She is mine, and her father knows it is so. I have waited all these
years, and the hour has come. I will--"

Ingolby's eyes became hard and merciless again. "Don't talk your Gipsy
rhetoric. I've had enough. No hour has come that makes a woman do what
she doesn't want to do in a free country. The lady is free to do what
she pleases here within British law, and British law takes no heed of
Romany law or any other law. You'll do well to go back to your Roumelian
country or whatever it is. The lady will marry whom she likes."

"She will never marry you," the Romany said huskily and menacingly.

"I have never asked her, but if I do, and she said yes, no one could
prevent it."

"I would prevent it."

"How?"

"She is a Romany: she belongs to the Romany people; I will find a way."

Ingolby had a flash of intuition.

"You know well that if Gabriel Druse passed the word, your life wouldn't
be worth a day's purchase. The Camorra would not be more certain or more
deadly. If you do anything to hurt the daughter of Gabriel Druse, you
will pay the full price, and you know it. The Romanys don't love you
better than their rightful chief."

"I am their rightful chief."

"Maybe, but if they don't say so, too, you might as well be their
rightful slave. You are a genius in your way. Take my advice and return
to the trail of the Gipsy. Or, there's many an orchestra would give you
a good salary as leader. You've got no standing in this country. You
can't do anything to hurt me except try to kill me, and I'll take my
chance of that. You'd better have a drink now and go quietly home to
bed. Try and understand that this is a British town, and we don't settle
our affairs by jumping from a violin rhapsody to a knife or a gun."
He jerked his head backwards towards the wall. "Those things are for
ornament, not for use. Come, Fawe, have a drink and go home like a good
citizen for one night only."

The Romany hesitated, then shook his head and muttered chaotically.

"Very well," was the decisive reply. Ingolby pressed a bell, and, in
an instant, Jim Beadle was in the room. He had evidently been at the
keyhole. "Jim," he said, "show the gentleman out."

But suddenly he caught up a box of cigars from the table and thrust
it into the Romany's hands. "They're the best to be got this side of
Havana," he said cheerily. "They'll help you put more fancy still into
your playing. Good night. You never played better than you've done
during the la