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.”