“Come, now,” said Sir Harry, “I’ll set all to rights with a postscript. ‘Any one who questions the above statement is politely requested to call on Mr. Considine, 16 Kildare Street, who will feel happy to afford him every satisfaction upon Mr. O’Malley’s decease, or upon miscellaneous matters.”
“Worse and worse,” said O’Malley. “Killing another man will never persuade the world that I’m dead.”
“But we’ll wake you, and have a glorious funeral.”
“And if any man doubt the statement, I’ll call him out,” said the Count.
“Or, better still,” said Sir Harry, “O’Malley has his action at law for defamation.”
“I see I’ll never get down to Galway at this rate,” said O’Malley; “and as the new election takes place on Tuesday week, time presses. There are more writs flying after me this instant than for all the government boroughs.”
“And there will be fewer returns, I fear,” said Sir Harry.
“Who is the chief creditor?” asked the Count.
“Old Stapleton, the attorney in Fleet Street, has most of the mortgages.”
“Nothing to be done with him in this way?” said Considine, balancing the corkscrew like a hair trigger.