_Mr. Quirke:_ (_Going in and searching and coming out._) I did not; there is no other place for me to put it. Is it gone blind I am, or is it not in it, it is? _Mrs. Delane:_ It’s not there now anyway. _Mr. Quirke:_ Didn’t you take notice of it there yourself this morning? _Mrs. Delane:_ I have it in my mind that I did; but it’s not there now. _Mr. Quirke:_ There was no one here could bring it away? _Mrs. Delane:_ Is it me myself you suspect of taking it, James Quirke? _Mr. Quirke:_ Where is it at all? It is certain it was not of itself it walked away. It was dead, and very dead, the time I bought it. _Mrs. Delane:_ I have a pleasant neighbour indeed that accuses me that I took his sheep. I wonder, indeed, you to say a thing like that! I to steal your sheep or your rack or anything that belongs to you or to your trade! Thank you, James Quirke. I am much obliged to you indeed. _Mr. Quirke:_ Ah, be quiet, woman; be quiet—— _Mrs. Delane:_ And let me tell you, James Quirke, that I would sooner starve and see everyone belonging to me starve than to eat the size of a thimble of any joint that ever was on your rack or that ever will be on it, whatever the soldiers may eat that have no other thing to get, or the English that devour all sorts, or the poor ravenous people that’s down by the sea! (_She turns to go into shop._) _Mr. Quirke:_ (_Stopping her._) Don’t be talking foolishness, woman. Who said you took my meat? Give heed to me now. There must some other message have come. The Sergeant must have got some other message. _Mrs. Delane:_ (_Sulkily._) If there is any way for a message to come that is quicker than to come by the wires, tell me what it is and I’ll be obliged to you. _Mr. Quirke:_ The Sergeant was up here making an excuse he was sticking up that notice. What was he doing here, I ask you? Mrs. Delane: How would I know what brought him? _Mr. Quirke:_ It is what he did; he made as if to go away—he turned back again and I shaving—he brought away the sheep—he will have it for evidence against me—— _Mrs. Delane:_ (_Interested._) That might be so. _Mr. Quirke:_ I would sooner it to have been any other beast nearly ever I had upon the rack. _Mrs. Delane:_ Is that so? Mr. Quirke: I bade the Widow Early to kill it a fortnight ago—but she would not, she was that covetous! _Mrs. Delane:_ What was on it? _Mr. Quirke:_ How would I know what was on it? Whatever was on it, it was the will of God put it upon it—wasted it was, and shivering and refusing its share. _Mrs. Delane:_ The poor thing. _Mr. Quirke:_ Gone all to nothing—wore away like a flock of thread. It did not weigh as much as a lamb of two months. _Mrs. Delane:_ It is likely the Inspector will bring it to Dublin? _Mr. Quirke:_ The ribs of it streaky with the dint of patent medicines—— _Mrs. Delane:_ I wonder is it to the Petty Sessions you’ll be brought or is it to the Assizes?