"Yez didn't think it was a hip-pot-ta-mus, did ye?" comes back Maggie. "An' why should you be after botherin' us with your health ordinances—two poor girls that has a chance to turn a few pennies, with pork so dear? 'Look at all that good swill goin' to waste,' says I to Katie here. 'An' who's to care if I do boil some extra praties now an' then? Mr. Bauer's that rich, ain't he? An' what harm at all should there be in raisin' one little shoat in th' back yard?' So there, Mister! Do your worst. An' maybe it's only a warnin' I'll get from th' justice when he hears how Schwartzenberger's killed and dressed and taken him off before daylight. There he goes, the poor darlint! That's his last squeal."
We didn't need to stretch our ears to catch it. I looks over at the Lieutenant and grins foolish. But he wouldn't be satisfied until Maggie had towed him out to view the remains. He's pink behind the ears when he comes back, too.
"Please, Mister Inspector," says Maggie, "you'll not have us up this time, will yez?"
"Bah!" says Cecil.
"Seein' it's you," says I, "he won't. Course, though, a report of this plot of yours'll have to be made to the British War Office."
"Oh, I say now!" protests the Lieutenant.
And all the way down to his hotel he holds that vivid neck tint.
"Well," says Old Hickory, as I drifts back to the office, "did you and the Lieutenant discover any serious plot of international character?"
"Sure thing!" says I. "We found a contraband Irish pig in Herman Bauer's back yard.
"Wha-a-at?" he demands.