“Ah, now, Mr Daly—why’d you be putting them words into my mouth? sorrow a word of the kind I iver utthered at all.”
“What the deuce was it you did say, then?”
“Faix, I don’t know that I said much, at all.”
“Didn’t you say, Mr Moylan, that Martin Kelly was talking to you about marrying Anty, some six weeks ago?”
“Maybe I did; he was spaking about it.”
“And, if you were in the chair now, before a jury, wouldn’t you swear that there was a schame among them to get Anty Lynch married to Martin Kelly? Come, Mr Moylan, that’s all we want to know: if you can’t say as much as that for us now, just that we may let the Kellys know what sort of evidence we could bring against them, if they push us, we must only have you and others summoned, and see what you’ll have to say then.”
“Oh, I’d say the truth, Mr Daly—divil a less—and I’d do as much as that now; but I thought Mr Lynch was wanting to say something about the property?”
“Not a word then I’ve to say about it,” said Barry, “except that I won’t let that robber, young Kelly, walk off with it, as long as there’s law in the land.”
“Mr Moylan probably meant about the agency,” observed Daly.
Barry looked considerably puzzled, and turned to the attorney for assistance. “He manes,” continued Daly, “that he and the Kellys are good friends, and it wouldn’t be any convenience to him just to say anything that wouldn’t be pleasing to them, unless we could make him independent of them:—isn’t that about the long and the short of it, Mr Moylan?”