“He hasn’t,” said the doctor. “What would he do with the motor if he had it? All the same it’s queer. I don’t know what it’s doing there. Nobody with money enough to own a car like that could possibly be stopping at Doyle’s Hotel. Come along and let’s find out about it.” They hurried across the square and greeted Doyle and Gallagher. “Whose is the big motor?” said Dr. O’Grady. “It belongs to an American gentleman,” said Doyle, “who’s within in the hotel. We’re waiting for him this minute. He’s getting his camera, and when he has it got he’s going round with Thady Gallagher to photograph the town.” Gallagher took Major Kent by the arm and drew him apart. “Major,” he said, “can you tell me who was General John Regan?” “Never heard of him,” said the Major, “but if he owns that car he must be a middling well-off man.” “Look here, Doyle,” said Dr. O’Grady, “you know that filly the Major bought at the fair.” “I’ve heard of her,” said Doyle. “Well, as it happens,” said Dr. O’Grady, “she turns out to be a bit too good for what he wants. His idea was to get something to do a bit of carting, and it turns out that this one is—well, she has breeding. Now, look here, Doyle———” He led Doyle apart just out of earshot of the Major and Gallagher. “I owe you a trifle, don’t I, Doyle?” “As near as I can go to it without looking at my books,” said Doyle, “you owe me £60, and I’d be thankful if so be that it’s quite convenient to you——” “It isn’t a bit convenient,” said Dr. O’Grady, “but I quite admit that I owe the money. Now what I suggest is this. I’ve persuaded the Major to let you have that filly cheap, dirt cheap. It will be found money to you, Doyle, if you get her at the price the Major’s going to name, and you may be able to knock a pound or two off that. Under these circumstances and seeing that I’m putting the chance in your way—it isn’t everyone that could, but I’m a friend of the Major’s and he trusts me—I think you ought to stop talking about the trifle I owe you. I’m sick of the subject.” “You’re not near as sick of it as I am,” said Doyle, “and I don’t know that I want the filly.” “You do want her,” said Dr. O’Grady. “You want anything that you can make money out of. Hullo! Who’s that?” Mr. Billing, carrying his camera, appeared at the door of the hotel. “It’s the American gentleman that owns the motorcar,” said Doyle. “Tell me this now, doctor. Did ever you hear of General John Regan?” “Of course I did,” said Dr. O’Grady. “He’s a well-known millionaire, just the sort of man to be touring the country in a big motor. Go you off now and settle with the Major about the filly. I’ll entertain the General for you.” “For God’s sake, doctor, be careful what you say,” said Doyle in a whisper. “The General’s dead this twenty years and it’s a statue there ought to be to his memory. So that fellow’s after saying, any way.” “Oh, all right,” said Dr. O’Grady. “It’s just the same thing. I’ll manage. You go and settle with the Major.”