'Then, tell your _friend_ to prepare for consequences,' retorted Dirty Davy, with a grin.

'And make my compliments to your client, or conjuror, or wife, or whatever she is, and tell her that whenever she wants her dirty work done, there's plenty of other Dublin blackguards to be got to do it, without coming to Docther Thomas Toole, or the Rev. Father Roach.'

Which sarcasm he delivered with killing significance, but Dirty Davy had survived worse thrusts than that.

'She's a conjuror, is she? I thank you, Sir.'

'You're easily obliged, Sir,' says Toole.

'We all know what that manes. And these doc.u.ments _sworn_ to by my client and myself, is a pack o' lies! Betther and betther! I thank ye again, Sir.'

'You're welcome, my honey,' rejoined Toole, affectionately.

'An' you live round the corner. I know your hall-door, Sir--a light brown, wid a bra.s.s knocker.'

'Which is a fine likeness iv your own handsome face, Sir,' retorted Toole.

'An' them two doc.u.ments, Sir, is a fabrication and a forgery, backed up wid false affidavits?' continued Mr. O'Reegan.

'Mind that, Larry,' says the doctor, with a sudden inspiration addressing the waiter, who had peeped in; 'he admits that them two doc.u.ments you see there, is forgeries, backed up with false affidavits; you heard him say so, and I'll call you to prove it.'

'_You lie!_' said Dirty Davy, precipitately, for he was quite disconcerted at finding his own sophistical weapons so unexpectedly turned against him.

'You sc.u.m o' the airth!' cried Toole, hitting him, with his clenched fist, right upon the nose, so vigorous a thump, that his erudite head with a sonorous crash hopped off the wainscot behind it; 'you lying scullion!' roared the doctor, instantaneously repeating the blow, and down went Davy, and down went the table with dreadful din, and the incensed doctor bestrode his prostrate foe with clenched fists and flaming face, and his grand wig all awry, and he panting and scowling.

'Murdher, murdher, _murdher!_' screamed Dirty Davy, who was not much of a Spartan, and relished nothing of an a.s.sault and battery but the costs and damages.

'You--you--you'

'Murdher--help--help--murdher--murdher!'

'Say it again, you cowardly, sneaking, spying viper; say it _again_, can't you?'

It was a fine tableau, and a n.o.ble study of countenance and att.i.tude.

'Sich a b.l.o.o.d.y nose I never seen before,' grinned Larry rubbing his hands over the exquisite remembrance. 'If you only seed him, flat on his back, the great ould shnake, wid his knees and his hands up bawling murdher; an' his big white face and his b.l.o.o.d.y nose in the middle, like nothin' in nature, bedad, but the ace iv hearts in a dirty pack.'

How they were separated, and who the particular persons that interposed, what restoratives were resorted to, how the feature looked half an hour afterwards, and what was the subsequent demeanour of Doctor Toole, upon the field of battle, I am not instructed; my letters stop short at the catastrophe, and run off to other matters.

Doctor Toole's agitations upon such encounters did not last long. They blew off in a few thundering claps of bravado and defiance in the second parlour of the Phoenix, where he washed his hands and readjusted his wig and ruffles, and strutted forth, squaring his elbows, and nodding and winking at the sympathising waiters in the inn hall; and with a half grin at Larry--

'Well, Larry, I think I showed him Chapelizod, hey?' said the doctor, buoyantly, to that functionary, and marched diagonally across the broad street toward Sturk's house, with a gait and a countenance that might have overawed an army.

CHAPTER XCIV.

WHAT DOCTOR STURK BROUGHT TO MIND, AND ALL THAT DOCTOR TOOLE HEARD AT MR. LUKE GAMBLE'S.

Just as he reached Sturk's door, wagging his head and strutting grimly--and, palpably, still in debate with Dirty Davy--his thoughts received a sudden wrench in a different direction by the arrival of Mr.

Justice Lowe, who pulled up his famous gray hunter at the steps of the house by the church-yard.

'You see, Doctor Toole, it won't do, waiting. The thing's too momentous.'

And so they walked up stairs and into the drawing-room, and sent their compliments to Mrs. Sturk, who came down in _deshabille_, with her things pinned about her, and all over smiles. Poor little woman! Toole had not observed until now how very thin she had grown.

'He's going on delightfully, gentlemen; he drank a whole cup of tea, weak of course, Doctor Toole, as you bid me; and he eat a slice of toast, and liked it, and two Naples biscuits, Mr. Lowe, and I know he'll be delighted to see you.'

'Very good, Madam, _very_ good,' said Toole.

'And he's looking better already. He waked out of that sweet sleep not ten minutes after you left this morning.'

'Ay, he was sleeping very quietly,' said Toole to Lowe. 'May we go up, Ma'am?'

'Oh! he'll be overjoyed, gentlemen, to see you, and 'twill do him an infinity of good. I can scarce believe my eyes. We've been tidying the study, the maid and I, and airing the cushions of his chair;' and she laughed a delighted little giggle. 'And even the weather has taken up such beautiful sunshine; everything favourable.'

'Well, Doctor Sturk,' said Toole, cheerily, 'we have a good account of you--a vastly good account, doctor; and, by St. George, Sir, we've been tidying--'

He was going to say the study, but little Mrs. Sturk put her finger to her lip in a wonderful hurry, raising her eyebrows and drawing a breath through her rounded lips, in such sort as arrested the sentence; for she knew how Barney's wrath always broke out when he thought the women had been in his study, and how he charged every missing paper for a month after upon their cursed meddling. But Sturk was a good deal gentler now, and had a dull and awful sort of apathy upon him; and I think it was all one to him whether the women had been in the study or not. So Toole said instead--

'We've been thinking of getting you down in a little while, doctor, if all goes pleasantly; 'tis a lovely day, and a good omen--see how the sun shines in at the curtain.'

But there was no responsive sunshine upon Sturk's stern; haggard face, as he said very low--still looking on the foot-board--'I thank you, doctor.'

So after a few more questions, and a little bit of talk with Mrs. Sturk, they got that good lady out of the room, and said Lowe to the patient--

'I'm sorry to trouble you, Dr. Sturk, but there's a weighty matter at which you last night hinted; and Dr. Toole thought you then too weak; and in your present state, I would not now ask you to speak at any length, were the matter of less serious moment.'

'Yes, Sir,' said Sturk, but did not seem about to speak any more; and after a few seconds, Lowe continued.

'I mean, Dr. Sturk, touching the murder of Mr. Beauclerc, which you then said was committed by the same Charles Archer, who a.s.saulted you in the park.'

'Ay, Sir,' said Sturk.

'The same murder of which Lord Dunoran was adjudged guilty.'

Sturk moved his lips with a sort of nod.

'And, Doctor Sturk, you remember you then said you had yourself _seen_ Charles Archer do that murder.'

Sturk lifted his hand feebly enough to his forehead, and his lips moved, and his eyes closed. They thought he was praying--possibly he was; so they did not interrupt him; and he said, all on a sudden, but in a low dejected way, and with many pauses--

'Charles Archer. I never saw another such face; 'tis always before me.

He was a man that everybody knew was dangerous--a d.a.m.nable profligate besides--and, as all believed, capable of anything, though n.o.body could actually bring anything clearly home to him but his b.l.o.o.d.y duels, which, however, were fairly fought. I saw him only thrice in my life before I saw him here. In a place, at Newmarket, where they played hazard, was once; and I saw him fight Beau Langton; and I saw him murder Mr.

Beauclerc. I saw it all!' And the doctor swore a shuddering oath.