Susy Lizzie, working at high speed, got these messages despatched and went on with those to Dublin, Kingstown, Rosslare, and Queenstown. Then Mr. Goddard handed her a bundle of forms which contained his appeals to the police at the railway stations. He felt that he had done all that could be done to discover the escaped gentlemen. It is impossible, as Mr. Goddard knew, to get out of Ireland without going either to Great Britain or America. Derry and Queenstown were the ports of exit westwards. If, as was far more likely, the fugitives had made a rush for England or Scotland, he would get news of them at one of the other places. It was possible, of course, that they were still loitering about Ireland. In that case he would hear of them from one of his railway stations. Even the most energetic Member of Parliament would not be likely to do more than fifty miles on his bicycle over west of Ireland roads, and Mr. Sanders was afflicted with a weak heart. “Isn’t there some way of getting from the hotel to the shop,” said Mr. Goddard, “without going out into the street? I want to speak to your uncle.” “There is surely,” said Susy Lizzie. “If you step across to the grocery counter, the young gentleman that’s there will show you the door.” The door, as Mr. Goddard found when the young gentleman opened it for him, led directly to the hotel bar. Jimmy O’Loughlin was serving out bottles of porter to about a dozen customers. There was a babble of talk, which ceased abruptly as Mr. Goddard entered. “Jimmy,” he said, “I want to speak to you for a minute.” “Affy Ginnetty,” said Jimmy, “come here and attend the bar.” The young gentleman who had opened the door for Mr. Goddard left the care of the bacon, flour, and tobacco which strewed his counter, and took his place behind the bar. Jimmy led the way to the ironmongery corner of his shop. “We’ll have this place to ourselves,” he said. “There’s nobody comes to buy them things”--he indicated an assortment of lamps, pots, and rat-traps--“unless it would be of a fair day.” “Jimmy,” said Mr. Goddard, “where are the ladies?” “There’s two of them,” said Jimmy, “that’s in their beds.” “In their beds?” “I suppose it’s in them they are. Anyway, they said they were going to lie down, and Bridgy brought up a can of hot water apiece for them, and I didn’t see them since. There was talk,” he added, “of their being up and dressed again to be down ready at the barrack at four o’clock, that being the hour at which they were expecting Sergeant Farrelly to be back.” “Those,” said Mr. Goddard, “are probably Mrs. Dick and Mrs. Sanders.” “They might be.” “And what about the other two?” “There’s one of them that’s writing letters above in the drawing-room. She sent Bridgy for twopenny-worth of paper and envelopes, and I gave her the loan of a bottle of ink and a writing pen. I heard her say she’d be down along with the other two at the barrack at four o’clock to see the sergeant.”