“Well, ye see it’s a poor tale if we can’t help one another on a pinch like that. But where do you hang out? You seem to me to be like a will o’ the wisp—here, there, and every where.”
“I’ve been stopping in London for a little time, but shall soon return to Sheffield or some other place. Gad, it is fortunate that you came up as you did.”
They had by this time emerged from the narrow lane and were proceeding along one of the high roads.
A mounted patrol who was coming in the opposite direction regarded them with an inquiring and suspicious look.
The gipsy, who was driving, slackened his speed and wished the officer “good night.”
The greeting was returned, not in a very cordial manner, however.
“I thought he meant mischief,” said the gipsy. “It was quite a toss up whether he overhauled us or not.”
“What have you got in that bag?”
“Something I shall be very glad to get rid of. Silver plate, with names and dates engraved on it.”
“Oh, scissors, that’s awkward! We should be done brown if any of the bobbies did overhaul us.”