Mr. Goddard was surprised. Miss Blow explained herself, and he came to see that she had not given up her plan of a search party. It appeared that she had a very high regard for Members of Parliament. Next to the Habeas Corpus Act, which did not apply in Dr. O’Grady’s case because no one knew who had the body, and trial by jury, a notoriously uncertain thing in Ireland, she looked to Parliament as the great safeguard of individual rights and liberties. It became obvious to Mr. Goddard that Miss Blow expected the touring Members to take up her case at once and vigorously, perhaps to make a special law about it on the spot. He tried to explain that these particular Members were travelling unofficially. Miss Blow did not seem to think that fact made any difference. A Member of Parliament, according to her view, is a Member of Parliament, whether he is actually delivering a vote at Westminster or not. Mr. Goddard then gave it as his opinion that there were too few Members of Parliament in the party to do anything effective. “It isn’t,” he said, “as if we had enough of them to constitute a majority of the House.” Miss Blow, by way of reply, stated her intention of meeting the party at the railway station. She said she was sure that as soon as they heard her story they would bestir themselves just as Lord Manton and Mr. Goddard had, but rather more vigorously. She even suggested that a telegram might be sent to the Prime Minister. Mr. Goddard discouraged her. He felt that he was being rapidly edged into a very awkward position. It was utterly impossible to calculate the effect that a story like Miss Blow’s might produce on an enthusiastic Member of Parliament. Almost anything might happen. Publicity, newspaper paragraphs, and questions in the House of Commons would be certainties. And he had been warned to show the approaching party every civility. It would certainly not be civil to plunge them into a vortex of mysterious crime. The Inspector-General would naturally be vexed if such a thing happened, and Mr. Goddard’s prospects of promotion, never very brilliant, would be injured. “I don’t think it would do,” he said, “for you to meet them at the railway station.” “Why not?” The Miss Blow at the other side of the breakfast table with a teapot in front of her and a decisive way of handling it seemed quite different from the Miss Blow who had wept so pleasingly in his dining-room the day before. “I rather think,” he said feebly, “that they have ladies with them.” “All the better,” said Miss Blow. “And their tour is quite unofficial. We’re not supposed to know that they are Members of Parliament.” “But we do know,” said Miss Blow.