"Sir Gilbert Hawkesby, no less." Meldon started from his chair.
"Are you sure of that ?" he asked, "absolutely dead certain?
This is a business over which it won't do to make mistakes." "It's what was in his letter, any way," said Doyle, "when he wrote engaging rooms in the hotel." "When does he arrive ?" "To-morrow," said Doyle; "to-morrow afternoon, and I told Sabina to kill a chicken to-day, for it's likely he'll be wanting a bit of dinner after the drive over from Donard.

I thought if he had a chicken and a bit of boiled bacon, with a custard pudding after that--" "Go into the coach-house at once," said Meldon, "and take any cushions you want.

I can't talk any more to you this morning.

I'm going to be frightfully busy." Doyle, grinning broadly, led his horse round to the yard.

He did not believe that Meldon was ever busy.