Mr. Goddard, the District Inspector of Police, was a young man and stood on the lowest rung of his professional ladder. It was recognized by his superiors, it was even feared by the man himself, that he was never likely to rise very high in the service. He was, in fact, an inefficient officer. He had a natural sense of humour, which was a great misfortune, because it led him to see situations like those of comic operas in the course of the duties which he was called upon to perform. He was wise enough not to laugh loudly at the things which happened; but the fact that a great deal of what he had to do struck him as ludicrous prevented his doing his duty heartily and thoroughly. An Irish police officer ought to have a good opinion of himself and his position. He ought to recognize his official kinship with the potentates who draw large salaries for administering the affairs of the Indians, the Egyptians, and other barbarous peoples. He is humbler, of course, and is paid less; but he is engaged in the same kind of work. He is securing to a conquered people the blessings of law and order. Unfortunately, Mr. Goddard could never see himself steadily in this light. Another cause of his inefficiency was indolence. The duties which did not strike him as comic bored him intolerably; but like many lazy men, he was subject to spasms of vigour when irritated. It was his custom to avoid doing anything for as long as possible, and at last, if goaded beyond endurance, to act with a violence which surprised his subordinates. He had a taste for literature, even when it took the form of poetry, and used to read a good deal in the evenings.

He was reading a novel when Miss Blow and Constable Moriarty drove up to his house. He received them in his dining-room, and was chiefly anxious at first to get rid of them as soon as possible. He did not realize for some time that Miss Blow was the kind of woman who ought to be offered a chair and invited to sit down on it. She came, apparently, in the custody of a policeman, and Mr. Goddard did not look closely at her. She saved him from any embarrassment he might afterwards have felt by walking over to an armchair and settling herself comfortably in it.

Constable Moriarty produced Lord Manton’s note of complaint and handed it over to his officer. He explained that Sergeant Farrelly had called three times at Clonmore Castle and had waited in the hall for some hours in the hope of seeing Lord Manton. Mr. Goddard read the note and asked a number of questions. He succeeded in greatly embarrassing Constable Moriarty. That young man had the feelings of a gentleman. He would not say anything likely to cause pain or discomfort to a lady. He hesitated in his account of Miss Blow’s invasion of the barrack. He contradicted himself three times in trying to explain the views of the police about the disappearance of Dr. O’Grady.

Miss Blow cut into the conversation sharply.

“I demand,” she said, “that the police should investigate a case of murder, and they refuse to do so.”

Mr. Goddard, for the first time, took a good look at her. He realized at once that she was an extremely handsome girl. Even so it seemed improbable that any one would murder a dispensary doctor well known to be very popular.

“Murder,” he said tentatively, “is perhaps too strong a word.”

“Lord Manton agrees with me,” said Miss Blow, “that he has been murdered.”

She took Lord Manton’s note from her pocket and handed it to Mr. Goddard. He read it, reread it, and then turned inquiringly to the constable. Moriarty reluctantly admitted that Lord Manton’s words might bear the interpretation which Miss Blow put on them.

“Then why on earth did you not investigate the matter?” said Mr. Goddard.

Constable Moriarty became very confused. With Miss Blow’s fine eyes fixed on him he could not bring himself to blurt out the naked truth. He was as unwilling as everybody else had been to break the heart of a beautiful girl by saying that her lover had basely deserted her.

“It could be,” he said feebly, “that the doctor’s alive and well yet.”

This was very much Mr. Goddard’s own opinion. He read Lord Manton’s note again, and then turned to Miss Blow.

“I am very sorry,” he said, “that you should have been put to so much trouble and inconvenience. I hope I am not tiring you too much, but would you mind telling me what reasons you have for supposing that Dr. O’Grady has been murdered?”

Miss Blow’s eyes suddenly filled with tears. She caught at her skirt with both hands, clenching the folds of it tightly.

