"So you were beat, eh?" the old man jeered. "I never thought you were much good at it."
"Ah, I don't know." And Irish grinned again.
"Tell me," the old man snapped, "did you bring me 'The Advocate'?"
"I did." And Irish handed it over.
"'T is a wonder you remembered it," the old man snarled. "And the fine lacing you 're after taking!"
And Irish grinned again. Wasn't he a queer, grumpy old man!
BY ORDEAL OF JUSTICE
Very much as though he were entering a disreputable place, Matthew Kerrigan slipped furtively from the taxicab into the hallway of the old New York mansion made over into an apartment-house. He stood at the door, portly, important, wrapped in his fur coat. He pushed the button marked "Mr. Sergius." A young Russian butler admitted him.
"Just say a Mr. Smith," Kerrigan announced importantly. Across the Russian boy's harsh features there was the shadow of contempt. He reappeared in an instant and held open a door for Kerrigan.