“Hark here,” said I, pulling the weapon from my belt and balancing it on my fingers. “I’m no custom-house runner. Your cabin may be full, as it probably is, of rum or bitters for all I care,” here he gave a wince of relief. “I want to know what yonder brig carried off, not what she left ashore.”
“Sure, I thought your honour was from the police,” said the man with a leer.
“Tell me,” said I, “who went off in the ship’s boat early this morning.”
“Three just—a man and two females.”
“Did you know any of them?”
“Maybe I did, maybe no. One of the ladies was maid to Mistress Shannon, away at Malin.”
“And the man?”
“He’s the boy that’s courting that same maid, and comes from Knockowen.”
“And the other lady?”
“I never saw her before; but I’m thinking she was a rale lady.”