'That's it?' repeated Toole: 'what's it?--what's _what?_'
'Why, 'tis David O'Regan--Dirty Davy, as we call him. I never knew him
yet in an honest case; and the woman's M. M.'
'Hey! to be sure--a woman--I know--I remember; and he was on the point
of breaking out with poor Mrs. Macnamara's secret, but recovered in
time. 'That's the she fortune-teller, the witch, M. M., Mary Matchwell;
'twas one of her printed cards, you know, was found lying in Sturk's
blood. Dr. Sturk, you remember, that they issued a warrant for, against
our poor friend, you know.'
'Ay, ay--poor Charles--poor Nutter. Are you going to the inquest?' said
Gamble; and, on a sudden, stopped short, with a look of great fear, and
a little beckon of his hand forward, as if he had seen something.
There was that in Gamble's change of countenance which startled Toole,
who, seeing that his glance was directed through an open door at the
other end of the room, skipped from his chair and peeped through it.
There was nothing, however, visible but a tenebrose and empty passage.
'What did you see--eh? What frightens you?' said Toole.
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