“Different things,” said Doogan’s man O’Reilly, noncommittally.
“But who made the charge—who laid the complaint, I mean?”
“’Tis an old friend of yours!” chuckled O’Reilly, thinking of other things.
Durkin looked at the man studiously. “Not Robinson?”
“And who’s Robinson?—better try another guess!”
“Nor the Postal-Union people?”
“And what have you been doin’ to them?” retorted the officer, as he gnawed at the corner of his tobacco plug and tucked it away in his vest pocket again.
“They tried to soak me once, without cause,” lamented Durkin, indignantly. But his hopes had risen. After all, he felt, it might be only some old, unhappy far-off thing.
“Who the devil was it, then?”
“Twas MacNutt!” said O’Reilly, watching him. “MacNutt’s turned nice and good. He’s a stool-pigeon now!”