“Of course I would,” said Sam, looking at his conductor with surprise. “I wonder that you should ask the question.”
“Why should you wonder,” returned the man with a smile, “at any question which aims at the investigation of that great enigma styled the human mind? I am fond of the study of character, and of those principles of good and evil which influence men. Under given circumstances and conditions, the commission of a certain sin is greatly more blameworthy than the commission of the same sin under different conditions and circumstances. Do you not think so?”
“Of course I do,” said Sam. “The man who, having been born and brought up among pickpockets, and under strong temptation commits a theft, is not nearly so guilty as the man would be who, having been trained under refined and Christian influences, should commit a similar theft; but I do not see the application of your argument, for your question did not refer to the relative depth of guilt, but to the sinfulness or innocence of a certain dastardly act for a tempting sum of money.”
“I may not have put my question very philosophically,” returned the stranger, “but I would like to have your opinion as to whether you think, under any circumstances of distress—poverty, for instance, with those dependent on one dying of hunger—a man would be justified in destroying the power of a telegraph cable for a sum of money—part, let us suppose, paid in advance, and the remainder after the deed had been accomplished.”
“My opinion is that no circumstances whatever would justify such an act,” said Sam with indignation. “Don’t you agree with me, Robin?”
“Of course I do,” said Robin with even greater indignation.
“And I quite agree with you, gentlemen,” said the stranger, with a wider smile than before; “but I like to have my opinions corroborated or combated by other minds. We have now reached our destination; please follow me, and stoop a little, for the ceiling of the passage is rather low, and the poor people here cannot afford to light it.”
The recent discussion had diverted Sam’s mind from the character of the place into which he had been led, but a suspicion which had been growing now assailed him forcibly.
“Keep your stick handy,” he whispered to Robin, at the same time grasping more firmly a stout cudgel which he carried.
These precautions seemed needless, however, for the stranger, opening with a latch-key a door at the further end of the dark passage, ushered them into a dimly lighted room, where about a dozen men were seated round a table drinking and smoking.