“We were to have been married this year,” she said, “and oh——”

Then, fumbling hurriedly for her pocket-handkerchief, she burst into a flood of tears. There was every excuse for her. She had been driven to the belief that her lover was murdered. She had gone through three trying days, the last two of them very trying. She was a stranger among people who seemed heartless and cruel to an extraordinary degree. She had every right to an outbreak of hysterical weeping. Yet it should be noted to her credit that she chose as the witness of her breakdown the man, of all those whom she had met, most likely to be influenced by tears. Lord Manton, if she had wept in his study, would have comforted her; but he would also have enjoyed his task and would have appreciated the appearance of her slobbered cheeks. Sergeant Farrelly would have sympathized with her if she had wept in the police barrack, but he would not have gone out to search for Dr. O’Grady’s body merely because she made a sponge of her pocket-handkerchief. Mr. Goddard was different. He was young, and though he had a sense of humour, the sight of a beautiful girl shaken with sobs embarrassed him.

He did not exactly know what he ought to do. He looked round, hoping for some suggestion from the constable; but Moriarty had slipped quietly from the room. Mr. Goddard made a hasty and impassioned vow that he would give Constable Moriarty a severe lesson in the respect due to his superior officer. Then he looked at Miss Blow again. She was sobbing convulsively. He watched her helplessly for several minutes, and then asked her if she would like a cup of tea. He had to repeat the question twice, because, owing to nervousness, he was inaudible the first time he asked it. Miss Blow, when she heard what he said, shook her head vigorously. Mr. Goddard felt that there must have been something insulting about the suggestion, and was sorry he had made it. He wished very much that he knew how to behave under the circumstances. By way of relieving the tension of the situation he got up and stood behind Miss Blow. Then he walked round her chair and stood in front of her. Neither position availed to check her weeping. Her head was bowed almost to her lap and her face was covered with her hands. It occurred to him that it might soothe her if he patted her back and shoulders gently. He stretched out his hand. Then he paused. He was a man of chivalrous feeling towards women, the result perhaps of reading Tennyson’s poetry, and it struck him that it would be unfair to pat a girl who was obviously incapable of resisting. He stood irresolute, his hand still stretched out. His attitude was not unlike that of a priest who bestows a benediction upon a deeply contrite penitent.

“Miss Blow,” he said at last, “please stop crying.”

Curiously enough this appeal produced its effect upon her.

“How can I help crying,” she said, though her utterance was broken with sobs, “when he’s dead, and no one will help me even to find his body?”

Mr. Goddard’s resolution was taken in an instant. He did not believe that Dr. O’Grady was dead. He knew that he was laying up trouble for himself in the future; but it was absolutely necessary to stop Miss Blow crying and, if possible, to get her out of the house.

“I’ll help you,” he said. “I’ll do all that can be done to find him. I shall put all the men in my district to work. I shall leave no place unsearched until I find him, alive or dead.”

Miss Blow looked up at him, and smiled through her tears. Even an ordinary girl, with no particular pretensions to beauty, looks very charming when she succeeds in smiling and crying at the same time. Miss Blow seemed radiantly lovely. Mr. Goddard felt that he was losing command of himself. He felt strongly inclined to quote some poetry. He knew that there must be poetry suitable to the situation, but for the moment he could think of nothing except four lines out of Maud.

There was a certain appropriateness about the verses, and yet he hesitated to quote them. He was not sure that Miss Blow would care to admit in plain words to a total stranger that she wanted Dr. O’Grady’s arms round her. Miss Blow saved him from his uncertainty. She gave her eyes two rapid dabs with her wet pocket-handkerchief, and said—

“When shall we start?”

“Some day next week,” said Mr. Goddard. “Suppose we say——”

Miss Blow collapsed again, and showed every sign of more tears.

“Sooner, if you like,” said Mr. Goddard hurriedly.

“At once, then,” said Miss Blow, rallying; “at once; this very moment.”

Mr. Goddard looked at his watch. It was three o’clock. It would take him at least two hours to drive to Clonmore. He could do very little there that evening.

“At once,” repeated Miss Blow; “this very instant.”

Mr. Goddard gave in. He believed that he was going to make a fool of himself, but saw no way of escape. Miss Blow’s vigorous manner of crying convinced him that she was quite capable of sitting in his dining-room and continuing to cry until he set out in search of Dr. O’Grady’s body.

“Will you excuse me,” he said, “while I go upstairs and put on my uniform?”

