"He's ill, master," she whimpered, clawing Durgo's rough tweed sleeve, "and if he goes there's no one to help me. Give him something to make him well; set him on his legs again." "Do you think I can do so?" asked Durgo, with a grave smile. Mrs. Tunks peered at him with her bleared eyes and struck her skinny hands together. "I can swear to it, master. You know much I don't know, and I know heaps as the Gorgios--my curse on them!--would give their ears to learn. Come, lovey--I mean master--help me in this and I'll help you in other ways." "Such as by telling us who murdered Huxham," put in Cyril injudiciously. "Me, deary! Lor', I don't know who killed the poor gentleman," and Mrs. Tunk's face became perfectly vacant of all expression. Durgo turned frowning on the white man. "I said that I would let you come if you did not speak," he remarked in a firm whisper; "you have broken your promise already." Cyril apologised in low tones. "I won't say another word," he said, and took a seat on a broken chair near the window. Mrs. Tunks cringed and bent before Durgo, evidently regarding him with awe, as might her sister-witches the Evil One, when he appeared at festivals. The negro glanced towards the closed door of the other room. "Who is watching your grandson?" he asked sharply. "A Romany gal, as I found----" "That will do. I want no listeners. Call her out and turn her out." The old woman entered the other room, and soon returned driving before her a black-eyed slip of a child about thirteen years of age. This brat protested that Tunks was restless and could not be left. "I shall quieten him," said the negro quickly; "get out, you!" and he fixed so fierce a glance on the small girl that she fled rapidly. And Cyril saw that the girl was not one easily frightened. "Now to put your grandson to sleep," said Durgo, passing into the next room, and Cyril saw his great hands hover over the restless man on the bed. He made strange passes and spoke strange words, while Mrs. Tunks looked on, shaking and trembling. In two minutes the sick man lay perfectly still, and to all appearances was sound asleep. Durgo returned to the outer room. "You'll cure him, master, won't you?" coaxed Mrs. Tunks. "Yes. I'll cure him if you tell me what you know of this murder." "I don't know anything, master." Mrs. Tunks looked obstinate yet terrified. Durgo stared at her in a mesmeric sort of way, and threw out his hand. The woman crouched and writhed in evident agony. "Oh, deary me, I'm all burnt up and aching, and shrivelled cruel. Don't--oh, don't! I'll be good. I'll be good;" and she wriggled. "Will you speak?" said the negro sternly. "Yes, yes! only take the spell off me, deary--master, I mean." "You feel no pain now," said Durgo quickly, and at once an air of relief passed over Mrs. Tunks' withered face. She sat down on a stool and folded her claw-like hands on her lap. Durgo leaned against the fire-place. "What do you know of this murder?" he asked.