“Can you ask? There is only one thing which could possibly be in it. It expresses the unanimous wish of the committee—the reception committee, you know—Major Kent’s on it—that you should present an illuminated address of welcome to His Excellency.”
“If such a letter were really written——”
“My dear Mrs. Ford! But I don’t ask you to take my word for it. Just walk straight into Ballymoy yourself. I’ll stay here till you come back. Go into the hotel. You’ll find Doyle in his own room drinking whisky and water with Thady Gallagher. Don’t say a word to him. Don’t ask him whether he was given a letter or not. Simply put your hand into his breast pocket and take it out.”
“Thank you,” said Mrs. Ford. “I do not care to have anything to do with Mr. Doyle when he is drunk.”
“He won’t be. Not at this hour. It takes a lot to make Doyle drunk.”
“When the letter arrives, if it ever does, I shall consult Mr. Ford as to what answer I shall give.”
“I can tell you what he’ll say beforehand,” said Dr. O’Grady. “He’ll realise the importance of the illuminated address. He’ll understand that it’s the thing and that the bouquet——”
“Good-bye, Dr. O’Grady,” said Mrs. Ford.
The doctor mounted his bicycle. His face was very nearly as purple as Mrs. Ford’s. He had, with the greatest difficulty survived a crisis. He rode at top speed into Ballymoy, and dismounted, very hot, at the door of the hotel. It was shut. He ran round to the back of the house and entered the yard. Constable Moriarty and Mary Ellen were sitting side by side on the wall of the pig-stye. They were sitting very close together. Moriarty was whistling “Eileen Allan-nah” softly in Mary Ellen’s ear.
“Where’s Mr. Doyle?” said Dr. O’Grady.