“Hosey M'Garry,” repeated Daly, “Charles Street,” as he wrote down the address with his pencil: “a strange name and residence for a lawyer.”
“I did n't say he was, sir,” said Freney, laughing.
“And who and what is he, then?”
“The only man, now alive, that can make a cowld chisel to cut iron without noise.”
“Ah! that's what you're thinking of; you'd rather trust to the flaws of the iron than of the indictment. Perhaps you are not far wrong, after all.”
“If I was in the court below without the fetters,” said Freney, eagerly, “I could climb the wall with a holdfast and a chisel, and get down the same way on the other side; once there, Mr. Daly, I 'd sing the ould ballad,—
“For the divil a man of ye all I fear,
I 'll be far away before morning.”
“And how are these tools to reach you here? If they admit any of your friends, won't they search them first?”