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The good old beggar! . . . We slang each other, and all that . . . but there's too much between us ever to resent anything for long." "I know," said Redmond simply, "he told me himself last night." "Eh?" queried Yorke sharply. "My God! . . . Tchkk!" he clucked, and burying his hands in his face he gave vent to a fretful oath.
"Tchkk!" he clucked in gentle distaste "In uniform . . . an' just afther comin' off the thrain! . . . th' like av that now 'tis 'tis scandh'lus! . . ." Suddenly Redmond shivered, and his mirth died within him. The air seemed to have become charged with a tense, ominous something that filled him with a great dread of what? he knew not.
Tchkk!" he clucked fretfully, "I wish this autopsy an' inquest was thru', so's we cud git down tu bizness. Phew! this dive's stuffy let's beat ut out a bit!" Standing on the sidewalk they gazed casually at the slowly approaching figures of Inspector Kilbride and Mr. Gully.
To his surprise came Slavin's soft brogue echoing the last lines of the old Shakespearian sonnet, with a sort of dreamy, gentle bitterness: "As binifits forghot forghot! as binifits forghot! . . . . Luk tu that now! eyah! 'tis th' trute, lad! . . . . for here unless I am mistuk, comes me bould Yorkey an' dhrunk as 'a fiddler's again. Tchkk! an' me on'y just afther warnin' um. . . ."
"Tchkk!" clucked McCullough wearily. "What is the use of arguin' with an old sweat like him? . . . Hardy'll be happy enough in Hell, so long as he can have his bloomin' old blackguard of a parrot along with him. If he can't there will be a pretty fuss." "Bear up, Hardy!" comforted George.
Shorn of the thick, seal-brown winter hair, the brand was now plainly visible. Enlightenment came to Yorke in a flash, as he peered over his superior's shoulder. "D Two!" he gasped, "I knew I'd seen that horse somewhere! It's 'Duster, Larry Blake's horse. Tchkk! this must be him. My God!" "Shure!" snapped Slavin testily. "Wake up! Is yeh're mem'ry goin', man?
Greeting the policemen quietly, he turned to the broken body. "Tchkk! good God!" He shook his head sadly. Redmond thought he had never seen a medical man so unprofessionally shocked. Presently he straightened up and turned to Slavin. "Can you identify him, Sergeant?" That worthy nodded. "Eyah! 'tis Larry Blake, I'm thinking Docthor. Best frisk him now an' see, I guess. Maybe he has letthers."
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