I was robbed last night, and it served me right for being a fool. A
seedy, down-looking man hangs about The Chequers all day, and he never
does any work except stick up the pins in the skittle alley. He has a
sly, secret look, and I fancy he is one of the stupid class of
criminals. We often talk together, but there is not much to be got out
of him; he usually keeps his eye on someone else's pewter, and he is
catholic in his taste for drinks. Of late he has been accompanied by
three other persons--a stout, slatternly woman, whom he named as his
wife; a rather pretty, snub-nosed girl, who dresses in tawdry prints;
and a red-faced, thick-set, dark fellow, who grins perpetually and shows
a nice set of teeth. The elder man confidentially informed me that the
stout young man was his son-in-law.

We had been a long time acquainted before I learned anything definite
about these four. The girl usually arrives about half-past ten; she
spends money freely, and the four always take home a huge can of beer.
Some while ago the young man--Blackey he is nicknamed--went out, and I
followed him quietly. He had been affable with me all the evening, and
went so far as to offer me a drink. It struck me that he was indirectly
trying to pump me, for he said, "You don't talk like none of us. I
reckon you've been on the road." Moreover, when we met he had saluted me
thus, "Sarishan Pala. Kushto Bak," and this salutation happens to be
Rommany. As we pursued our talk, he inquired, "You rakker Rommanis?"
(You speak the gipsy tongue?) and I answered, "Avo." I could see that he
wanted to establish some bond of communication between us, and that was
why I followed him. As I quietly came up behind him he said, "That's
tacho like my dad. I dicked a bar and a pash-crooner." (That's as true
as can be. I saw a sovereign and a half-crown.) He was not comfortable
when he saw me, and I knew I had been a fool to let him know that I