recy."

"What's that: must I join a secret society? Oh, no, I'd die first, for
what would Biddy and Father Doolan say?"

"I only want you to promise not to repeat anything you hear, nor
anything that takes place in this room."

"I'll swear to that all right, your honour."

"Good. Now then kiss that pistol," said Hal, producing a small Derringer
from his pocket.

"Kiss that craythure! Why it's a gun, and may be loaded. It may kill me.
Oh, Biddy, Biddy, your darlint is going to be kilt entoirely! I can see
your game. You are going to kill me and make me swear to say nothing
about it."

"I'll hold the barrel towards me. You kiss the stock," said Hal,
laughing.

"Well hold it tight, your honour, for if it goes off it might kick me
with its rump."

"D--n you block-headed Irishman," said Hal, losing his temper.

"I'll kiss it; I'll kiss it; and if it do kick I'll open my mouth."

"Say after me then--I swear to keep this meeting secret."

"I won't, I won't; for I'll have to confess to Father Doolan. Oh, Biddy,
Biddy, your darlint is amongst burglars!"

"Now then, Terence O'Flynn, with the accent on the 'ynn,' you are a
silly fool, but you have sworn to keep secret all that passes here, and
to assist us, for which we will pay you--"

"Barring Father--"

"Shut up. Wait till I've finished. When did you first see this Wyck,
whom you called a soft line?"

"The first time I saw him was the second cos I only had a back view
first. It was one morning just as I drove to the stand, about ten
o'clock. I was in my cab, and Dick Burton was just foreninst of me. I
twigged a fellow coming along who looked like a swell looking out for a
cab, so I drove up to him before Dick could, but by jabers if he did not
pass me right by and beckon to Dick. That was Wyck. I was a bit cross
all day, and when I saw Dick in the evening I asked him who he was.
'He's my property,' says he. 'He's a good un, and allus pays in gold.'
Dick drove him about for several days, and last night he comes to me in
great excitement. 'Terence,' says he, 'we'll go on the booze.' 'All
right,' says I; and we had a regular good booze, we had. Bill was
regular screwed, and he told me his pigeon had gone away and left him.
He's gone to the "toight little island." That's what we call Tasmania,
sir; and that's all I know, so help me."

"Where did Wyck live?"

"At the Gaiety. He was a bit sweet on a gal there. Lord, he was a lady's
man, he was. Always had them