and many a risky blade-drawing business. And suddenly came a doubt,
a strange doubt, springing out of some chance thought of tortures,
and destructive altogether of the position he had assumed that evening.

Was he--Mr. Ledbetter--really, after all, so brave as he assumed?
Would he really be so pleased to have railways, policemen, and
security vanish suddenly from the earth?

The talkative man had spoken enviously of crime. "The burglar,"
he said, "is the only true adventurer left on earth. Think of his
single-handed fight against the whole civilised world!" And Mr.
Ledbetter had echoed his envy. "They DO have some fun out of life,"
Mr. Ledbetter had said. "And about the only people who do. Just
think how it must feel to wire a lawn!" And he had laughed wickedly.
Now, in this franker intimacy of self-communion he found himself
instituting a comparison between his own brand of courage and that of
the habitual criminal. He tried to meet these insidious questionings
with blank assertion. "I could do all that," said Mr. Ledbetter.
"I long to do all that. Only I do not give way to my criminal impulses.
My moral courage restrains me." But he doubted even while he told
himself these things.

"Mr. Ledbetter passed a large villa standing by itself. Conveniently
situated above a quiet, practicable balcony was a window, gaping
black, wide open. At the time he scarcely marked it, but the picture
of it came with him, wove into his thoughts. He figured himself
climbing up that balcony, crouching--plunging into that dark,
mysterious interior. "Bah! You would not dare," said the Spirit
of Doubt. "My duty to my fellow-men forbids," said Mr. Ledbetter's
self-respect.