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.
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