da Druse as
though he was of the same sphere as herself invited punishment-but to
claim her as his wife! It was shameless. An ugly mood came on him,
the force that had made him what he was filled all his senses. He
straightened himself; contempt of the Ishmael showed at his lips.

"I think you lie, Jethro Fawe," he said quietly, and his eyes were hard
and piercing. "Gabriel Druse's daughter is not--never was--any wife of
yours. She never called you husband. She does not belong to the refuse
of the world."

The Romany made a sudden rush towards the wall where the weapons hung,
but two arms of iron were flung out and caught him, and he was hurled
across the room. He crashed against a table, swayed, missed a chair
where rested the Sarasate violin, then fell to the floor; but he
staggered to his feet again, all his senses in chaos.

"You almost fell on the fiddle. If you had hurt it I'd have hurt you,
Mr. Fawe," Ingolby said with a grim smile. "That fiddle's got too much
in it to waste it."

"Mi Duvel! Mi Duvel!" gasped the Romany in his fury.

"You can say that as much as you like, but if you play any more of
your monkey tricks here, my Paganini, I will wring your neck," Ingolby
returned, his six feet of solid flesh making a movement of menace.

"And look," he added, "since you are here, and I said what I meant,
that I'd help you to get your own, I'll keep my word. But don't talk in
damned riddles. Talk white men's language. You said that Gabriel Druse's
daughter was your wife. Explain what you meant, and no nonsense."

The Romany made a gesture of acquiescence. "She was made mine according
to Romany law by the River Starzke seventeen years ago. I was the son of
Lemuel Fawe, rightful King of all the Romanys. Gabriel Druse seized the
headship, and my father gave him three thousand pounds that we should
marry, she and I, and so bring the headship to the Fawes again when
Gabriel Druse should die; and so it was done by the River Starzke in the
Roumelian country."

Ingolby winced, for the man's words rang true. A cloud came over his
face, but he said nothing. Jethro saw the momentary advantage. "You did
not know?" he asked. "She did not tell you she was made my wife those
years ago? She did not tell you she was the daughter of the Romany King?
So it is, you see, she is afraid to tell the truth."

Ingolby's knitted bulk heaved with desire to injure. "Your wife--you
melodious sinner! Do you think such tomfoolery has any