"Yes, I'm sure of it! Don't know who the other chap is, seems as if he's rounding up a gang. What do you think of putting the police on it?"
"Don't see how you can! Anyhow the scandal of it, if there was an exposure, would wreck your rosy prospects in this town. A young man with a fancy for spending his nights in the woods with charming gipsy maidens is not the sort that the wife of the vicar of St James can allow to associate with her daughters."
Carstairs swore volubly. "Do you know she's got a slavey's job at Lady Cleeve's, the local big bug's at home."
"Did she know where you lived?"
"Yes, I told her."
"You were a fool."
"I don't know." Carstairs was very thoughtful. "Damn it, she knocks spots off any girl I've seen yet. She's improving, too."
Darwen's eyes glistened. "I like playing with fire myself," he said.
"It's our job," Carstairs answered, cynically. "We're paid to do it."
"It is damn rotten for you, I admit. Have you got a revolver?"