you've
lived in this country, it is, of course, much more true about this
judge. Therefore, to get back to what I was saying a minute
ago--having failed in my appeal to his intellect--I fall back upon the
one vulnerable part of him and try if I can influence him through that."

"Do tell me what you've done, J. J."

"I've told Sabina Gallagher--"

"Who is Sabina Gallagher?"

"She's Doyle's cook. She is, in the opinion of the judge, quite the
most important person in the whole of Ballymoy."

"I don't expect he really thinks that," said the Major, "after seeing
you. But what did you tell Sabina?"

"I told her that everything he got to eat was to taste of paraffin oil.
That, I think, ought to drive him out of Ballymoy in twenty-four hours."

"It'll probably drive Sabina out of her job. Doyle will sack her
to-morrow morning."

"No, he won't. _His_ food won't taste of paraffin."

"In any case she won't do it," said the Major. "No girl would be so
wicked."

"The only thing that will defeat her," said Meldon, "will be the case
of a boiled egg. I don't myself see how she's to manage a boiled egg.
I had to leave that to her own imagination. But she's a smart girl,
and she may hit upon some way of doing it. In any case, the judge can
hardly live entirely on boiled eggs. Everything else he gets will have
more or less paraffin in it, except the butter, and it's to taste of
onions. His bed will be damp, too--horribly damp--with Condy's Fluid."

"You'll probably kill the old man," said the Major.

"I don't think so. He'll leave before it comes to that. And in any
case, I warned him that he'd endanger his life if he came to Doyle's
hotel."

The dinner was, for the most part, difficult to eat; but the Major, who
was really an abstemious man, succeeded in satisfying his appetite with
biscuits and cheese; a tumbler of whisky and soda and a glass of port
further cheered him. His anxiety was allayed, for he did not believe
that Doyle's cook would venture to poison a judge, even at the request
of Meldon. Therefore he was able to light his pipe in the study with a
feeling of satisfaction. He settled down in his accustomed chair, and
took up _The Times_ again. This time he expected to be able to read
it. Before dinner his irritation had prevented him from getting any
good even out of the leading articles. Meldon sat down at the
writing-table and wrote a letter to his wife, full of good advice about
the mana