However, English or Irish, the mere fact of his being a
judge doesn't prove that he's a man of what I call real eminence. I
don't think the Major will let you have his best car cushions for some
sleepy old gentleman who sits on a bench and makes silly jokes. There
are lots of judges knocking about that rat-eaten car cushions would be
too good for. What's your man's name?"
"Hawkesby," said Doyle. "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.
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