Mr. Quirke: It would be hard for me to say that. American it is. How would I know what way they do be killing the pigs out there? Machinery, I suppose, they have—steam hammers——
Sergeant: Is there nothing else here at all?
Mr. Quirke: I give you my word, there is no meat living or dead in this place, but yourself and myself and that bird above in the cage.
Sergeant: Well, I must tell the Inspector I could find nothing. But mind yourself for the future.
Mr. Quirke: Thank you, Sergeant. I will do that. (Enter Fardy. He stops short.)
Sergeant: It was you delayed that message to me, I suppose? You’d best mend your ways or I’ll have something to say to you. (Seizes and shakes him.)
Fardy: That’s the way everyone does be faulting me. (Whimpers.)
(The Sergeant gives him another shake. A half-crown falls out of his pocket.)
Miss Joyce: (Picking it up.) A half-a-crown! Where, now, did you get that much, Fardy?
Fardy: Where did I get it, is it!