“She is not here,” said Jimmy, “but I’m just after getting a wire from her to say that she’ll be in for her breakfast at half-past nine. It must be that now, if it isn’t past it. Bridgy! Are you there, Bridgy? I say, will you fry a couple of eggs and some rashers for Mr. Goddard? He’ll be taking his breakfast along with the doctor’s young lady as soon as she comes.” “Look here,” said Mr. Goddard, “there’s no use your trying to pull my leg in this way. Miss Blow can’t be here. She was sound asleep when I left Ballymoy at seven, and she couldn’t possibly do the drive in the time.” “Not if she drove,” said Jimmy; “but she’d do it on a bicycle.” “How do you know she has a bicycle?” “I don’t know. How would I? All I say is that, being the sort of a young lady she is, it’s likely she’d get a bicycle, or for the matter of that a motor car, if so be she wanted one. Anyway, she’ll be here at half-past nine, for that’s what she said.” “Then,” said Mr. Goddard, “I’ll not stay for breakfast. I’m going up to the Castle. I have business with Lord Manton. And look here, Jimmy, when Miss Blow arrives, if she does arrive, there’ll be no need for you to say anything about my being here. It would only upset her.” “I will not. Why would I? Hasn’t she trouble enough without that? But tell me now, Mr. Goddard, is it true what I hear them saying about them gentlemen that was through the town yesterday on their bicycles?” “Is what true?” “That they’re off.” “They’re lost,” said Mr. Goddard, “if that’s what you mean.” Jimmy O’Loughlin winked. “The same as the poor doctor,” he said, “and Patsy Devlin.” “Not in the least the same. We know what happened to them well enough. But these fellows are quite different. But I can’t stop here talking to you all morning. I’ve something else to do. Don’t say anything to anybody about my being up at the Castle.” “I will not. If I open my mouth about you at all, I’ll say you’re searching high and low for the men that’s gone.” CHAPTER XVI “His lordship is still at breakfast, sir,” said Wilkins. “Will you ask him if I can speak to him for a few minutes as soon as he has finished?” said Mr. Goddard. He was shown into the library, where Lord Manton’s letters and newspapers were arranged on a table near the window. He was an old gentleman who declined to do business of any kind, even open a letter, before breakfast. He attributed his good health to his habit of facing the kind of worries which the post brings only when he was fortified by a solid meal. Mr. Goddard glanced at the columns of a Dublin evening paper of the day before, half fearful of a scare headline announcing the loss of two Members of Parliament in Connemara. He was delighted to find that the editor had been able to discover nothing more exciting than a crisis in the Balkans and a speech by the Prime Minister. Wilkins entered the room. “His lordship’s compliments,” he said, “and he will be pleased if you will join him at breakfast.”