M.,' and nodded.
His companion extended his hand toward the papers.
'Never mind,' said the attorney; 'there's that here will fix M.M.in a mighty tight vice.' 'And who's M.M., pray ?' enquired Toole.
'When were these notices served, doctor ?' asked Mr.Gamble.
'Not an hour ago; but, I say, who the plague's M.M. ?' answered Toole.
'M.

M.,' repeated the attorney, smiling grimly on the backs of the notices which lay on the table; 'why there's many queer things to be heard of M.M.; and the town, and the country, too, for that matter, is like to know a good deal more of her before long; and who served them--a process-server, or who ?' 'Why, a fat, broad, bull-necked rascal, with a double chin, and a great round face, the colour of a bad suet-dumplin', and a black patch over his eye,' answered Toole.
'Very like--was he alone ?' said Gamble.
'No--a long, sly she-devil in black, that looked as if she'd cut your windpipe, like a cat in the dark, as pale as paper, and mighty large, black, hollow eyes.' 'Ay--that's it,' said Gamble, who, during this dialogue, had thrown his morning-gown over the back of the chair, and got on his coat, and opened a little press in the wall, from which he took his wig, and so completed his toilet.
'That's it ?' repeated Toole: 'what's it ?--what's _what ?_' 'Why, 'tis David O'Regan--Dirty Davy, as we call him.

I never knew him yet in an honest case; and the woman's M.M.' 'Hey! to be sure--a woman--I know--I remember; and he was on the point of breaking out with poor Mrs.Macnamara's secret, but recovered in time.

'That's the she fortune-teller, the witch, M.M., Mary Matchwell; 'twas one of her printed cards, you know, was found lying in Sturk's blood.

Dr.Sturk, you remember, that they issued a warrant for, against our poor friend, you know.' 'Ay, ay--poor Charles--poor Nutter.