Well, the teeth _were_ gone, but three instead of two, and on laying the arm-bone bare, 'twas plain it had never been broken, and, in like manner, nothing wrong with the right shoulder, and there was nothing like so much deltoid and biceps as Nutter had.

So says I, at once, be that body whose it may, 'tis none of Charles Nutter's, and to that I swear, gentlemen; and I had hardly made an end when 'twas identified for the corpse of the French hair-dresser, newly arrived from Paris, who was crossing the Liffey, on Tuesday night, you remember, at the old ferry-boat slip, and fell in and was drowned.
So that part of the story's ended.
'But, gentlemen,' continued Toole, with the important and resolute bearing of a man who has a startling announcement to make, 'I am sorry to have to tell you that poor Charles Nutter's in gaol.' In gaol! was echoed in all sorts of tones from his auditory, with an abundance of profane ejaculations of wonderment, concern, and horror.
'Ay, gentlemen, in the body of the gaol.' Then it came out that Nutter had been arrested that very morning, in a sedan-chair, at the end of Cook Street, and was now in the county prison awaiting his trial; and that, no doubt, bail would be refused, which, indeed, turned out truly.
So, when all these amazing events had been thoroughly discussed, the little gathering dispersed to blaze them abroad, and Toole wrote to Mr.
Gamble, to tell him that the person, Mary Matchwell, claiming to be the wife of Charles Nutter, has established herself at the Mills, and is disposed to be troublesome, and terrifies poor Mrs.Sally Nutter, who is ill; it would be a charity to come out, and direct measures.

I know not what ought to be done, though confident her claim is a bag of moonshine and lies, and, if not stopped, she'll make away with the goods and furniture, which is mighty hard upon this unfortunate lady,' etc., etc.
'That Mary Matchwell, as I think, ought to be in gaol for the assault on Sturk; her card, you know, was found in the mud beside him, and she's fit for any devil's work.' This was addressed by Toole to his good wife.
'That _card ?_ said Jimmey, who happened to be triturating a powder in the corner for little Master Barney Sturk, and who suspended operations, and spoke with the pestle in his fingers, and a very cunning leer on his sharp features: 'I know all about that card.' 'You do--do you?
and why didn't you spake out long ago, you vagabond ?' said Toole.

'Well, then! come now!--what's in your knowledge-box ?--out with it.' 'Why, I had that card in my hand the night Mr.Nutter went off.' 'Well ?--go on.' ''Twas in the hall at the Mills, Sir; I knew it again at the Barracks the minute I seen it.' 'Why, 'tis a printed card--there's hundreds of them--how d'ye know one from t'other, wisehead ?' 'Why, Sir, 'twas how this one was walked on, and the letter M.in Mary was tore across, an' on the back was writ, in red ink, for Mrs.
Macnamara, and they could not read it down at the Barracks, because the wet had got at it, and the end was mostly washed away, and they thought it was MacNally, or MacIntire; but I knew it the minute I seen it.' 'Well, my tight little fellow, and what the dickens has all that to do with the matter ?' asked Toole, growing uneasy.
'The dickens a much, I believe, Sir; only as Mr.Nutter was goin' out he snatched it out o' my hand--in the hall there--and stuffed it into his pocket.' 'You did not tell that lying story, did you, about the town, you mischievous young spalpeen ?' demanded the doctor, shaking his disciple rather roughly by the arm.
'No--I--I didn't--I did not tell, Sir--what is it to me ?' answered the boy, frightened.
'You didn't tell--not you, truly.

I lay you a tenpenny-bit there isn't a tattler in the town but has the story by rote--a pretty kettle o' fish you'll make of it, with your meddling and lying.