“My congratulations to your majesty,” she said ironically.  “I’m sorry not to be able to stay for your coronation, which I presume takes place to-night.  But I have to go back to London to see a friend of yours.”

“I have no friends, my Gentile lady,” retorted Chaldea, with a fiery spark in each eye.  “And what do you here amongst the gentle Romany?”

“Gentle,” Miss Greeby chuckled, “that’s a new word for the row that’s been going on, my girl.  Do you know me?”

“As I know the road and the tent and the art of dukkerhin.  You stay at the big house, and you love the rye who lived in the wood.”

“Very clever of you to guess that,” said Miss Greeby coolly, “but as it happens, you are wrong.  The rye is not for me and not for you.  He marries the lady he worships on his knees.  Forgive me for speaking in this high-flowing manner,” ended Miss Greeby apologetically, “but in romantic situations one must speak romantic words.”

Chaldea did not pay attention to the greater part of this speech, as only one statement appealed to her.  “The rye shall not marry the Gentile lady,” she said between her white teeth.

“Oh, I think so, Chaldea.  Your plotting has all been in vain.”

“My plotting.  What do you know of that?”

“A certain portion, my girl, and I’m going to know more when I see Silver.”

Chaldea frowned darkly.  “I know nothing of him.”

“I think you do, since you gave him a certain letter.”

“Patchessa tu adove?” asked Chaldea scornfully; then, seeing that her visitor did not understand her, explained:  “Do you believe in that?”

“Yes,” said Miss Greeby alertly.  “You found the letter in Pine’s tent when he was camping here as Hearne, and passed it to Silver so that he might ask money for it.”

“It’s a lie.  I swear it’s a lie.  I ask no money.  I told the tiny rye—­”

“Silver, I presume,” put in Miss Greeby carelessly.

“Aye:  Silver is his name, and a good one for him as has no gold.”

“He will get gold from Lady Agnes for the letter.”

“No.  Drodi—­ah bah!” broke off Chaldea.  “You don’t understand Romanes.  I speak the Gorgio tongue to such as you.  Listen!  I found the letter which lured my brother to his death.  The rani wrote that letter, and I gave it to the tiny rye, saying:  ’Tell her if she gives up the big rye free she shall go; if not take the letter to those who deal in the law.’”

“The police, I suppose you mean,” said Miss Greeby coolly.  “A very pretty scheme, my good girl.  But it won’t do, you know.  Lady Agnes never wrote that letter, and had nothing to do with the death of her husband.”

“She set a trap for him,” cried Chaldea fiercely, “and Hearne walked into it like a rabbit into a snare.  The big rye waited outside and shot—­”

“That’s a lie,” interrupted Miss Greeby just as fiercely, and determined to defend her friend.  “He would not do such a thing.”