“It isn’t a bit convenient,” said Dr. O’Grady, “but I quite admit that I owe the money. Now what I suggest is this. I’ve persuaded the Major to let you have that filly cheap, dirt cheap. It will be found money to you, Doyle, if you get her at the price the Major’s going to name, and you may be able to knock a pound or two off that. Under these circumstances and seeing that I’m putting the chance in your way—it isn’t everyone that could, but I’m a friend of the Major’s and he trusts me—I think you ought to stop talking about the trifle I owe you. I’m sick of the subject.”
“You’re not near as sick of it as I am,” said Doyle, “and I don’t know that I want the filly.”
“You do want her,” said Dr. O’Grady. “You want anything that you can make money out of. Hullo! Who’s that?”
Mr. Billing, carrying his camera, appeared at the door of the hotel.
“It’s the American gentleman that owns the motorcar,” said Doyle. “Tell me this now, doctor. Did ever you hear of General John Regan?”
“Of course I did,” said Dr. O’Grady. “He’s a well-known millionaire, just the sort of man to be touring the country in a big motor. Go you off now and settle with the Major about the filly. I’ll entertain the General for you.”
“For God’s sake, doctor, be careful what you say,” said Doyle in a whisper. “The General’s dead this twenty years and it’s a statue there ought to be to his memory. So that fellow’s after saying, any way.”
“Oh, all right,” said Dr. O’Grady. “It’s just the same thing. I’ll manage. You go and settle with the Major.”
He approached Mr. Billing jauntily.
“Delighted to meet you, sir,” he said. “Delighted to welcome you to Ballymoy. You’ll find it a most interesting locality. My name is O’Grady, Lucius O’Grady, M.D.”