“I know, it’s like being in a trap,” said Mr Fanshawe, “but we’ll do it. It’s the fifteen miles to the station that will be the bother. The express from Carlow to Dublin goes through Tullagh station at four in the morning, it doesn’t stop (I’ve been looking up the trains), but I’ll write to the manager of the Great Midland of Ireland and have it stopped, or have a special. This is Tuesday, on Friday morning at four o’clock we’ll be in the train—leave everything to me. Old James, the butler, is a fool and not to be trusted, but Patsy——” “It’s funny,” said Miss Lestrange, “I was just that moment thinking of Patsy, and that he might help.” “Patsy is a jewel!” said Mr Fanshawe. Violet looked at the watch on her wrist. “It’s after twelve,” she said. “Let’s go back—I’m half afraid—I don’t know what he’ll say, but luncheon is at half-past one, and we must be a good way off. Where are we?” “I don’t know,” said Mr Fanshawe, looking round; “we must have run in a circle or something, for I’m all mixed up. There’s a lot of woods over there—they may be the woods around Glen Druid; and there’s a lot of woods over _there_—they may be the woods round Glen Druid—bother!” “Which is north and which is south?” “Not having a compass, I can’t tell.” “Can’t you tell by the sun or the wind—or anything?” “There’s no sun—and the wind can’t tell us much; besides, if I knew the points of the compass it wouldn’t be a bit of use. I believe there’s a road down over there; let’s make for it—roads generally lead somewhere.” They made in the direction he had pointed out. “What are you laughing at?” asked Mr Fanshawe. “I was thinking of what Mr Boxall said at breakfast.” “What was that?” “He said he would come with us if he wouldn’t be in the way.” “Poor old Boxall! Oh, by-the-bye, that reminds me——” “What?” “I don’t know why Boxall should have reminded me, but—I say, you’ll promise not to split if I tell you something?” “Yes—go on.” “Well, we’re going to have a burglary to-night.” “A what—when?” asked Violet. “A burglary to-night. I know it sounds rather funny, but we’re in Ireland, you know. Anyhow, a man is coming to steal old Lady Molyneux’s jewels, and I’m going to catch him. Patsy is going to let him in through his bedroom window, and I’m going to hive him.” He explained the _rationale_ of the affair in a few words. “What fun!” cried the girl, her eyes sparkling. “Dicky, let me see it.” “I’m afraid I can’t. You see, it’s Patsy’s room, and late at night and all that, but you’re pretty sure to _hear_ it.” “I’d like to see it,” pouted Miss Lestrange. “Well, promise me this—when you’ve caught him, and tied him up, will you call me down and let me see him?” “I’ll see,” said Dicky. “I don’t think things like these could happen anywhere else but in Ireland or a—dream,” said Miss Lestrange, as he helped her through the hedge on to the road, finishing her sentence with her lips to his. “It seems a kind of mixture of both,” he murmured.