“Mr Fanshawe!”

It was just before the first dinner gong, and Mr Fanshawe was in the billiard-room alone practising strokes. He was horribly nervous and depressed. That nervous depression had seized him which sometimes comes as the herald of disaster, sometimes simply from over-wrought nerves.

Only seven hours or so lay between him and the great moment of his life.

He had done everything that could be done. Larry Lyburn had fallen in with everything, and had declared himself willing to carry out instructions to the minutest detail; he had received a sovereign on account, and the promise of two more on starting. Fly-by-night, a great roan mare, had been inspected and approved. Mr Fanshawe was to drive, and Larry to sit behind.

That the job would most likely lose Larry his place never occurred to that individual, but it did to Mr Fanshawe, and he had stated his intention of taking Mr Lyburn into his service, and pensioning him, if need be, should trouble ensue, to which statement of intention Larry had replied: “Yes, sor.”

Despite all this Mr Fanshawe felt nervous. He would have felt more nervous still had he known that Larry had spent some of his largesse on a bottle of whisky.

“Mr Fanshawe!”

“Hullo!” said Mr Fanshawe.

“There’s no one here?” said Doris; “that’s all right. I have a note for you. It’s from her,” said Doris, as Mr Fanshawe opened the note.

“Courage, darling—I am quite prepared. I will be ready dressed waiting at two. I will come down to the hall just as the big clock strikes.—Ever, V.”

Mr Fanshawe read.

“She’s told me about it,” said Doris; “and I’m going to see you off, and Bob’s coming too.”

“Good gracious!” said Mr Fanshawe, “is it safe?”

“Quite; we won’t make a bit of noise. No one sleeps on our landing but Biddy, and she sleeps in the room with Selina, and nothing wakes her.”

“All right,” said Mr Fanshawe, who, on second thoughts, felt rather pleased that the children’s innocent presence should lend a colour to the thing. “But mind and don’t breathe a word to any one; be in the big hall at two.”

“We’ll be there,” said Doris, with the air of a conspirator. “Now I must go, lest any one suspects—there’s the dressing gong.”

“So it is,” said Mr Fanshawe.

He left the library and went to his room, where Patsy had just brought his hot water.

“Everything is going on all right, Patsy, I suppose?”

“Yes, sir; everything is fixed now, and Larry will have the yard strawed be wan.”

“Right!” said Mr Fanshawe.

“Have you heard of Paddy Murphy, sir?” asked Patsy, as he was leaving the room.

“No—what about him?”

“He rode into Castle Knock yesterday, on Con Cogan——”

“On what?”

“Faith, on me uncle,” said Patsy, “for Con’s me uncle, and a bad, black baste of a man he is. Con gave Paddy away, and Paddy cocht him an’ saddled and bridled him, so they say, and now he’s ridin’ him over the country-side, clane cracked wid the whisky. He rode up to the inn at Castle Knock yesterday, afther they’d chased him, wid Billy Croom’s coat on his back and spurs on and all, and he mounted on Con like a dunkey, and Con brayin’; and he pulled out a handful of gowld and stood trate to every man he met; and they say you could hear the hullaballoo at Castle Grange—the people shoutin’ and cheerin’ Paddy, and he mounted on Con, and ridin’ him up and down the street. Thin he bought two bottles of whisky, and off he wint at a canter; and they say he’s highwaying people and cuttin’ up the divil’s own shine on the roads.”

“Good Lord!” said Mr Fanshawe, “are there no police at all in this country?”

“They’re all beyant at the cattle dhrivin’,” said Patsy. “But, sure, a ridgment of police wouldn’t take Paddy whin the whisky’s got him.”

“See here, Patsy,” said Mr Fanshawe, “I mayn’t have time to say it later on, if you get into any trouble over this affair, you know who’s your friend. And I’m going to take you into my service anyhow, but I’ll arrange all that later on, when the row is over. Here’s a sovereign for you. I’m not going to give you any more at present, for you’d only be spending it on rubbish; but I’ll give you good wages when I take you on. And, see here, Patsy, you’d better get hold of that ear-trumpet to-morrow morning, when we are gone, and take the cork out. We don’t want the old lady to be deaf for ever.”

Dinner was a most trying function. To have to sit at the same table with a man who has called you a hound is somewhat of a tax on the appetite, even though the man is your uncle. After dinner came a game of billiards with Uncle Molyneux.

Coming out of the billiard-room at half-past ten, Mr Fanshawe heard General Grampound’s abusive voice.

The old gentleman was saying: “You’ll tell the groom to be here to time, so as to allow two hours for getting to the station, and the luggage-cart had better be here at six sharp.”

“Yes, sir,” replied Patsy’s voice.

Mr Fanshawe passed into the dining-room for a whisky and soda. He consumed three on the principle of the camel who has to face the desert.

At half-past eleven he went to his room.

At twelve, with two or three exceptions, the household was snoring.