Just as I had finished, I heard a slight cough behind me. I turned and saw a dear old silver-haired gentleman in a dressing-gown standing in the doorway. The venerable gentleman covered me with a revolver.
My first impulse was to rush at and brain him with my life-preserver.
"Don't move," said he, "or you're a dead man."
A rather silly remark occurred to me to the effect that if I did move it would rather prove that I was a live man, but I dismissed it at once as unsuited to the business character of the interview.
"You're a burglar?" said he.
"I have that honour," said I, making for my pistol-pocket.
"Don't move," said he; "I have often wished to have the pleasure of encountering a burglar, in order to be able to test a favourite theory of mine as to how persons of that class should be dealt with. But you mustn't move."
I replied that I should be happy to assist him, if I could do so consistently with a due regard to my own safety.
"Promise me," said I, "that you will allow me to leave the house unmolested when your experiment is at an end?"
"If you will obey me promptly, you shall be at perfect liberty to leave the house."
"You will neither give me into custody, nor take any steps to pursue me."
"On my honour as a Designer of Dados," said he.
"Good," said I; "go on."
