Detective and mystery stories; England -- Fiction; Inheritance and succession -- Fiction; Nobility -- Fiction; Romanies -- Fiction
"Aye: Silver is his name, and a good one for him as has no gold."
"He will get gold from Lady Agnes for the letter."
"No. Drodi--ah bah!" broke off Chaldea. "You don't understand Romanes. I
speak the Gorgio tongue to such as you. Listen! I found the letter which
lured my brother to his death. The rani wrote that letter, and I gave it
to the tiny rye, saying: 'Tell her if she gives up the big rye free she
shall go; if not take the letter to those who deal in the law.'"
"The police, I suppose you mean," said Miss Greeby coolly. "A very
pretty scheme, my good girl. But it won't do, you know. Lady Agnes never
wrote that letter, and had nothing to do with the death of her husband."
"She set a trap for him," cried Chaldea fiercely, "and Hearne walked
into it like a rabbit into a snare. The big rye waited outside and
shot--"
"That's a lie," interrupted Miss Greeby just as fiercely, and determined
to defend her friend. "He would not do such a thing."
"Ha! but I can prove it, and will when the time is ripe. He becomes my
rom does the big rye, or round his neck goes the rope; and she dances
long-side, I swear."
"What a bloodthirsty idea, you savage devil! And how do you propose to
prove that Mr. Lambert shot the man?"
"Aha," sneered Chaldea contemptuously, "you take me for a fool,
saying more than I can do. But know this, my precious angel"--she
fumbled in her pocket and brought out a more or less formless piece
of lead--"what's this, may I ask? The bullet which passed through
Hearne's heart, and buried itself in a tree-trunk."
Miss Greeby made a snatch at the article, but Chaldea was too quick for
her and slipped it again into her pocket. "You can't prove that it is
the bullet," snapped Miss Greeby glaring, for she dreaded lest its
production should incriminate Lambert, innocent though she believed him
to be.
"Kara can prove it. He went to where Hearne was shot and saw that there
was a big tree by the blue door, and before the shrubbery. A shot fired
from behind the bushes would by chance strike the tree. The bullet which
killed my brother was not found in the heart. It passed through and was
in the tree-trunk. Kara knifed it out and brought it to me. If this,"
Chaldea held up the bullet again jeeringly, "fits the pistol of the big
rye he will swing for sure. The letter hangs her and the bullet hangs
him. I want my price."
"You won't get it, then," said Miss Greeby, eyeing the pocket into
which the girl had again dropped the bullet. "Mr. Lambert was absent in
London on that night. I heard that by chance."
"Then you heard wrong, my Gentile lady. Avali, quite wrong. The big rye
returned on that very night and went to Lundra again in the morning."
"Even if he did," said Miss Greeby desperately, "he did not leave the
cottage. His housekeeper can prove--"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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