"Come inside," said Doyle. "There isn't a soul in the bar, and maybe you'd like a drop of something before your tea."
"I would not. You know very well, Doyle, that I never touch whisky before my meals, especially when I've any business to do; and you ought to be ashamed of yourself for offering it to me."
Doyle pushed forward a chair, selected another for himself, and sat down opposite Meldon.
"Is it about the judge that's coming this evening that you wanted to speak to me?"
"It is," said Meldon.
"I was thinking it might be. When you asked for the loan of my bicycle this morning, and told me that you and the doctor was off to Donard in a hurry, I made full sure it was him you were after. What have you done with the doctor?"
"He'll be here in a few minutes," said Meldon, "and when he comes he'll give you some chloride of lime and a bottle of Condy's Fluid. You're to sprinkle the lime on the floor of the judge's bedroom, and to damp the sheets on his bed with a solution of Condy's Fluid. O'Donoghue will give you exact directions about the quantities."
"And what would that be for?"
"The judge wants it done," said Meldon, "and that ought to be enough for you."
"I was reading a bit in the paper one day about what they call the Christian Science. I suppose, now, he'll be one of them?"