"How did you do it?" was the thought.
His own thoughts rallied, and, before he realized it, had answered:
"It was the Prince Rupert mirror from the display case. The warmth of your fingers shattered it. I held it lightly in folds of my kerchief while transferring it to your pocketbook. When the mirror breaks and the reflection is shattered, the soul is temporarily caught outside. At such times it is vulnerable."
All this, without the machinery of speech to delay it, flashed in an instant. He must be more cautious from now on.
"Where are you taking my body?"
"To our house."
"What do you want?"
"My wife's soul."
There was a long pause. The slit in the darkness closed, then opened again.
"You cannot take it. I hold it, as you hold my soul. But my soul hides it from you. And my soul holds it."