‘Do I?—Then, in that case, I presume that you are here for the reason which appears upon the surface,—to commit a felony.’
‘You call me thief?’
‘What else are you?’
‘I am no thief.—You know why I have come.’
He raised his head a little. A look came into his eyes which I felt that I ought to understand, yet to the meaning of which I seemed, for the instant, to have mislaid the key. I shrugged my shoulders.
‘I have come because you wanted me.’
‘Because I wanted you!—On my word!—That’s sublime!’
‘All night you have wanted me,—do I not know? When she talked to you of him, and the blood boiled in your veins; when he spoke, and all the people listened, and you hated him, because he had honour in her eyes.’
I was startled. Either he meant what it appeared incredible that he could mean, or—there was confusion somewhere.
‘Take my advice, my friend, and don’t try to come the bunco-steerer over me,—I’m a bit in that line myself, you know.’