"Where's me pound of flesh?" he demanded. "Manin' no disrispec' to Miss Mavis," he added apologetically to Nigel.
"I'm afraid I can't help you to find her," I said.
"Can the Seraph?"
"I don't suppose so. In any case he can do nothing for the present."
Paddy returned to his cigar and we smoked in silence till Nigel picked up the threads where they had been dropped.
"You say Aintree's ill," he began cautiously. "If I were disposed to regard the time of illness as so many dies non, would he be in a position to find my sister by the end of the week?"
"Frankly, I see no likelihood."
"It's an extra five days."
"What good can they do? Or five weeks for that matter?"
"You should know best."