Wasn't he planning to rob the beggar of the drums, happen they ever turned up?
But how the deuce to pick out a fiddle which would have a tune in it?
Of all the hypercritical duffers the fiddler was the worst.

Beside a fiddler of the first rank the rich old maid with the poodle was a hail fellow well met.
Of course Gregor had taught the chap.

That meant he would know instantly; just as his host would instantly observe the difference between green glass and green beryl.
Cutty turned into the shop, infinitely amused.

Fiddles! What next?
Having constituted a guardianship over Kitty, he was now playing impressario to Hawksley.

As if he hadn't enough parts to play! Wouldn't he be risking his life to-night trying to find where Stefani Gregor was?
Fiddles! Fiddles and emeralds! What a choice old hypocrite he was! Fate has a way of telling you all about it--afterward; conceivably, that humanity might continue to reproduce its species.