'Come in here, Mr. Irons, and take a chair,' said the justice.
Doctor Toole was in the room, in a balloon-backed chair, regaling himself with a long pipe, and Mr. Lowe shut the door.
'We have another deposition, doctor, to take; Mr. Irons, here, is prepared to swear informations of very singular importance.'
'Irons, hollo! from what planet did you drop to-night?'
'Mullingar, Sir.'
'Nothing about the burning of the old woman at Tyrrell's Pass, eh?'
'No—'tis an old story. I don't care what comes of it, I'm innocent, only you'll say I kept it too long to myself. But you can't touch my life. I'm more afeard of him than you, and with good cause; but I think he's in a corner now, and I'll speak out and take my chance, and you mustn't allow me to be murdered.'
By this time Lowe had procured writing materials, and all being ready, he and the curious and astonished doctor heard a story very like what we have already heard from the same lips.