“I tell you, sir,” cried Martin, peevishly, “as I have told you before, that has been done. There is such a thing as pumping a well dry, is n't there?” Scanlan made a sudden exclamation of horror; and after a pause, said, “Already!” “Ay, sir, already!” “I had my suspicions about it,” muttered Scanlan, gloomily. “You had? And how so, may I beg to ask?” said Martin, angrily. “I saw him down there, myself.” “Saw whom? Whom are you talking of?” “Of that Jew, of course. Mr. Merl, he calls himself.” A faint groan was all Martin's reply, as he turned away to hide his face. Scanlan watched him for a minute or so, and then resumed: “I guessed at once what he was at; _he_ never deceived me, talking about snipe and woodcocks, and pretending to care about hare-hunting. I saw my man at a glance. 'It's not sporting ever brought you down to these parts,' said I. '_Your_ game is young fellows, hard up for cash, willing to give up their birthright for a few thousands down, and never giving a second thought whether they paid twenty per cent, or a hundred and twenty.' Well, well, Captain, you ought to have told me all about it. There wasn't a man in Ireland could have putted you through like myself.” “How do you mean?” cried Martin, hurriedly. “Sure, when he was down in the West, what was easier? Faix, if I had only had the wind of a word that matters were so bad, I 'd have had the papers out of him long ago. You shake your head as if you did n't believe me; but take my word for it, I 'm right, sir. I 'd put a quarrel on him.” “_He'd_ not fight you!” said Martin, turning away in disappointment. “Maybe he wouldn't; but mightn't he be robbed? Couldn't he be waylaid, and carried off to the Islands? There was no need to kill him. Intimidation would do it all! I'd lay my head upon a block this minute if I would n't send him back to London without the back of a letter in his company; and what's more, a pledge that he 'd never tell what's happened to him!” “These cockney gents are more 'wide awake' than you suspect, Master Maurice, and the chances are that he never carried a single paper or parchment along with him.” “Worse for him, then,” said Scanlan. “He'd have to pass the rest of his days in the Arran Islands. But I'm not so sure he's as 'cute as you think him,” added Maurice, after a pause. “He left a little note-book once behind him that told some strange stories, by all accounts.” “What was that you speak of?” cried Martin, eagerly. “I did n't see it myself, but Simmy Crow told me of it; and that it was full of all the fellows he ruined,--how much he won from this man, what he carried off from that; and, moreover, there was your own name, and the date of the very evening that he finished you off! It was something in this wise: 'This night's work makes me an estated gentleman, _vice_ Harry Martin, Esquire, retired upon less than half-pay!'”