“Well, she’s not equal to Miss Blow in personal appearance; but she has a certain charm of her own. You wouldn’t meet a quieter, less obtrusive sort of woman anywhere. Nobody would run away from her unless he was forced to. You take my word for it, Patsy will send for her to follow him wherever he’s gone to. I knew both Patsy and his wife well, and they always got on splendidly together. The poor fellow was something of a _protégé_ of mine. I think he regarded me as a friend, and was inclined to confide in me. I gave him a letter of recommendation to the Board of Guardians, at the time of the election of the inspector of sheep dipping.” “I understood from Sergeant Farrelly,” said Mr. Goddard, “that the man was rather a blackguard.” “A horrid blackguard,” said Lord Manton. “That’s why I didn’t want them to elect him.” “But I thought you said----” “So I did; but there’s no use discussing that now. It’s all over and done with. Poor Patsy will never inspect the dipping of a single sheep now. Besides, it’s almost dinner-time. You’ll stay, of course. Never mind about dressing.” Mr. Goddard was tempted. Lord Manton would give him a good dinner; Jimmy O’Loughlin--and the choice lay between the two--would almost certainly give him a bad one. Inclination struggled with conscience. In the end conscience prevailed. “I can’t,” he said. “I must see Miss Blow this evening.” “Oh, of course, if you have an appointment with Miss Blow--I suppose the poor doctor won’t mind now.” “You’re quite wrong. I haven’t that sort of an appointment at all. The simple fact is that I’m afraid of her. If I don’t see her and manage to keep her quiet somehow, she’ll be over at the barrack again making a nuisance of herself. You couldn’t tell what she’d do.” “She might take it into her head that you were murdered, and set everybody searching for your body.” “She might do anything. That’s the reason I won’t stay to dine with you, though I’d like to.” “Good night,” said Lord Manton. “Let me know how things go on; and if you are driven to bloodhounds, remember that I can put you on to the best in England.” When Mr. Goddard got back to the hotel, he found that his self-sacrifice was wasted. Miss Blow had retired to her room for the night. “It could be,” said Jimmy O’Loughlin, “that the young lady was tired. ‘Bridgy,’ says she, when she came in, ‘I’m off up to my bed; and I’d be thankful to you if you’d bring me up a cup of tea when it’s convenient to Mrs. O’Loughlin to wet it.’” This did not sound like a thing Miss Blow would have said. Mr. Goddard felt that Jimmy O’Loughlin was adding a varnish of politeness to the original remark. The next words reassured him. There was at least a foundation of fact beneath the version of the story which he had heard. “‘And take care,’ says she, ‘that the kettle’s boiling, for the last cup you made for me was poison, and smoked at that.’” The words were not yet the words of Miss Blow, but the meaning might very well have been hers.