"Who can prove I set foire to Felix Gray's place?" demanded the Irishman, blusteringly. His tongue was clearer than it had been, but his head was as muddled as ever.
"Perhaps I can."
"Ye can't, no how."
"Well, we'll see, and it will go hard with you unless you can prove otherwise."
"Oi didn't do it. It was Dennis's work," howled Mosey, breaking down completely. "Oi found the box and gave it ter him, and he kept it. Didn't he stale the model, too, and run away wid yer sister? Oi niver harmed a soul, save when I was in liquor," he whined.
"It's a lie!" shouted Corrigan, in a rage. Had he been free he would have struck down his confederate.
"It ain't, it's true, every worrud of it," responded Mosey, doggedly. "Ye always got me to do yer dirty worruk, and now yer want me to stand all der blame. But Oi won't do it. Oi'll turn Queen's evidence first."
"If you turn state's evidence you may save yourself a heap of trouble," put in Farmer Farrell.
"Oh, Oi'll do it, just mind me, if Oi don't," replied the Irishman, quickly. He was thoroughly cowed, and his one thought was how to best evade the clutches of the law.
"You mean dog!" interrupted Corrigan, bitterly. "You shall pay dearly for this;" and he grated his teeth together in rancor.