Matthew Clarke surveyed the landscaped garden around him, taking note of an elderly gardener working inside a greenhouse. He spotted William Harrington walking towards him across the neat lawn, carrying a jug and two glass tumblers.
“I thought you might like some water, its thirsty work digging a trench that size.”
“I’m much obliged to you, Mr. Harrington, for the water and the work. I take it the old man yonder, in the greenhouse, is a wee bit past his prime?”
“He is indeed Matthew. Johnson has been with my family since before I was born but these past few years have taken their toll on him, although he would be the last person to admit it. I caught the old boy trying to dig that ditch himself, too proud to ask for help.”
“I’m thankful to whoever mentioned my name to you. You can rest assured the work will be done before the end of the day,” Matthew drained his glass and handed it back. “I had best be getting on with it, Mr. Harrington.”
“I’m told you are a man I can trust, is that so, Mr. Clarke,” the solicitor’s tone had become much more official.
“I like to think so. Who is it that’s been singing my praises?”
“That’s not important. In my business a man of your reputation is highly valued. The need to have that ditch built gave me the perfect opportunity to speak with you without arousing suspicion. I take it you are a good friend of James McGrother?”
“He was a good neighbour and a fellow fisherman. You don’t sound like you are about to give me good news concerning him, Mr. Harrington,” Matthew didn’t like the way the conversation was going.
“It’s in his own best interest that he stay in England. Constable Armstrong is like a dog with a bone when it comes to the McGrother name and he will not rest until he has James in jail. Do you think that Flanagan’s demise has done your friend any favours?” asked Harrington.
“Are you asking me if I think it was an accident?”
“Do you not think he died under very suspicious circumstances? To be found with items on his person, that Pat McGrother had been accused of stealing months before, is a bit too much of a coincidence for my liking. However, I do not for one second believe that James McGrother had anything to do with Flanagan, or his death.”
“Begging your pardon, sir, but I don’t hold with speaking of things I know nothing about and I never put much store into local gossip. If you will excuse me now, I should be getting back to my work. As I said, I hope to have this ditch finished by the end of the day,” Matthew swung his shovel over his shoulder.
“Yes, of course. I shouldn’t be delaying you and I must be getting along myself. Call to the house when you have the work done and my wife will settle the account with you.”
The smile left Matthew’s face once his back was turned to the solicitor. In his head, he replayed the conversation he had just had and worried that he was being drawn into something that would have an adverse effect on either himself, or his son in America.
William Harrington, on the other hand, walked away from his house feeling more at ease having spoken with Matthew. For his own peace of mind, he had decided to approach the Blackrock fisherman directly and test out for himself the character of the man. The solicitor was not disappointed, what he had heard about Clarke had been true.
The head constable was not available when William called to the barracks, but the young policeman on duty was more than happy to be of help, answering every question that was put to him.
“So you were instructed by Constable Armstrong to go to the Democrat and give them the information about Flanagan’s death, including the fact that some of the Devereux silverware was found on the body, is that so?”
“It is, Mr. Harrington. I thought it a bit premature, as the cause of death had not been officially established. But Constable Armstrong said that it was in the best interests of the case, with regards to the stolen goods, that is. He was most anxious that the papers have the information as soon as possible.”
“I see,” said Harrington, “I take it that it’s normally the journalists who approach the police about such information, not the other way around.”
“It is, sir, unless we are looking for someone or informing the public of something that they need to be aware of.”
“Thank you, constable. You have been very helpful. Good day to you,” the solicitor said.
William’s next call was to the editor of the local newspaper, The Dundalk Democrat. Although he was satisfied with the information that the young constable had provided, he felt it would be wise to check out both sides of the story.
“I was very surprised at the police coming to me for a change. We usually find out about these things from local people first,” the editor explained.
“You mean neighbours, fellow workers, hospital staff and the like?” asked Mr. Harrington.
“Yes, you know yourself how quickly word spreads in a community. Then we send a journalist to find out the facts but when it comes to obtaining information from the police – well, let’s just say, it would be easier to get a priest to divulge what he hears in confession,” laughed the editor.
“So it was most unusual, would you agree, for Constable Armstrong to send one of his men with information to a newspaper about a body that had just been discovered.”
“It was, Mr. Harrington. That was why I specified in the paper that it appeared the man had broken his neck in a fall. We won’t know that for definite until after the inquest but the two silver teaspoons found in his pocket were identified by Lord Devereux. Apparently, the head constable was adamant we print that in our report.”
“Well, I won’t take up any more of your time, Mr. Davis you have been most helpful.”
As the solicitor left the building he was more determined than ever to convince James McGrother that he must not return home, under any circumstances. If the inquest found that Flanagan had been murdered, it would not bode well for James. On the other hand, even if the death was declared to be an accident, Armstrong might still try to link the dead man to Pat McGrother and his nephew. The old fisherman and the thief were both dead and it would be easy to find someone in need of money to swear under oath that they had been seen together in the past. There would be no one to refute it and William Harrington was not sure to what lengths the head constable would go, in trying to make a case against James McGrother. That his uncle may have been acquainted with Flanagan was a possibility, as the elderly man may not even have known he was in the company of a thief.