carried a letter which, with marked excitement, he brought to
Miles Calhoun.

"Sure, he's waiting, sir," he said.

"And who's he?" asked his master, turning the letter over, as though to
find out by looking at the seal.

"Oh, a man of consequence, if we're to judge by the way he's clothed."

"Fit company, then?" his master asked, as he opened the heavily sealed
letter.

"Well, I'm not saying that, for there's no company good enough for us,"
answered the higgledy-piggledy butler, with a quirk of the mouth; "but,
as messengers go, I never seen one with more style and point."

"Well, bring him to me," said Miles Calhoun. "Bring him to me, and I'll
form my own judgment--though I have some confidence in yours."

"You could go further and fare worse, as the Papists say about
purgatory," answered the old man with respectful familiarity.

Captain Ivy and Dyck grinned, but the head of the house seemed none too
pleased at the freedom of the old butler.

"Bring him as he is," said Miles Calhoun. "Good God!" he added, for
he just realized that the stamp of the seal was that of the
Attorney-General of Ireland.

Then he read the letter and a flush swept over his face, making its red
almost purple.

"Eternal damnation--eternal damnation!" he declared, holding the paper
at arm's length a moment, inspecting it. He then handed it to Dyck.
"Read that, lad. Then pack your bag, for we start for Dublin by daylight
or before."

Dyck read the brief document and whistled softly to himself.

"Well, well, you've got to obey orders like that, I suppose," Dyck said.
"They want to question us as to the state of the country here."

"I think we can tell them something. I wonder if they know how wide your
travel is, how many people you see; and if they know, how did they come
to know? There's spies all over the place. How do I know but the man
who's just left this room isn't a spy, isn't the enemy of all of us
here?"

"I'd suspect Michael Clones," remarked Dyck, "just as soon as Mulvaney."

"Michael Clones," said his father, and he turned to Captain Ivy,
"Michael Clones I'd trust as I'd trust His blessed Majesty, George III.
He's a rare scamp, is Michael Clones! He's no thicker than a cardboard,
but he draws the pain out of your hurt like a mustard plaster. A man
of better sense and greater roguery I've never met. You must see him,
Captain Ivy. He's only about twelve years older than my son, but, like
my son, there's no holding him,