"Oh, it's no thrubble, miss," replied Biddy with an expansive smile. She finished laying the cloth, and then hung at the door.
"Well?" asked Miss Grimshaw.
"I thought, miss," said Biddy in a difficult voice, "you might be wantin' to—change your hat afther the journey."
As Miss Grimshaw was sitting at her tea some ten minutes later a knock came to the door. It was Moriarty who entered on the knock and stood hat in hand.
"I'm sendin' your thrunk by Doyle, the carrier, miss," said Moriarty, "and I'm takin' your small thraps on the car."
"Thank you."
"If you plaze, miss," said Moriarty, "did you see a man step out of the thrain wid a long black coat on him and a face like an undertaker's?"
"I did," said Miss Grimshaw, "if you mean a man in a tall hat."
"That's him," said Moriarty. "Bad luck to him! I knew what he was afther when I set me eyes on him, and when I was puttin' your bag on the car he ups and axes me if I knew of a Mr. Frinch living here away. 'Which Mr. Frinch?' says I. 'Mr. Michael Frinch,' says he. 'Do I know where he lives?' says I. 'Sure, what do you take me for—me, that's Mr. Frinch's own man?' 'How far is it away?' says he. 'How far is what?' says I. 'Mr. Frinch's house,' says he. 'A matter of fifteen miles,' says I. 'Bad luck to it!' says he, 'I'll have to walk it.' 'Up you get on the car,' says I, 'and sure I'll drive you,' and up he gets, and there he's sitting now, waitin' to be druv. Bad cess to him!"