“I am speaking. For a man who hasn’t had any breakfast this morning, I flatter myself I’m speaking pretty fluently. Don’t be captious, Field Marshal. I don’t mind your manner a bit, now that I’m getting used to it. I know that it’s quite the right kind of manner for a military anarchist, but there’s no use over-doing it.” “Your plan?” said Mr. Red, fingering the revolver. “I wish you’d lay that weapon down, Emperor. I’ve told you half a dozen times that I haven’t the least intention of trying to escape, and it will be a horrid nuisance if the thing goes off and injures me. My suggestion is simply this. I’ll write a letter blotted all over with tears, saying that driven to desperation by Lorraine Vavasour and Jimmy O’Loughlin I’ve committed suicide, and that all search for my body will be vain. Owing to circumstances which I need not explain, circumstances not unconnected with Lorraine Vavasour, the story will be believed in Clonmore and no further steps will be taken in the matter. All you will have to do is to drop the letter into the pillar-box which is only half a mile from your gate. I happen to know that that box is cleared at eight P.M., so any time to-day will do. I’ll address it to the police sergeant.” Mr. Red gave an order to one of the two foreigners. The man left the room and returned in a few minutes with a supply of note-paper, a pen, and a bottle of ink. He laid them beside the food on the table in the middle of the room. “Write,” said Mr. Red. “I forgot to mention,” said Dr. O’Grady, “that I’m engaged to be married to a young lady in Leeds. Miss Blow is her name--Adeline Maud Blow. I dare say you’ve heard of her father in connection with cigars. He’s a tobacconist and advertises a good deal. ‘Blow’s beauties, twopence each.’ You must have heard of them. They’re beastly things as a matter of fact, and I don’t recommend them to friends, but they’re amazingly popular.” “Write,” said Mr. Red. “I am going to write. Don’t hustle me, like a good man. What I want to say to you is this, that I must send a line to Adeline Maud as well as to the police sergeant. I want to tell her that I’m not really dead, only bluffing.” “That,” said Mr. Red, “is impossible.” “Nonsense. There’s nothing impossible about it. It’s just as easy to write two letters as one. I shan’t mention the Brotherhood to her, and if I did she would have more sense than to talk about it. If you don’t believe me you can read the letter yourself.” “I trust no woman.” “That,” said Dr. O’Grady, “is a most illiberal sentiment, and I’m surprised to hear you utter it. If you’d been an old-fashioned Tory now, or an Irish landlord, or a Liberal Cabinet Minister, I could have understood your position; but in a military----” “Anti-militarist,” said Mr. Red.