"He was dressed in a black frock-coat and wore whiskers. If I hadn't
known him, I should have put him down for a parson out of work.

"He laughs. 'I'll tell you all about it,' he says.

"'Not here,' I answers, 'because I'm too busy; but if you like to meet me
this evening, and you're talking straight--'

"'Straight as a bullet,' says he. 'Come and have a bit of dinner with me
at the Craven; it's quiet there, and we can talk. I've been looking for
you for the last week.'

"Well, I met him; and he told me. It was the old story: a gal was at the
bottom of it. He had broken into a small house at Hampstead. He was on
the floor, packing up the silver, when the door opens, and he sees a gal
standing there. She held a candle in one hand and a revolver in the
other.

"'Put your hands up above your head,' says she.

"'I looked at the revolver,' said Joe, telling me; 'it was about eighteen
inches off my nose; and then I looked at the gal. There's lots of 'em
will threaten to blow your brains out for you, but you've only got to
look at 'em to know they won't.

"'They are thinking of the coroner's inquest, and wondering how the judge
will sum up. She met my eyes, and I held up my hands. If I hadn't I
wouldn't have been here.