youngster will be all right, Martin Cunningham said, as they passed out of the Castleyard gate.

The policeman touched his forehead.

God bless you, Martin Cunningham said, cheerily.

He signed to the waiting jarvey who chucked at the reins and set on towards Lord Edward street.

Bronze by gold, Miss Kennedy’s head by Miss Douce’s head, appeared above the crossblind of the Ormond hotel.

Yes, Martin Cunningham said, fingering his beard. I wrote to Father Conmee and laid the whole case before him.

You could try our friend, Mr Power suggested backward.

Boyd? Martin Cunningham said shortly. Touch me not.