"Is that cat dead?"
"An' what have I been tellin' th' dudes in th' head office all th'
while?" asked Flannery with asperity. "What but that th' late deceased
dead cat was defunct an' no more? An' thim insultin' an honest man with
their 'Have ye stholen th' cat out av th' box, Flannery, an' put in an
inferior short-haired cat?' I want no more av thim! Here's the key. Good
day t' ye!"
"Hold on," said the inspector, putting his hand on Flannery's arm. "You
don't go yet. I 'll have a look at your cash and your accounts first.
What you say about that cat may be true enough, but we have got to have
proof of it. That was a valuable cat, that was. It was an Angora cat, a
real Angora cat. You've got to produce that cat before we are through
with you."
"Projuce th' cat!" said Flannery angrily. "Th' cat is safe an' sound in
th' back lot. I presint ye with th' lot. If 't is not enough fer ye, go
awn an' do th' dirthy worrk ye have t' do awn me. I'll dig no more fer
th' cat."
The inspector unlocked the door and entered the office. It was hot with
the close heat of a room that has been locked up overnight.
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