lighting a cigar. "No--DON'T begin that explanation of yours. I know
it will be long-winded from your face, and I am much too old a liar
to be interested in other men's lying. You are, I say, a person
of education. You do well to dress as a curate. Even among educated
people you might pass as a curate."

"I AM a curate," said Mr. Ledbetter, "or, at least--"

"You are trying to be. I know. But you didn't ought to burgle.
You are not the man to burgle. You are, if I may say it--the thing
will have been pointed out to you before--a coward."

"Do you know," said Mr. Ledbetter, trying to get a final opening,
"it was that very question--"

The stout man waved him into silence.

"You waste your education in burglary. You should do one of two
things. Either you should forge or you should embezzle. For my
own part, I embezzle. Yes; I embezzle. What do you think a man
could be doing with all this gold but that? Ah! Listen! Midnight! . . .
Ten. Eleven. Twelve. There is something very impressive to me
in that slow beating of the hours. Time--space; what mysteries
they are! What mysteries. . . . It's time for us to be moving.
Stand up!"

And then kindly, but firmly, he induced Mr. Ledbetter to sling the
dressing bag over his back by a string across his chest, to shoulder
the trunk, and, overruling a gasping protest, to take the Gladstone
bag in his disengaged hand. So encumbered, Mr. Ledbetter struggled