gettin' more and more honest all the time. I could hear 'em plain as
anything. They were talkin' loud, so as to make everybody in this
buildin' rest easy, I guess. I stopped at the second floor and
monkeyed with the window, hopin' to attract their attention. Didn't
work. So I had to climb up another flight. This window of yours was
up about six inches, so there wasn't anything for me to do but to
raise it and come in. What I had in mind was to stick my head out
after a minute or two and yell 'thieves', 'police', and so on. Then
before I knowed what was happenin', you walks in, switches on the
light, and comes straight over and biffs me in the jaw. Does that
look as if I was tryin' to avoid arrest?"

"That's a very pretty story, Cassius, and no doubt will make a
tremendous hit with the jury, but what were you doing with a loaded
revolver in your hand, and why were you so full of vituperation,--I
mean, what made you swear so when I--"

"You let somebody hit you a wallop on the jaw and bang your head
against the wall and dance on your ribs, and you'll cuss worse than
I did."

"But,--about the revolver?"

"Well, to be honest with you, I probably would have shot you if I
hadn't been so low in my mind. I won't deny that. It's a sort of
principle with us, you see. No self-respecting burglar wants to be
captured by the party he's tryin' to rob. Its so damn' mortifyin'.
Besides, if that sort of thing happens to you, the police lose all
kinds of respect for you and try to use you as a stool-pigeon, if
you know what that means."