last night," said the Major,
"there probably would have been."

"Do you mean to say," said Meldon, "that he drove straight off to see
Miss King?"

"It's where he told the driver to go, any way," said Doyle, "and it's
there he went without he changed his mind on the way. What I was
thinking was that maybe he's acquainted with Miss King."

"He is," said Meldon. "I know that. I don't believe that he's ever
spoken to her except in public, but he certainly knows who she is."

"What I'm thinking," said Doyle, "is that he intended asking if he
might go up to the big house and stay there along with her for such
time as he might be in Ballymoy."

"He can't have done that," said Meldon. "There are reasons which the
Major understands, though you don't, which render that idea quite
impossible. Speaking on the spur of the moment, and without thinking
the matter out thoroughly, I am inclined to suppose that he connects
Miss King with the condition of his bed last night and the persistent
flavour of paraffin oil in his food. He's probably gone up to speak to
her about that."

"He couldn't," said Doyle, "for Sabina Gallagher told him it was you."

"He wouldn't believe Sabina," said Meldon, "and he has every reason to
suspect Miss King of wanting to score off him. I think I may tell you,
Doyle, without any breach of confidence, that Miss King has a stone up
her sleeve to throw at that judge. He tried to do her a bad turn some
weeks ago, and she's just the woman to resent it."

"But the young lady was never in the inside of my house, and never set
eyes on Sabina. How could it be that she--"

"I know what you're going to say," said Meldon. "She couldn't have had
anything to do with the Condy's Fluid or the paraffin oil. That's
true, of course. But my point is that the judge, puzzled by an
extraordinary combination of circumstances, all tending to make him
uncomfortable, would naturally think Miss King was at the bottom of
them. The one thing I don't quite understand is how he came to know
she was in Ballymoy. I'll find that out later on. In the meanwhile I
think I'd better go into Ballymoy after all. It's a nuisance, for I
was extremely comfortable on the yacht, but I can't leave things in the
muddle they're in now, and there's nobody else about the place I could
trust to clear them up."

CHAPTER XVII.

"You may as well drive me into Ballymoy, Doyle," said Meldon, as they
walked up together from the sh