Mr. Wrench drew from his pocket the bill relating to the murder in Larchgrove-road; but, unfortunately reading was not one of Mrs. Flanagan’s accomplishments.
She seemed unable to comprehend that the document was headed with the word murder.
“Och, by the powers,” she ejaculated, “it’s some murthering spalpeen you’ll be afther, Mr. Wrinch?”
“Yes, and a hundred pounds reward will be presented to any person or persons who shall give any such information as may lead to his conviction,” said the detective. “I will read you a description of the man of whom we are in search.”
“Shure now, it isn’t blood money I’d be taking,” said Mrs. Flanagan, after the detective had done reading; “no, not even to save my own blessed life; but if I could put you on the track of the murtherin’ villain I would.”
“Have you seen a man answering to the description I have given?”
“Faix, no—divil a one. I wish I had. Whisht now, do you think he’s in Liverpool?”
“I have every reason to suppose so—that is why I have paid you this visit. We must have a look at all the people here.”
Oh, by Jasus, ye’ll not find the dirty blackguard here, Mr. Wrinch. It’s mighty particular we are, both Dennis and myself. We don’t let beds to onrespectable piple. It’s thrue now, some years ago I was in a little bit o’ thrubble, as you know Mr. Wrinch, but ye see, darling, it taught me a lesson, and bedad I’ve profited by it intirely. Och, but it’s particular we are, both Dennis and myself, an’ anyway, Mr. Wrinch, you don’t suppose that we would harbour thieves or murderers.”
“I don’t suppose you do. I’m not accusing you, woman. All I say is, if you have seen a man answering the description given, tell me so frankly. You had better do so.”