The door, as Mr. Goddard found when the young gentleman opened it for him, led directly to the hotel bar. Jimmy O’Loughlin was serving out bottles of porter to about a dozen customers. There was a babble of talk, which ceased abruptly as Mr. Goddard entered.
“Jimmy,” he said, “I want to speak to you for a minute.”
“Affy Ginnetty,” said Jimmy, “come here and attend the bar.”
The young gentleman who had opened the door for Mr. Goddard left the care of the bacon, flour, and tobacco which strewed his counter, and took his place behind the bar. Jimmy led the way to the ironmongery corner of his shop.
“We’ll have this place to ourselves,” he said. “There’s nobody comes to buy them things”—he indicated an assortment of lamps, pots, and rat-traps—“unless it would be of a fair day.”
“Jimmy,” said Mr. Goddard, “where are the ladies?”
“There’s two of them,” said Jimmy, “that’s in their beds.”
“In their beds?”
“I suppose it’s in them they are. Anyway, they said they were going to lie down, and Bridgy brought up a can of hot water apiece for them, and I didn’t see them since. There was talk,” he added, “of their being up and dressed again to be down ready at the barrack at four o’clock, that being the hour at which they were expecting Sergeant Farrelly to be back.”
“Those,” said Mr. Goddard, “are probably Mrs. Dick and Mrs. Sanders.”