"Well! well! He is an exile and has been punished."
"When you can prove his guilt, as I suppose you intend to do," said the lawyer, grimly, "I'll do my best to have him brought back and hanged. You will be pleased at that."
Mrs. Gilroy laughed in a hollow manner, and cast a strange look at the lawyer. "I should be pleased indeed," she said, "but there's no such luck. Hanging is not Beryl's dukkeripen."
"That's a gypsy word."
"I was found and brought up by gypsies," said Mrs. Gilroy, indifferently, "although I am not of Romany blood. But I learned a few secrets from the Romany," added Mrs. Gilroy, her eyes flashing, "and one of them relating to drabbing—if you know what that means—may come in useful this day."
"What does drabbing mean?"
"It has to do with drows," said Mrs. Gilroy, laughing and rocking. "I daresay you'll know the meaning of both words before the end of this day." And she began to sing softly:—
"'The Romany cha,
And the Romany chal,
Shall jaw tasulor,
To drab the bawlor,
And dook the gry.'"
Durham thought that her illness had affected her head. He did not say anything, but resolved to get her examination over as quickly as possible. A clerk entered at the moment, carrying a typewriting machine, which he set down on a small table near at hand.
"I think it will be best that your words should be taken down by the machine," said Durham, turning to Mrs. Gilroy, "as the writer can keep up with your speech."