“Or your dog.”
“There was only one beneath me. I felt him.”
“Just so,” said M'Adam, and laughed. The other's brow contracted.
“An' that was a big un,” he said slowly. The little man stopped his cackling.
“There ye lie,” he said, smoothly. “He was small.”
They looked one another full in the eyes.
“That's a matter of opinion,” said the Master.
“It's a matter of fact,” said the other.
The two stared at one another, silent and stern, each trying to fathom the other's soul; then they turned again to the brink of the Fall. Beneath them, plain to see, was the splash and furrow in the shingle marking the Killer's line of retreat. They looked at one another again, and then each departed the way he had come to give his version of the story.
“'If Th' Owd Un had kept wi' me, I should ha' had him.”