"Ah, don't be after sayin' it," she shook her head wistfully. "That's what the doctor tolt me. But what can a poor scrubwoman do?"
"Not as much, maybe, as a lawyer can. You leave that to me. I'll see he goes and you'll be along. All I ask in return is"—he put his finger on his lips—"just one word—silence."
She tried to say something, but laughing and pooh-poohing her attempts at thanks, he walked her to the door.
"There—there—no back-talk. Hustle along now, and don't forget, I want to see Dan Meagher tonight. Ask the clerk in the waiting room for the address. Good-bye." He shook hands with her and patted Dannie on the shoulder. "A month on a farm and you won't know this boy. Good-bye and good luck to you!"
As the door shut on her his whole expression and manner changed. He turned back to the room, his hands deep in his pockets, his shoulders hunched, his eyes, under the drooping thatch of his hair, looking from one to the other of us.
"Well, gentlemen?" he said.
"Murder!" came from George on a rising breath.
"Murder," repeated his father. "A fact that I've suspected since the inquest."
[CHAPTER VII]
MOLLY TELLS THE STORY