It is to be feared that Eves’s expectation of a "splendid rag" was somewhat disappointed. There was a certain excitement in the first hour’s run over the quiet country roads, when the car, behind its glaring headlights, seemed to be continually dashing itself against a wall of impenetrable blackness. But it soon became monotonous. The air was cold and damp, and in spite of their thick clothes and the windscreen the two passengers soon became unpleasantly chilled. O’Reilly, a business man as well as an Irishman, had a proper respect for his car, and drove carefully through the towns. His enthusiasm for the Government was considerably damped when first at Bournemouth and then at Southampton he found all the hotels closed, and failed to obtain anything in the way of liquid refreshment stronger than spade coffee. These were the moments when Templeton felt most comfortable, and he confided to Eves his belief that after all they would arrive safely at their journey’s end. By the time they reached Winchester the feet of both were tingling with cold; at Guildford even Eves had become morose; and it was not until they narrowly escaped a collision with an Army lorry as they swung round to cross Vauxhall Bridge that Eves felt the only thrill their journey provided. It was nearly half-past six when O’Reilly drew up at the door of his rooms in a quiet Westminster street. "You’ll be cold, sure," he said. "I’ll let you in and show you the bath-room; there’ll be hot water. I’ll garage the car, and by the time you’re dry I’ll be back. I don’t dare wake my housekeeper. The last trump wouldn’t get her out of bed before half-past seven. But her heart is never cold, and at half-past eight she’ll give us a breakfast fit for the three kings of Carrickmagree. Not but what we’ll forage out something before then." Bathed, warmed, and fed, the three boarded a motor-bus soon after nine o’clock, and were set down at the end of Chancery Lane. As they walked up the street Eves suddenly pulled them into a shop doorway. "There’s old Noakes about ten yards ahead," he said. "The Patent Office doesn’t open till ten, I think you said, Bob?" "That’s so." "Then he’s about forty minutes to wait. Surely he won’t hang about the door. Let us follow him carefully." They had taken only a few steps when they saw Noakes, swinging a fat umbrella, enter a typewriting agency. "He’s going to have your specification copied," said Eves. "Sure, we’ll be safe till ten," said O’Reilly with a chuckle. "The girls will keep the likes of him waiting. Now do you come with me to a patent agent, one of my friends. He’ll put us up to the way of getting over Noakes." The agent’s office was but a few yards up the street. The agent himself had not yet arrived; his typist-secretary explained that he was not expected until ten, and might be later.