“Have you ever committed theft?”
“Only in a small way.”
“Ah! and swindled—only in a small way, of course?”
“The temptations were great.”
“Where will this fellow stop?” thought I; “let us see, however, how far he will go;” and then, giving utterance to my thoughts, I continued, “The step between swindling and forgery is but very short,” and I paused—for even I had not the confidence to ask him, “Are you a forger?”
“Very,” was the short, dry answer. I was astonished. Perhaps he will confess to the commission of murder.
“Oh! as you were just saying to yourself, we are the mere passive tools of fate—we are drawn on, in spite of ourselves. If a man comes in our way, why, you know, in self-defence—hey?”
“What do you mean, sir?”
“A little prick under the ribs in a quiet way. The wanderings and jerkings of the angry hand will happen. You understand me?”
“Too well, I am afraid, sir. I have never yet shed man’s blood—I never will. Perhaps, sir, you would not depend upon my virtue for this—you may upon my cowardice. I tremble—I sicken at the sight of blood. I have endeavoured to win your confidence by candour—I have not succeeded. May I be permitted to wish you a good day?”