Then he sought Mr. Morton's office and asked to see him privately.
Mr. Morton sent word that he was busy and did not wish to be disturbed.
"Tell him it's a serious matter," said Jerry.
Upon receiving this message Mr. Morton invited him in, and, closing the door of the little private office where he was in the habit of holding confidential interviews with his clients, he prepared to listen with a bored air.
"I'm Jerry, sir," the visitor began, "Jerry Myer. You may not know me, sir, but I know you, and your children—they call me Paddy—'Paddy on the Turnpike.'"
"Oh, it's Paddy, is it?" said Morton, remembering.
"Yes, sir; no, sir—that is, it's Jerry, sir."
"Well, Jerry, be quick; what can I do for you this afternoon?"
And Jerry began:
"You see, sir, my wife, being poorly, has to sit all the time indoors. Our little cottage is just across the street from your fine house, sir; next to the convent wall with only a bit of a passway between; and Peggy, she's my wife, overheard two men, hiding there, talking and planning as how they would rob you to-night and drug you, and there's no telling what else besides."