“Well, we’re going to have a burglary to-night.” “A what—when?” asked Violet.
“A burglary to-night. I know it sounds rather funny, but we’re in Ireland, you know. Anyhow, a man is coming to steal old Lady Molyneux’s jewels, and I’m going to catch him. Patsy is going to let him in through his bedroom window, and I’m going to hive him.” He explained the rationale of the affair in a few words.
“What fun!” cried the girl, her eyes sparkling. “Dicky, let me see it.”
“I’m afraid I can’t. You see, it’s Patsy’s room, and late at night and all that, but you’re pretty sure to hear it.”
“I’d like to see it,” pouted Miss Lestrange. “Well, promise me this—when you’ve caught him, and tied him up, will you call me down and let me see him?”
“I’ll see,” said Dicky.
“I don’t think things like these could happen anywhere else but in Ireland or a—dream,” said Miss Lestrange, as he helped her through the hedge on to the road, finishing her sentence with her lips to his.
“It seems a kind of mixture of both,” he murmured.
“That’s the sixteenth this morning,” said Miss Lestrange, with a little gasp.
“Seventeen—eighteen—nineteen—twenty,” counted Mr Fanshawe, “and one on the eyebrow. Now, let’s see where we are.”