prisoner he was inconspicuously to assist into the empty town house of
the Westfalls.




CHAPTER XI

IN THE CAMP OF THE GYPSY LADY

From a garish dream of startling unpleasantness, Philip Poynter stirred
and opened his eyes.

"Well, now," he mused uncomfortably, "this is more like it! This is
the sort of dream to have! I wonder I never had sufficient wit to
carve out one like this before. Birds and trees and wind fussing
pleasantly around a fellow's bed--and by George! those birds are making
coffee!"

There was a cheerful sound of flapping canvas and vanishing glimpses of
a woodland shot with sun-gold, of a camp fire and a pair of dogs
romping boisterously. Moreover, though his bed was barely an inch from
the ground to which it was staked over a couple of poles, it was
exceedingly springy and comfortable. Not yet thoroughly awake, Philip
put out an exploring hand.

"Flexible willow shoots!" said he drowsily, "and a rush mat! Oberon
had nothing on me. Hello!" A dog romped joyfully through the flapping
canvas and barked. Philip's dream boat docked with a painful thud of
memory. Wincing painfully he sat up.