She does not belong to the refuse of the world." The Romany made a sudden rush towards the wall where the weapons hung, but two arms of iron were flung out and caught him, and he was hurled across the room.

He crashed against a table, swayed, missed a chair where rested the Sarasate violin, then fell to the floor; but he staggered to his feet again, all his senses in chaos.
"You almost fell on the fiddle.

If you had hurt it I'd have hurt you, Mr.Fawe," Ingolby said with a grim smile.

"That fiddle's got too much in it to waste it." "Mi Duvel! Mi Duvel!" gasped the Romany in his fury.
"You can say that as much as you like, but if you play any more of your monkey tricks here, my Paganini, I will wring your neck," Ingolby returned, his six feet of solid flesh making a movement of menace.
"And look," he added, "since you are here, and I said what I meant, that I'd help you to get your own, I'll keep my word.

But don't talk in damned riddles.