Miss Blow nodded and smiled again. The thought of a uniform comforted her. A man can hardly fail in his duty when he puts on a uniform for the express purpose of performing it. Mr. Goddard took courage from her smile.

“I shall tell my housekeeper,” he said, “to bring you a cup of tea. I am sure you must need it. You can drink it while you are waiting. I shall have my horse harnessed and drive you back with me to Clonmore.”

This time Miss Blow did not refuse the tea. She drank two cups of it when it was brought to her, and finished a plate of bread-and-butter. It took Mr. Goddard some time to array himself, because he paused frequently to try and hit upon some way of getting rid of Miss Blow without driving her into Clonmore. He tried in vain. Miss Blow, after drinking her tea, was able to devote a few minutes to her hair and the position of her hat. There was a mirror over the chimney-piece in Mr. Goddard’s dining-room.

Mr. Goddard’s horse was a good one, and could undoubtedly have done the journey to Clonmore in less than two hours, but Mr. Goddard did not press him. He found the drive agreeable. Miss Blow had quite stopped crying before she got into the trap, and she talked with the utmost frankness about her affairs. There is something very delightful in the confidences of a beautiful girl. Miss Blow had a way of looking up with her eyes wide open, which sent a curious thrill of pleasure through Mr. Goddard. There was only one thing which marred the enjoyment of the drive. Her confidences were of the most puzzling and embarrassing kind. She told how everybody in Clonmore had lied. And so far, Mr. Goddard sympathized with her. But he could not help asking himself why they lied. Even Jimmy O’Loughlin, as Mr. Goddard understood, would not lie persistently without a motive of some kind. Of course, Miss Blow had an explanation ready at hand. Dr. O’Grady was murdered, and everybody was interested in concealing the fact. But Mr. Goddard could not believe this. He did not attempt to argue with her, for he had no wish to reduce her to tears again; but he knew very well that nobody in the neighbourhood would murder Dr. O’Grady. He was inclined at first to think, as every one else did, that the doctor had run away from his creditors; but Miss Blow demonstrated the absurdity of this theory. She had come to Clonmore with a blank cheque signed by her father, and full authority to pay every penny the doctor owed. She had told him beforehand in a letter that he might expect some relief. Mr. Goddard was forced to admit that under the circumstances it was very unlikely that Dr. O’Grady had allowed himself to be chased away to America by his creditors.

At the same time, the doctor had undoubtedly disappeared. That seemed the one solid fact there was. Miss Blow referred frequently to Lord Manton’s note. It puzzled Mr. Goddard quite as much as anything else did. He knew Lord Manton, and he could not understand how he came to believe, as apparently he did believe, in the murder of Dr. O’Grady. Mr. Goddard made up his mind that he would go up to Clonmore Castle and talk the whole matter over with Lord Manton. This was the solitary decision he was able to come to; though he was obliged to pledge himself over and over again to institute a strict search for the doctor’s body. He arrived at last in Clonmore and drove straight up to the hotel.

“You must be very tired,” he said to Miss Blow, “quite worn out. Now that the matter is in my hands, you need have no further anxiety. I hope you will stay quietly in the hotel and rest till I see you again.”

He spoke quite sincerely. He did hope that Miss Blow would go into the hotel and stay there. He feared that she might feel it necessary to follow him about and watch what he did.

“I shall inform you at once,” he went on, “of everything which transpires. I must spend this evening in making some preliminary inquiries; but there is no necessity for you to fatigue yourself further.”

Miss Blow looked at him long and searchingly. Mr. Goddard felt that she was judging of his strength and determination, was deciding whether she could fully trust him or not. He endeavoured to assume the expression of face which he believed to be common to those strong, silent Englishmen, whom the heroines of novels learn, after other people have turned out to be frauds, to trust to the uttermost. He was, apparently, quite successful in his effort. He deserved to be; for he really felt for the moment, with Miss Blow’s eyes on him, that he was exactly the kind of man he wished to appear. Miss Blow, without a word, stretched out her hand to him. He took it and ventured to press it slightly. He would have carried it to his lips and pressed a reverent kiss upon it, if Jimmy O’Loughlin had not been standing at the door of the hotel. Afterwards he was sorry that he had not defied Jimmy O’Loughlin. A reverent kiss, even if it had to soak through a glove, would have been most appropriate to the occasion.

