“Mrs Kinsella, no less; she tould the maids and I was listenin’. Ohone! sure, it’s ruined I am!”
“Faith, you never said a truer word, if you don’t tell all you know. Out with it all, before I slits your wizzind.”
“Dimonds and em’ralds and all,” cried Patsy. “They say she do be wearin’ them wherever she goes, and she ould enough to be Mrs Kinsella’s mother.”
“Where does she keep them at night?”
“In a box on her dressin’ table. Mrs Kinsella says she wonders the ould lady hasn’t been robbed before this.”
“Faith, she won’t be wondering that long,” said Mr Murphy, who now having got the information he required, closed his knife and put it in his pocket. “Have you been listenin’ to what your nevy told me, Con Cogan?”
“I have,” said Con.
“Now,” said Mr Murphy, turning to Patsy, whom he had released, and who was sitting up with his hair all towsled and a scared look on his face—“now listen to me, for I’m goin’ to talk bizness. Who locks the big front door at night?”
“Mr James, the butler,” replied Patsy.
“What’s he do with the key?”