"If you plaze, sorr, I'd rather just keep me tongue shut in me head. It's not that I aren't wishful to tell you, sorr, but it's the divil to spake whin you're fishin'. Do you remimber, sorr, young Mr. James and his wife, whin they came to Drumgool, and went out fishin' the black water? Him and she wid a luncheon-basket and tame minnows presarved in bottles of glycerin' and the hoight of fine rods and patent hucks, and landin' nets, and groun' bate, and the Lord knows all; and you could hear thim chatterin' to wan another half a mile away, and the wather thick wid fish. And the divil a thing they caught in three days but a craw-been."
"Moriarty is right," said Miss Grimshaw, who had a profound belief in the capacity of Moriarty for doing the right thing just in the right way, when the thing was a matter of diplomacy.
"Look here, Moriarty," said French, "are you thinking of making a prisoner of this chap? For that won't do."
"No, sorr," said Moriarty. "I'm not."
"He doesn't drink?"
"No, sorr."
"You're not going to bribe him?"
"No, sorr."
"Well, all I can say is, if you can find some other means of putting him out of action you're a cleverer man than I am."
"If you'll just lave it to me, sorr, you may rest contint."