"Who the blazes are you?" asked the burglar.
"Your curiosity is natural. I am in your own noble profession—a top-sawyer or a swell mobsman, I forget which; but I have the certificate at home."
"None of yer gammon," said the burglar. "Can't you put that thing down an' say wot yer game is."
"William," Mr. Hilton replied, "I wish you clearly to understand that you have nothing at all to do with my game. You go on drilling those nice little holes. When you've got that door open we'll discuss matters further. Please proceed."
"'YOU MAY GO ON WITH YOUR MOST INTERESTING WORK.'"
"D'you take me for a mug?" asked the burglar defiantly.
"I shall, if you don't go on with your work. This instrument goes off on the slightest provocation, and the wound it makes is very painful."
The burglar turned, and resumed his work; but he did not seem to have much heart in it, nor to derive much encouragement from Mr. Hilton's occasional promptings. Every now and then he looked round suspiciously. Another half-hour passed before he had prized the bolts back, and the door was open.