"Yes—but he couldn't have seen anything. Maw's floors was all dark."
"Did you see him come out of the room again?"
"No. I was that scairt I crep' away back to where Maw was."
"Come in to me like a specter," said Mrs. Meagher. "And not a word out of him only that he was cold."
"Well, Mrs. Meagher," said the chief, "this is a great service you've done us, and it's up to us to do something for you."
"Oh, your Honor," she answered, "it's not pay I'm wantin'. It was my dooty and I done it. Now, Dannie boy, it's time we was gettin' home."
"Wait a moment," said the old man. "You say your husband's a drayman. Tell him to come and see me—my home's the best place—this evening if possible. And tell him—and this applies as much to you"—his bushy brows came down over his eyes and his expression grew lowering—"not to mention one word of this. If you keep your mouths shut, your future's made. If you blab"—he raised a warning finger and shook it fiercely in her face—"God help you."
Mrs. Meagher looked terrified. She clutched Dannie and drew him against her skirts.
"It's not a word I'll be after sayin', your Honor," she faltered. "I'll swear it before the priest."
"That's right. I'll see the priest about it." He suddenly changed, straightened up, and was the genial old gentleman who could put the shyest witness at his ease. "The little chap doesn't look strong. New York's no place for him. He ought to run wild in the country for a bit."