“But then,” he added as a sort of afterthought, “we might take her to the station. She’ll get four years. These gypsies like a nice soft spot in jail.”
The woman let out an unearthly wail, then struggled in vain to free herself.
“She told me,” Florence said quietly, “that if I’d let her up she’d give me the money.”
“She did?” Patrick studied the walls of the room. “Door and both windows right here in front,” he reflected. “I think we might try it out. Let her up, and we’ll see.”
Once on her feet, the woman was not slow in digging deep among the folds of her ample skirts and extracting a roll of bills.
“Let’s see!” Patrick took it from her. “Ten—twenty—forty—” he counted.
“But say!” he ended, “it’s four hundred and ten! How come?”
“The ten is mine,” the gypsy grumbled.
“Fair enough,” said Patrick. “Your man got a car?”
The woman nodded sulkily.