answered, pleasantly, in anticipation of a talk at last.
“Answer me in a word.”
“In a word!” cried the policeman, quite crestfallen. “It canna be done. You’ll need to cross-examine me, too. It’s my lawful richt.”
“I’ll take you to the Tilliedrum gaol for your share in this night’s work if you do not speak to the purpose. Why did you not hasten to our assistance?”
“As sure as death I never kent you was here. I was up the Roods on my rounds when I heard an awfu’ din down in the square, and thinks I, there’s rough characters about, and the place for honest folk is their bed. So to my bed I gaed, and I was in’t when your men gripped me.”
“We must see into this before we leave. In the meantime you will act as a guide to my searchers. Stop! Do you know anything of this Egyptian?”
“What Egyptian? Is’t a lassie wi’ rowans in her hair?”
THE EGYPTIAN.
“The same. Have you seen her?”
“That I have. There’s nothing agin her, is there? Whatever it is, I’ll uphaud she didna do’t, for a simpler, franker-spoken crittur couldna be.”
“Never mind what I want her for. When did you see her?”
“It would be about twal o’clock,” began Wearyworld unctuously, “when I was in the Roods, ay, no lang afore I heard the disturbance in the square. I was standing in the middle o’ the road, wondering how the door o’ the windmill was swinging open, when she came up to me.
“‘A fine nicht for the time o’ year,’ I says to her, for nobody but the minister had spoken to me a’ day.
“‘A very fine nicht,’ says she, very frank, though she was breathing quick like as if she had been running. ‘You’ll be police?’ says she.
“‘I am,’ says I, ‘and wha be you?’
“‘I’m just a puir gypsy lassie,’ she says.
“‘And what’s that in your hand?’ says I.
“‘It’s a horn I found in the wood,’ says she, ‘but it’s rusty and winna blaw.’
“I laughed at her ignorance, and says I, ‘I warrant I could blaw it.’
“‘I dinna believe you,’ says she.
“‘Gie me haud o’t,’ says I, and she gae it to me, and I blew some bonny blasts on’t. Ay, you see she didna ken the way o’t. ‘Thank you kindly,’ says she, and she ran awa without even minding to take the horn back again.”
“You incredible idiot!” cried the sheriff. “Then it was you who gave the alarm?”
“What hae I done to madden you?” honest Wearyworld asked in perplexity.
“Get out of my sight, sir!” roared the sheriff.
But the captain laughed.
“I like your doughty policeman, Riach,” he said. “Hie, obliging friend, let us hear how this gypsy struck you. How was she dressed?”
“She was snod, but no unca snod,” replied Wearyworld, stiffly.
“I don’t understand you.”
“I mean she was couthie, but no sair in order.”
“What on earth is that?”
“Weel, a tasty stocky, but gey orra put on.”
“What language are you speaking, you enigma?”
“I’m saying she was naturally a bonny bit kimmer rather than happit up to the nines.”
“Oh, go away,” cried Halliwell; whereupon Wearyworld descended the stair haughtily, declaring that the sheriff was an unreasonable man, and that he was a queer captain who did not understand the English language.
“Can I gae hame now, sheriff?” asked Langlands, hopefully.
“Take this fellow back to his cell,” Riach directed shortly, “and whatever else you do, see that you capture this woman. Halliwell, I am going out to look for her myself. Confound it, what are you laughing at?”
“At the way this vixen has slipped through your fingers.”
“Not quite that, sir, not quite that. She is in Thrums still, and I swear I’ll have her before day breaks. See to it, Halliwell, that if she is brought here in my absence she does not slip through your fingers.”
“If she is brought here,” said Halliwell, mocking him, “you must return and protect me. It would be cruelty to leave a poor soldier in the hands of a woman of Thrums.”
“She is not a Thrums woman. You have been told so a dozen times.”
“Then I am not afraid.”
In the round-room (which is oblong) there is a throne on which the bailie sits when he dispenses justice. It is swathed in red cloths that give it the appearance of a pulpit. Left to himself, Halliwell flung off his cloak and taking a chair near this dais rested his legs on the bare wooden table, one on each side of the lamp. He was still in this position when the door opened, and two policemen thrust the Egyptian into the room.
Chapter Seven.
Has the Folly of Looking Into a Woman’s Eyes by Way of Text
“This is the woman, captain,” one of the policemen said in triumph; “and, begging your pardon, will you keep a grip of her till the sheriff comes back?”
Halliwell did not turn his head.
“You can leave her here,” he said carelessly. “Three of us are not needed to guard a woman.”
“But she’s a slippery customer.”
“You can go,” said Halliwell; and the policemen withdrew slowly, eyeing their prisoner doubtfully until the door closed. Then the officer wheeled round languidly, expecting to find the Egyptian gaunt and muscular.
“Now then,” he drawled, “why——By Jove!”
The gallant soldier was as much taken aback as if he had turned to find a pistol at his ear. He took his feet off the table. Yet he only saw the gypsy’s girlish figure in its red and green, for she had covered her face with her hands. She was looking at him intently between her fingers, but he did not know this. All he did want to know just then was what was behind the hands.
Before he spoke again she
