"Beggin' yer pardon, Misther Daney an' not m'anin' the least offinse in life, but—I know a lot about that young man—yis, an' the young leddy, too—that divil a sowl on earth knows or is goin' to find out." He tried a shot in the dark. "That was a clever bit o' wurrk gettin' her out o' Port Agnew—"
Andrew Daney's hands closed about Dirty Dan's collar, and he was jerked violently into the latter's office, while Daney closed and locked the door behind them. The general manager was white and trembling.
"You damned, cunning mick, you!" he cried, in a low voice. "I believe you're right. You do know a lot about this affair—"
"Well, if I do, I haven't talked about it," Dirty Dan reminded him with asperity.
"You knew the girl had left Port Agnew and why, do you not?" Daney demanded.
"Of course I do. She left to plaze The Laird an' get rid o' the young fella. Whether Th' Laird paid her to go or not, I don't know, but I'll say this: 'If he gave her anythin' at all, 'twas damned little.'"
"He didn't give her a red cent," Daney protested.
"I believe you, sor," Mr. O'Leary assured him, as solemn as a Supreme Court justice. "I judged so be the way she traveled an' the hotel she shtopped at."
Daney made another dive at the returned prodigal, but Mr. O'Leary evaded him.
"Where did she travel, and what hotel did she put up at?" the general manager demanded.