagerly: "I do hope that horrible cat has been killed! Didn't I hear you say that you meant to shoot her yourself?" It was not without a touch of sly satisfaction that Dr. O'Farrell answered: "That was my intention certainly, Mrs. Crofton. But I was frustrated.
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