“I admit it,” he answered, calmly.

He walked up and down the room, and she sat silently Watching him.

“That story of yours about the sheriff was not true,” he said at last.

“I suspect it wasna,” answered the Egyptian coolly, “Hae you been thinking about it a’ this time?  Captains I could tell you what you’re thinking now.  You’re wishing it had been true, so that the ane o’ you couldna lauch at the other.”

“Silence!” said the captain, and not another word would he speak until he heard the sheriff coming up the stair.  The Egyptian trembled at his step, and rose in desperation.

“Why is the door locked?” cried the sheriff, shaking it.

“All right,” answered Halliwell; “the key is on your side.”

At that moment the Egyptian knocked the lamp off the table, and the room was at once in darkness.  The officer sprang at her, and, catching her by the skirt, held on.

“Why are you in darkness?” asked the sheriff, as he entered.

“Shut the door,” cried Halliwell.  “Put your back to it.”

“Don’t tell me the woman has escaped?”

“I have her, I have her!  She capsized the lamp, the little jade.  Shut the door.”

Still keeping firm hold of her, as he thought, the captain relit the lamp with his other hand.  It showed an extraordinary scene.  The door was shut, and the sheriff was guarding it.  Halliwell was clutching the cloth of the bailie’s seat.  There was no Egyptian.

A moment passed before either man found his tongue.

“Open the door.  After her!” cried Halliwell.

But the door would not open.  The Egyptian had fled and locked it behind her.

What the two men said to each other, it would not be fitting to tell.  When Davidson, who had been gossiping at the corner of the town-house, released his captain and the sheriff, the gypsy had been gone for some minutes.

“But she shan’t escape us,” Riach cried, and hastened out to assist in the pursuit.

Halliwell was in such a furious temper that he called up Davidson and admonished him for neglect of duty.

CHAPTER VIII.

3 A.M.—­Monstrous audacity of the woman.

Not till the stroke of three did Gavin turn homeward, with the legs of a ploughman, and eyes rebelling against over-work.  Seeking to comfort his dejected people, whose courage lay spilt on the brae, he had been in as many houses as the policemen.  The soldiers marching through the wynds came frequently upon him, and found it hard to believe that he was always the same one.  They told afterwards that Thrums was remarkable for the ferocity of its women, and the number of its little ministers.  The morning was nipping cold, and the streets were deserted, for the people had been ordered within doors.  As he crossed the Roods, Gavin saw a gleam of red-coats.  In the back wynd he heard a bugle blown.  A stir in the Banker’s close spoke of another seizure.  At the top of the school wynd two policeman, of whom one was Wearyworld, stopped the minister with the flash of a lantern.