“How are you, Biddy, and how are you getting on?” said Wrench.
“Oh, by the powers, I’m glad to see ye—an’ sure, I thought you had forgotten your ould frind entirely—an’ bedad, your broight frind’s with ye—well, the more the welcome. Step inside, Mr. Wrinch—an’ sure, the masther’s not at home, but that’s no rason that you should not be spaking to his wife.”
The three personages went behind the bar and entered the little room beyond.
“Ah, sure you are as welcome as the flowers in May, Mr. Wrinch, I need not tell you that—and what will you be afther takin—you and your frinds?”
“Nothing just now—we’ve come on business.”
“Oh, sure now, it’s business ye’ve come on,” cried the woman in an altered tone. “An’ I ’spose, if I may make so bould—I s’pose now, that it’s afther some dirty blackguard, that you are—an’ bad luck to him.”
“Something of that sort, I must confess,” returned the detective, with a smile, “and for old acquaintance sake, you’ll serve me if you can.”
“Faith an’ I will, if it lies in me power; and isn’t it a good turn ye did me when I was in the depths of throuble—and am I likely to forget it? Divil a bit, an’ what might it be that you may be wanting me to do—Mr. Wrinch?”
“You mustn’t speak quite so loud, Biddy,” said the detective.
“An’ its qute I’ll be as any church mouse.”