CHAPTER SEVENTEEN.
THE OVERTURNED DILIGENCE IN THE RUE SAINT ANTOINE.
For a night or two I haunted the Quai without success.

If Mr Lestrange really lived there, he was either too fearful of venturing out, or some misadventure had already befallen him.

I durst not make any inquiries, for fear of attracting attention to him, which was the last thing any one desired just then.
At last one night, after a week's patient waiting, and when the lightness of my own, or rather poor Cassidy's purse reminded me that I should soon have to seek, among other things, for my daily bread, I was skulking off for my lodging, when a woman hurried past me, whom, in the momentary glimpse I got of her, I recognised as Biddy McQuilkin, my father's old gossip of Kerry Keel.
"Whisht, Biddy," said I, laying my hand on her arm, "is it you?
Sure, I'm Barry Gallagher, and I'm looking for your master, Mr Lestrange." She gave a gasp of terror as she felt my hand on her.
"Saints help us! what a fright you gave me, Barry, my boy.

Sure, it's not safe to be seen speaking with any one in the streets.

I'm told there's fifty more to die to-morrow!" "I'll follow you; you needn't fear me; and I've a message for the master." "Thank God for that, if it's a good one!" said she.