at he deserves all that he's got on account of the way he has behaved
to Miss King, I'd go and apologise to him. You're a smart girl,
Sabina. I always said you were, and now you've proved that I was
perfectly right in my estimate of your abilities. Good-bye again.
This time I really must be off."

He seized Sabina's hand, and greatly to her surprise shook it heartily.
Then he left the kitchen and slammed the door behind him. Doyle was
waiting for him with Patsy Flaherty's bicycle. Meldon jumped on it and
rode off, ringing his bell as he went along the street. Doyle watched
him disappear, and then turned and walked into the kitchen. Sabina,
forgetful of his wrath and her own threatened fate, broke out when she
saw him.

"Well now, did any one ever see the like? Many's the queer one I've
come across since I entered this house, but never the equal of him for
goings on. Anybody would think he was--"

"It's not drink," said Doyle. "Nobody ever saw the sign of it on him."

He was angry, angry with Sabina Gallagher, and perhaps more angry with
Meldon; but he had a sense of justice, and was loyal to the man who had
once been his friend. He thought that Sabina was going to make an
accusation which might be natural enough, but was certainly false. As
a matter of fact, she had not meant to say anything of the sort, and
disclaimed the suggestion hotly.

"I wasn't saying it was drink. I know well it couldn't be, for he's a
simple, innocent kind of gentleman that wouldn't do the like. But I'd
say he was one that liked a bit of sport, and didn't care what
foolishness he might be after so long as he got it."

She smiled amiably at Doyle, as she spoke; but he was not a man to be
diverted from his purpose by smiles, or lulled into forgetfulness by
the charm of general conversation.

"You'll go upstairs this minute, Sabina Gallagher," he said, "and
you'll pack up whatever clothes you have--and that's not many--and as
soon as you have that done you'll go off home, for I'll not have you in
this house another night."

"I was thinking," said Sabina, "that you'd likely be saying that."

"I'd say more," said Doyle, "only if I did I might say what I'd be
sorry for after."

"You might surely."

"Though I wouldn't say more than you deserve whatever I said. What in
the name of all that's holy did you mean by poisoning the gentleman
that came here to stop in the hotel, and would have paid me three
pounds a week and maybe