Miss Blow got out of the trap and went into the hotel. Mr. Goddard drove on to the police barrack.

He found Sergeant Farrelly and Constable Cole drawn up before the door. They had seen their inspector drive into the town and were ready for him. Mr. Goddard at once ordered the sergeant to follow him into the barrack. Constable Cole mounted guard over the horse and trap.

“Now, sergeant,” said Mr. Goddard, “what have you to tell me about the disappearance of Dr. O’Grady?”

“There’s another man gone since then, sir,” said the sergeant gloomily.

“What do you mean? Who’s gone?”

“I thought it right to let you know, sir—I was within writing a report on the matter when I seen you drive into the town—that Patsy Devlin the smith is gone. His wife was up at the barrack shortly after Constable Moriarty left with the young lady, and she says he’s missing.”

“It’s a queer thing,” said Mr. Goddard, “that two men should disappear in this sort of way within a couple of days of each other. It looks bad. Let’s take them one at a time and see what we can make out of them. What have you to say about the doctor?”

“Everybody knows the reason he’s made off,” said the sergeant, “only nobody’d like to be telling the young lady, and that’s what has us all put about the way we are.”

“Do you mean debt?”

“I do, sir. It’s common talk. Jimmy O’Loughlin told me himself——”

“It’s not true anyhow, whether Jimmy O’Loughlin said it or not. Whatever it was made the doctor bolt, it wasn’t that.”

“Then I don’t know what it would be.”

“No more do I; but I’m going to see Lord Manton and talk to him about it.”

“It could be,” said Sergeant Farrelly, “that he’d know. Did you take notice of the note that he gave to the young lady?”

“Yes; I saw it.”

“Well now, his lordship couldn’t be believing that the doctor’s murdered, and whatever made him write that note it’s my opinion that there was something behind it. And what’s more, Jimmy O’Loughlin says——”

“Damn Jimmy O’Loughlin!”

“Jimmy O’Loughlin says,” went on the sergeant, “that his lordship knows something, be the same more or less, about Patsy Devlin. I wouldn’t wonder now if he’d be able to tell you where the both of the two of them is gone and why.”

“What about Patsy Devlin?” asked Mr. Goddard. “What sort of a man is he?”

“He’s no great things any way you take him. He’s a bit foolish at times, and takes more than is good for him. I hear them say that he fretted a deal when they didn’t make him the inspector of sheep dipping. It might be that the disappointment preyed on him, that and the drink, so as he wouldn’t be rightly responsible for what he did.”

“Was he mixed up with the League?”

“He was one time, but there was a falling out between him and them over the sheep dipping. Patsy wasn’t what you’d call great with the League since then. I’m told he had a deal of money collected for the sports. Jimmy O’Loughlin let out to me that——”

“It seems to me,” said Mr. Goddard, “that Jimmy O’Loughlin knows more about these disappearances than anybody else about the place.”

“Unless it would be Lord Manton,” said the sergeant.

“I’ll see Lord Manton anyhow,” said Mr. Goddard. “You can tell the constable to take my horse and trap round to the hotel. I’ll walk up to the Castle.”

“It’ll be well,” said the sergeant, “if you get seeing his lordship.”

He spoke meaningly. Mr. Goddard, who was half way to the barrack door, turned back.

“What’s that you say?”

“It’ll be well,” said the sergeant, “if you’re not told that his lordship’s away from home.”

“What do you mean by that?”

“I was up there yesterday,” said the sergeant; “off and on I was there for the most of the day; and I was up there again to-day, and all I got by it was word that his lordship was away from home. Jimmy O’Loughlin was saying——”

“Go on,” said Mr. Goddard; “Jimmy O’Loughlin’s remarks are always valuable.”

“He was saying that his lordship was within all the time. It was his opinion—I’m not saying was he right or wrong—but it was his opinion that his lordship didn’t want the police next or nigh him.”

“Jimmy O’Loughlin,” said Mr. Goddard, “appears to be as big a fool as anybody about Clonmore.”