"He may be about the place somewhere. Will I look for him?" Brennan said.
"He's not about the house; I've looked everywhere," she answered.
"He might be in one of the outhouses or stables."
"I never thought of that," she exclaimed. "Maybe that's where he is. Oh, the trouble of the wretched old fool! I'll pack him off back to Ireland."
She went into the house and Durham turned to Brennan.
"Have you ever seen him in the town?" he asked.
"Oh, yes, sir. He comes in at night mostly and buys drink, but he never stays. Soden told me yesterday the last time he came in he took away half a gallon of rum with him. Maybe that's the cause of his disappearance."
"We'll look for him," Durham said shortly.
In an outlying tool-shed they found him, stretched out on a tumbled heap of old sacks and rubbish, the place reeking with the scent of rum and a half-gallon jar lying on its side near him, empty.
"He's dead to the world for a day," Brennan said as he stood up after bending over the old man and trying to rouse him. "He must have been drinking steadily for days to get through that quantity and into this state. What are we to do with him, sir?"