“The burglar, as if absently, took a large revolver from his pocket and laid it on the table beside the decanter, but still kept his blue reflective eyes fixed on my face.

“`Man!’ I said, `all stealing is toy-stealing.  That’s why it’s really wrong.  The goods of the unhappy children of men should be really respected because of their worthlessness.  I know Naboth’s vineyard is as painted as Noah’s Ark.  I know Nathan’s ewe-lamb is really a woolly baa-lamb on a wooden stand.  That is why I could not take them away.  I did not mind so much, as long as I thought of men’s things as their valuables; but I dare not put a hand upon their vanities.’

“After a moment I added abruptly, `Only saints and sages ought to be robbed.  They may be stripped and pillaged; but not the poor little worldly people of the things that are their poor little pride.’

“He set out two wineglasses from the cupboard, filled them both, and lifted one of them with a salutation towards his lips.

“`Don’t do it!’ I cried. `It might be the last bottle of some rotten vintage or other.  The master of this house may be quite proud of it.  Don’t you see there’s something sacred in the silliness of such things?’

“`It’s not the last bottle,’ answered my criminal calmly; `there’s plenty more in the cellar.’

“`You know the house, then?’ I said.

“`Too well,’ he answered, with a sadness so strange as to have something eerie about it. `I am always trying to forget what I know—­ and to find what I don’t know.’  He drained his glass. `Besides,’ he added, `it will do him good.’

“`What will do him good?’

“`The wine I’m drinking,’ said the strange person.

“`Does he drink too much, then?’ I inquired.

“`No,’ he answered, `not unless I do.’

“`Do you mean,’ I demanded, `that the owner of this house approves of all you do?’

“`God forbid,’ he answered; `but he has to do the same.’

“The dead face of the fog looking in at all three windows unreasonable increased a sense of riddle, and even terror, about this tall, narrow house we had entered out of the sky.  I had once more the notion about the gigantic genii—­ I fancied that enormous Egyptian faces, of the dead reds and yellows of Egypt, were staring in at each window of our little lamp-lit room as at a lighted stage of marionettes.  My companion went on playing with the pistol in front of him, and talking with the same rather creepy confidentialness.

“`I am always trying to find him—­to catch him unawares.  I come in through skylights and trapdoors to find him; but whenever I find him—­he is doing what I am doing.’

“I sprang to my feet with a thrill of fear. `There is some one coming,’ I cried, and my cry had something of a shriek in it.  Not from the stairs below, but along the passage from the inner bedchamber (which seemed somehow to make it more alarming), footsteps were coming nearer.  I am quite unable to say what mystery, or monster, or double, I expected to see when the door was pushed open from within.  I am only quite certain that I did not expect to see what I did see.