Sergeant MacWhirter cleared his throat: "the Gas Board should be alang soon, they're jist feenishin up doon at the Kirk Ha' an aince they've declared this pairt safe, ye'll kin get back tae the Station, Murdoch, bit mind, nae naked flames here till then, nae gawkin gowks lichtin a fag an chuckin awa the match, or KABOOM! aside o that' the place is safe as hooses, ok?" and the elderly PC nodded glumly, hiding the eelist he felt towards the Sergeant, who was six years younger but always patronised the Constable, plus he wis desperate for a slash, his prostate wis pleyin up an his bledder wis fu tae burstin, so as the figure of the Sergeant disappeared intae the gloom, he took a quick keek aroon – naebdy in sicht; as smartly as he cood, oan his sair feet, he nipped across the road an roon the back o Toni's; aince his bledder had emptied ahent the bins, he rapped a quick tattoo oan the door wi a ha'penny an a moment later the moustachioed face o the Glesca-Italian opened the door: "ah, PC Merdoosha, ye'll be a-wantin the Speshul? ye'r a-favourite? wi a pickled-a ingin? jist a meenit, an a kin-a gie ye a tummler o Leonardeschi, ma wife brocht a case back-a fae Sorrrrrento!" an troo tae his word, in a meenit, the hungry Constable wis stuffin his face wi chips an battered somethin reekin o salt an veenegar an gulpin doon red wine like it wis Vimto; at just which moment, Tam an Boabie were clamberin and slidin doon intae the pit, takkin care no tae founder in the mud that puddled in the bottom, efter aw the rain the previous nicht, an carefully pickin their wey roon huge boulders an broken doors; noo they wis in the tunnel: "wotta pong!" squeaked Boabie; "hush, Boab," said his brither, invisible in the darkness: "av a bit o a caunnel here an a couple of matches a fund, aince av goat it lit, oo'll be able tae see an mebbe fund oot whit happened tae Meester Cohen an the Detective!" carefully, he placed the caunnel on a piece o broken pipe and struck the match on the rough surface; even ahent the Chippie, the explosion threw Murdoch's fish an chips, still hauf wrapped in the Evenin Times, high in the air as the old man wis struck oan the heid by a loose slate fae the roof; safe as hooses, wis the last thocht that passed through his heid as he struck the grund!