“As regards the visit of the Lord-Lieutenant,” said Constable Moriarty rousing himself and moving a little bit away from Mary Ellen, “what I was saying this minute to Mary Ellen was——”
“Where’s Mr. Doyle?” said Dr. O’Grady.
“He’s within,” said Mary Ellen. “Where else would he be?”
“As regards the Lord-Lieutenant,” said Constable Moriarty, “and seeing that Mary Ellen might be a near friend of the gentleman that the statue’s for——”
Dr. O’Grady hurried through the back door. He found Doyle sitting over account books in his private-room. That was his way of spending Sunday afternoon.
“A sheet of notepaper,” said Dr. O’Grady. “Quick now, Doyle. I have my fountain pen, so don’t bother about ink.”
“Where’s the hurry?” said Doyle.
“There’s every hurry.”
He wrote rapidly, folded the letter, addressed it to Mrs. Ford, and handed it to Doyle.
“Put that in your trousers’ pocket,” he said, “and roll it round a few times. I want it to look as if it had been there for two or three days.”