The veins in his handsome throat swelled while he spoke, and his voice came so thick it was hardly intelligible. "I mean," answered Katerfelto coolly, "that he whom the Gorgios call John Garnet is better out of the way, both for you and for me and for Waif. He knows too much, and he dares too much. Your eyes are as keen as a hawk's, Fin. Can you not see that as he cozened me out of my horse, he would cozen you out of your bride?"
The gipsy's low, smothered laugh seemed the very reverse of mirth.
"There is no better sheath for a Romany's blade," he answered, "than the bowels of a pampered Gorgio."
"My son," replied the other, "wisdom is the child of experience. Let King George take the trouble off your hands, and pay you besides a purse of gold for your forbearance. John Garnet's is a hanging matter, and a reward of one hundred guineas is offered for his apprehension. Set the bloodhounds on him at once, and the thing is done. Better by far keep that long knife of yours for cutting your bread and cheese!"
"I helped him," said Fin thoughtfully, "helped him, because Thyra bade me, as frankly as if he had really been poor Galloping Jack come down from Tyburn-tree. The bloodhounds might turn round and lay hold of the informer. Counsel me, father. I can right myself so easily with three inches of steel!"
The other shook his head. No man alive had fewer scruples of mercy or forbearance, but it was Katerfelto's nature to plot rather than execute. While he would have felt no qualms in concocting or administering a subtle poison, he shrank from the very idea of personal contest and shedding of blood. "A hundred guineas of red gold," he answered; "think of that, Fin, and then talk about a hand's breadth of bare steel! You cannot compare them. Be advised by me, my son, and you will rid yourself of a rival, win a bride, and gain a wedding-portion all in one sentence. That Exmoor Parson. I saw him here to-day. I would venture a wager he is drinking in one of the booths now. Watch for him riding home. He is a magistrate; never fear him for that. Lay your hand on his horse's mane and say to him in the king's name, 'I can show you the man you want—follow me!'"
"But would he not ask for the hundred guineas and get them himself?" argued the gipsy, who, with all his strong passions, had a keen eye to the main chance. "There is no justice nor fair dealing on either side between the Romany and the Gorgio."
For the first time during their interview Katerfelto laughed outright.
"My son," he said, "I think I can trust you to look after your own interests without assistance from me. When you have delivered John Garnet into the hands of Abner Gale you will have accomplished your object and mine. For my own part I will not return into the Fair. I need hardly ask, Fin, if you are here alone?"
"We are like the hooded crows, my father," answered Fin. "When you see one of us you may be sure there are others not far off. We must needs hang together, or the Romany would soon be swept from the face of the earth."