Columbo

God save Ireland, said the heroes

God save Ireland, say us all

Whether on the gallows high Or the battle field we die,

Oh, what matter when for Erin dear we fall

High upon the gallows tree Swung the noble hearted three

By the vengeful tyrant stricken in their bloom

But they met them face to face With the courage of their race,

And they went with souls undaunted to their doom

God save Ireland, said the heroes

God save Ireland, say us all

Whether on the gallows high Or the battlefield we die,

Oh, what matter when for Erin dear we fall

Well, that's a very interesting question, I suppose.

But as far as I'm concerned, if you'll excuse me, it's a non-question.

You see, it never really occurred to me. You see, at a very early age,

I decided to be me own master and the servant of no one.

And that left two promising possibilities. Either be a king or a poet.

Now, as Ireland had her fill of kings,

I clearly saw I had to educate myself to the way of words.

So, I took to drink immediately,

fell in love at every opportunity, and avoided the schoolroom like the plague.

I advise you to do the same.

You have eyes like emeralds.

I'll gladly buy their splendid memory with the story of my life.

Will you do me the honor, Mr. Devlin?

All included in the price, Mr...

The name is Pauley.

Vincent Pauley.

I understand you're in the market.

Any special inscription?

Whatever is appropriate.

Perhaps we could have a drink sometime and discuss each other's work.

I'd enjoy that. Sometime soon?

Oh, I see that crafty look of disapproval.

You want to love me, Kerry, but you think I drink too much.

Mr. Full's Irish Dew.

The label says, "Let each man be paid in full."

What do I owe you, Kerry?

Thank you very much, sir.

Well now, for all your righteousness,

when did you last write to your mother?

A week or two ago.

More like a month or two ago.

Why don't you write today? Write her about life in America.

Write her about your job with Mr. O'Connell.

Laying lines of red bricks like a craftsman born.

Why don't you write her anything you damn well please, only write her.

I'll write her you drink too much.

Mr. Devlin, please. My name is Pauley.

Mr. Devlin.

I don't recall inviting you here, Mr. Pauley.

I prefer neutral ground.

You're the one in a rush.

Can we be alone?

Run along, Kerry.

Excuse me.

You're satisfied I come from your friends?

They're satisfied.

Care for a dram?

No, thank you. Let's get this done with.

We're talking about a large sum of money, Mr. Pauley.

I've never handed over a sum like that to a man I've never had a drink with.

I'm not a convivial man, Mr. Devlin.

Now, this is the item I think we'll be talking about.

The M11. Easy to fire. Easy to conceal.

Rate of fire, 1200 per minutes.

Effective range, 200 yards.

And this is the companion piece, the M10.

Uses a more powerful charge.

Greater range, more expensive.

My recommendation is still the M11.

As I understand it, the need is for hit and run, close quarters.

Why spend the extra money?

My handguns are superb.

But they will not give the rate of fire.

A poet's choice.

We'll stay with the M11. 500 weapons.

$300 a unit, as stipulated.

$150,000 for the order.

That's agreeable, then.

You may keep that, if you like. Beautiful craftsmanship.

Has a built-in silencer.

The full order of M11's to be delivered aboard your ship or wherever preferred...

on the 30th of the month.

When?

The 30th. Guaranteed.

I told you the 15th.

My supplier advises me the 15th is not possible.

The ship sails at 3:00 p.m. on the 15th. After that, your guns are useless.

I understand the urgency...

of the weapons arriving in Belfast by a certain day,

but my supplier can't supply what he doesn't have.

At least, not at these prices.

You're suggesting something extra might touch his heart?

Or yours, Mr. Pauley.

I am suggesting his priorities might be adjusted,

possibly, for an additional $50,000 in all cash in advance by tonight.

If I agree to the extra $50,000.

It's up to you, Mr. Devlin.

I deal only in guns. Not rebellion.

I'll be in touch.

I'm sure you will. And when we meet again,

let's make it somewhere else.

Mr. Pauley.

So, a policeman says,

"What are you doing with that great load of dynamite in that paper sack?"

"Dynamite?" says I.

"I'm only 14 years old.

And I'm begging your English pardons, the fella that sold it to me...

said it was flaming bloody fireworks to celebrate the king's birthday."

"King's birthday ain't for five months."

"Oh, well, then, sirs. Celebration's a bit premature.

So, if it's all the same to you,

I'll wait for the great day back in Ireland."

Well, they packed me off...

to an English hotel for the wicked, complete with royal iron bars,

porridge like gravel, and frequent roll calls.

"Devlin, Joseph!"

"Yes, sir." "Where?"

"Here. Right here."

"Oh?" "That's right."

"Devlin, Joseph.

You are a miserable bit of incomprehensible filth."

He could tell right off, I had the makings of a professional poet.

Well now, it's nearly 11:30 and,

as for my own poetry, we're sick to death on it.

Glorious as it is.

Now, I grant you, this is an odd gathering.

A boy from the back streets of Belfast...

come to wring your pockets and your consciences.

But there are some here with ties of blood...

and some who have memories of those selfsame streets.

Kate O'Connell.

She's given over her house for these money-raising shenanigans.

And George, her son.

He's never seen his mother's Belfast,

but he understands the pity of it.

Irish against Irish.

They cut each other down with guns and bombs.

Oh, I've seen it well enough. Kerry here fled from it.

The madmen on both sides. Hot to kill, calling it duty,

passion, patriotism,

even morality, God help us.

And they said to me, "Once you were one of us, Joe."

"Oh, no," I said. "No."

I was a foolish child.

I was one of your victims.

But we're all bloody victims of the Irish sorrow.

Well, nothing was ever solved by guns.

And nothing ever will be.

But by St. Pat's good hands and a hand to the pocketbook,

we can look to the widows and the orphans,

the helpless, and the hopeless.

Because those of us here in this house, this room,

this night, we can be their help against the lunatic gunmen.

We can be their hope.

And why not?

If we don't put it in that little barrel,

I'll tell you what'll happen to it.

Some find it most important and others roll about

Some take delight in playing and wind up full of doubt

Why search any farther, the answer's where you are

So join the celebration, it's whiskey in the jar

Oh, whack a diddle diddle oh, whack a diddle dee

There's no greater pleasure than whiskey in the jar

Oh, whack a diddle diddle oh, whack a diddle dee

It makes your spirits rise up when there is whiskey in the jar

For a rough guess, I'd say $46,000.

$45,200 this time.

You should've been a businessman, Joe.

And live your life?

Not for all the wealth of O'Connell Industries.

Don't you trust your accountant, George?

My husband trusted everyone, built the O'Connell business.

My son trusts no one and built it twice as big.

I trust my son.

Go right ahead, George.

And make sure that Mr. Moore puts the money in the right account.

You have the majesty of queens, madam.

When will you see your Mr. Pauley again?

When the time's right.

Does he know about the ship?

He knows she sails on the 15th.

I want to be at that meeting, Joe.

Well, now.

Mr. Pauley comes recommended by our friends.

I wonder what that's worth.

You see, I'm not much of a trusting fellow myself, George.

Mr. Pauley knows no one in this room but me.

And no one in this room knows Mr. Pauley.

So we'll keep it that way.

You take care of the money, I'll take care of our business.

"For the great Gales of Ireland,

Are the men that God made mad...

For all their wars are merry...

And all their songs are sad."

And I wonder what our guests would say...

if they knew it was all going to buy guns.

- Mr. Devlin. - Mr. Pauley.

I have very good news for us.