"I can't say that I have," said Lucas, trying vainly to rise to the situation. A man with a weapon he could have met and fought any day, at a moment's notice, but smooth words and soliloquies, how could he meet them, though there was a hidden meaning in every phrase, a subtle danger indicated in every intonation?
"I should practise it den, Mr. Lucas," said Meyer gravely. "A little more tinking and a little less action is de new brescription de doctors are giving to dis country." He turned away from the window, after closing it. He did not appear to notice the two great holes in the glass which stared him in the face.
"Den I shut my window tight, for fear of dieves, Mr. Lucas," he went on, "and go to my observatory, where we went de odder day. I go up dose steps to my delescope, and bring de stars widdin speaking distance. Have you ever spoken wid de stars, Mr. Lucas?"
"No," replied the burglar curtly.
"Ah, I taught not. Somehow you did not give me dat imbression. You should study de moon for a bekinning, Mr. Lucas. It is a poor worn-out star of a sort. What does it tell of? Of life run down, as many men's are. But after all, de moon had its day. It was not cut off in its prime, like some men's lives are, Mr. Lucas, because of a comet-like taught, or a meteor suggestion of evil. A kreat science is astronomy, Mr. Lucas. Do you not tink so?"
Mr. Lucas did not reply.
"Why do I speak of dese things, Mr. Lucas?" said Meyer with increasing earnestness. "Because you are young, very young, dough you are nearly so old as me. I speak of dem because you are wasting your life entering my house in de mittle of de night to take photokraphs, when de stars are singing outside, and de world is calling for de man who, as Dommas Carlyle says, is not dere. What would Dommas Carlyle have said if he had known dat you were here all de time, taking photokraphs in Mr. Adolph Meyer's villa—robbing Mr. Meyer, widout de excuse of necessity?"
Lucas made an attempt to speak, but Meyer stopped him. The little man's voice rose, his eyes gleamed, his very stature seemed to swell. The room was full of him.
"Be silent, sare," he said, with a gesture of an emperor. "I am speaking! Listen! I know what you will say: It is for sport dat you do dis—sport dat eats up your race, and makes men like me your master. You take your gun and kill. See," pointing through the window at a problematical object. "Dat bird—dat beautiful white gull. It is flying—seeking for food or its mate. You shoot it——"
"Never!" shouted Lucas indignantly.