II.—MY INTERVIEW WITH THE PIRATE
IT had been a misty morning, with slush in the streets. For hours the great fog-siren had been bellowing to the ships on the sound and breaking into every conversation. “Go slow and keep away!” it screeched, in a kind of mechanical hysterics.
I was sitting at my desk when Norris's pirate came in. I didn't like the look of him, for I saw at once that he was hard wood, and that he wouldn't whittle. He was a sleek, handsome, well-dressed man of middle age, with gray eyes, iron-gray hair and mustache, the latter close-cropped. Here, then, was Wilton—a man of catlike neatness from top to toe. He stepped softly like a cat. Then he began smoothing his fur—neatly folded his coat and carefully laid it over the back of a chair; blew a speck of dust from his hat, and tenderly flicked its brim with his handkerchief and placed it with gentle precision on the top of the coat. It's curious how the habit of taking care gets into the character of a gentleman thief. He almost purred when he said “Good morning.” Then he seemed to smell the dog, and stopped and took in his surroundings. His hands were small and bony; he felt his necktie, adjusted his cuffs with an outward thrust of both arms, and sat down. Without a word more he handed me the note from Norris, and I read it.
“Yes,” I said; “Mr. Norris has given me a brief history of your affectionate regard for him.”
He tried to take my measure with a keen glance. I looked serious, and he took me seriously.
“You see,” he began, in a low voice, “for years I have been trying to protect him from unscrupulous men.”
He gently touched the end of one forefinger with the point of the other as he spoke. His words were neatly said, and were like his clothing, neatly pressed and dusted, and calculated to present a respectable appearance.
“Tell me all about it,” I said. “Norris didn't go into details.”
“Understand,” he went on, gently moving his head as if to shake it down in his linen a little more comfortably, “I have never made a cent out of this. I have only kept enough to cover my expenses.”
It was the old story long familiar to me. The gentleman knave generally operates on a high moral plane. Sometimes he can even fool himself about it. He had climbed on a saint's pedestal and was looking down on me. It shows the respect they all have for honor.