‘Yes, Paul Lessingham’s,—the man who made the speech,—the man whom Marjorie went away with.’
‘How do you know it’s his?’
‘I don’t know it is, but I believe it is,—I choose to believe it is!—I intend to believe it is!—It was outside his house, therefore it’s his cat,—that’s how I argue. I can’t get Lessingham inside that box, so I get his cat instead.’
‘Whatever for?’
‘You shall see.—You observe how happy it is?’
‘It don’t seem happy.’
‘We’ve all our ways of seeming happy,—that’s its way.’
The creature was behaving like a cat gone mad, dashing itself against the sides of its glass prison, leaping to and fro, and from side to side, squealing with rage, or with terror, or with both. Perhaps it foresaw what was coming,—there is no fathoming the intelligence of what we call the lower animals.
‘It’s a funny way.’
‘We some of us have funny ways, beside cats. Now, attention! Observe this little toy,—you’ve seen something of its kind before. It’s a spring gun; you pull the spring—drop the charge into the barrel—release the spring—and the charge is fired. I’ll unlock this safe, which is built into the wall. It’s a letter lock, the combination just now, is “whisky,”—you see, that’s a hint to you. You’ll notice the safe is strongly made,—it’s air-tight, fire-proof, the outer casing is of triple-plated drill-proof steel,—the contents are valuable—to me!—and devilish dangerous,—I’d pity the thief who, in his innocent ignorance, broke in to steal. Look inside,—you see it’s full of balls,—glass balls, each in its own little separate nest; light as feathers; transparent,—you can see right through them. Here are a couple, like tiny pills. They contain neither dynamite, nor cordite, nor anything of the kind, yet, given a fair field and no favour, they’ll work more mischief than all the explosives man has fashioned. Take hold of one—you say your heart is broken!—squeeze this under your nose—it wants but a gentle pressure—and in less time than no time you’ll be in the land where they say there are no broken hearts.’