Dr. O’Grady hurried through the back door. He found Doyle sitting over account books in his private-room. That was his way of spending Sunday afternoon. “A sheet of notepaper,” said Dr. O’Grady. “Quick now, Doyle. I have my fountain pen, so don’t bother about ink.” “Where’s the hurry?” said Doyle. “There’s every hurry.” He wrote rapidly, folded the letter, addressed it to Mrs. Ford, and handed it to Doyle. “Put that in your trousers’ pocket,” he said, “and roll it round a few times. I want it to look as if it had been there for two or three days.” “What’s the meaning of this at all?” said Doyle. “Now get your hat. Go off as fast as you can pelt to Mr. Ford’s house. Give that letter to the servant and tell her that you only found out this afternoon that you’d forgotten to post it.” “Will you tell me——?” “I’ll tell you nothing till you’re back. Go on now, Doyle. Go at once. If you hurry you’ll get to the house before she does. She was two miles out of the town when I left her and too exhausted to walk fast. But if you do meet her remember that you haven’t seen me since yesterday. Have you got that clear in your head? Very well. Off with you. And, I say, I expect the letter will be looking all right when you take it out again, but if it isn’t just rub it up and down the front of your trousers for a while. I want it to be brownish and a good deal crumpled. It won’t do any harm if you blow a few puffs of tobacco over it.” CHAPTER IX An hour later Doyle entered the doctor’s consulting room. “I have it done,” he said. “I done what you bid me; but devil such a job ever I had as what it was.” Doyle had evidently suffered from some strong emotion, anger perhaps, or terror. He felt in his pocket as he spoke, and, finding that he had no handkerchief, he wiped his forehead with the back of his hand. He looked at his hand afterwards and sighed. The hairs on the back of it were pasted down with sweat “Have you such a thing as a drop of anything to drink in the house?” “I have not,” said Dr. O’Grady, “how could I? Do you think I’ve lost all my self-respect? Is it likely I’d order another bottle of whisky out of your shop when you’re dunning me every day of my life for the price of the last I got? Tell me what happened about the letter?” Doyle passed a parched tongue across his lips. The inside of his mouth was quite dry. Extreme nervous excitement often produces this effect. “If it was even a cup of tea,” he said, “it would be better than nothing. I’ve a terrible thirst on me.” “Sorry,” said Dr. O’Grady, “but I’ve no tea either. Not a grain in the house since last Friday. I hope this will be a lesson to you, Doyle, and will teach you not to ballyrag your customers in future. But I don’t want to rub it in. Get on with your story.” “It could be,” said Doyle, “that there’d be water in your pump. I’m not sure will I be able to speak much without I drink something.”