Bauer!" groans the fat one.

"For the love of the saints, don't tell him!" says Maggie. "Don't tell
Mr. Bauer, there's a dear. It was off'm Cousin Tim we got it."

"That miscreant in the shed there?" asks the Lieutenant.

"Him?" says Maggie. "Lord love ye, no. That's only Schwartzenberger,
from the slaughter-house. And please, Mister, it'll be gone the
mornin'--ivry bit gone."

"Oh, will it!" says Cecil sarcastic. "But you'll be in prison first."

"Wurra! Wurra!" moans the fat female. "Save us, Maggie! Let him have
it for the takin's."

"I will not, then," says Maggie. "Not if he's the president of the Board
of Health himself."

"Enough of this," says the Lieutenant. "Hands up, you bomb plotters!"

But about then I'd begun to acquire the hunch that we might be makin' a
slight mistake, and that it was time for me to crash in. Which I does.

"Excuse me," says I; "but maybe it would help, Maggie, if you'd say right
out what it is you've got in the shed there."

"What is ut?" says she, tossin' her head defiant. "As though you didn't
know! Well, it's a pig, then."

"A pig!" sneers the Lieutenant. "Very likely, that is!"

"Yez didn't think it was a hip-pot-ta-mus, did ye?" comes back Maggie.
"An' why should you be after botherin' us with your health
ordinances--two poor girls that has a chance to turn a few pennies, with
pork so dear? 'Look at all that good swill goin' to waste,' says I to
Katie here. 'An' who's to care if I do boil some extra praties now an'
then? Mr. Bauer's that rich, ain't he? An' what harm at all should
there be in raisin' one little shoat in th' back yard?' So there,
Mister! Do your worst. An' maybe it's only a warnin' I'll get from th'
justice when he hears how Schwartzenberger's killed and dressed and taken
him off before daylight. There he goes, the poor darlint! That's his
last squeal."

We didn't need to stretch our ears to catch it. I looks over at the
Lieutenant and grins foolish. But he wouldn't be satisfied until Maggie
had towed him out to view the remains. He's pink behind the ears when he
comes back, too.

"Please, Mister Inspector," says Maggie, "you'll not have us up this
time, will yez?"

"Bah!" says Cecil.

"Seein' it's you," says I, "he won't. Course, though, a report of this
plot of yours'll have to be made to the British War Office."

"Oh, I say now!" protests the Lieutenant.

And all the way down to his hotel he holds that vivid neck