knees, they looked
a veritable picture of outcast humanity.

"Prudhom, my boy," whispered the magistrate to his guest, with a most
unjudicial nudge, to emphasise his remarks, "they're old ones. Was ever
such luck! Knowing ones, too, I guess: they'll try to trick us with
their gammon, you see. He! he! Now, constable, what have you got
here?"

For the first time the elderly couple lifted their heads and looked
towards the Bench. As they did so they uttered an incoherent
ejaculation, and attempted to spring forward. But the active and
intelligent servants of the law checked them by a vigorous grip of their
arms, and crying "Silence!" in their most majestic and menacing tones,
reduced them at last to order.

"See that?" whispered the professor to the doctor; "most characteristic.
Simulation is of the very essence of their race. Oh, this is
beautiful! Did you catch what they said just then? It was an
expression in the Maeso-Shemitic dialect, still to be found in the south
of Spain and on the old Moorish coast of Africa. I know it well. Well,
constable?"

"If you please, your honour, I was passing near the school about half-
past five this afternoon along with my brother officer when I observe
the defendants crawling along beside the wall. I keeps my eye on them,
and observe them going in the direction of Deadman's Lane. I follows
unobserved, and observes them crawl behind a hedge. I waits to observe
what follows, and presently I observe a young gentleman walking down the
lane. As I expects, the male defendant comes out and offers to tell him
his fortune, and I observes the young gentleman give the parties money.
I waits till he leaves, and then with my brother officer we arrest the
parties. That's all, your worship. Stand still, you wagabone you; do
you hear?"

This last observation was addressed, not to his worship, but to the
female prisoner, who once more made an effort to step forward and speak.
The grip of the constable kept her where she was, but, heedless of this
threatening gesture, she cried out, in a shrill, trembling voice--

"Please, sir--please, doctor, we're two of your boys."

The doctor, who had been intently looking out for the curved nostril
alluded to by his host, started as if he had been shot.

"Eh, what?" he gasped; "what was that I heard?"

"Why," said the professor, in ecstasy, "it's just as I told you.
Dissimulation is second nature to the tribe. No he is too big for the