"What's the matter with business--partly ?" "I don't know.

There are rumours.

Hetherington is pounding us--apparently.

That Inter-County crowd is acting ominously, too.
There's something underhand, somewhere." He bent his head and fell to plucking at the faded brocade on the arm of his chair, muttering to himself, "somewhere, somehow, something underhand.

I don't know what; I really don't." "All right--all right," said the doctor testily; "let it go at that! There's treachery, eh?
You suspect it?
You're sure of it--as reasonably sure as a gentleman can be of something he is not fashioned to understand?
That's it, is it?
All right, sir--all right! Very well--ver-y well.