"The school for crime, where I learned my trade, a steamboat that used to hang round New York in the dark, and pick up pupils at different wharves. Some of the big crooks used to come on board, and give us talks. We had gambling games, and all kinds of instruction given. We kept the windows covered on account of the harbour police, then toward morning we went ashore." Miss Gastonguay, trying to subdue the loathing that overpowered her, was silent for a few seconds; then, urged on by the inexorable flight of time, she lifted her eyelids, and burst out with a fascinated question, "Did you ever kill any one?" "No, ma'am; I'm a business criminal." "What drew you to Rossignol?" He laughed stealthily. "Curiosity, ma'am. I heard the place had some sheep worth shearing, and then our biggest swell made your town famous." "What do you mean?" She spoke with haughty severity, but he was not impressed. "Gentleman George's caper, ma'am,--the smartest bank burglar in this country or any other. This was the end of his famous New York glide, when he had all the police after him. I guess you know him, ma'am. You've got some souvenirs of him up-stairs in that drawer of yours." A cold, agonised perspiration broke out on the unfortunate lady's forehead, but she bravely maintained her composure, and, as if he had noticed nothing amiss, her prisoner went on, flippantly. "He came here slap after the big Leslie bank haul in New York. The cops suspected him and broke into his house, and sure enough, they found his workshop for making burglars' tools. They were red-hot on his track, when Gentleman George went plump down a hole in the earth, and they lost him." Miss Gastonguay could not speak, but made a feverish gesture for him to continue, which he did, nursing his injured foot, and staring coolly sometimes at her, sometimes at the increasing light stealing through the windows. "The hole in the earth was here," and the young burglar chuckled at the remembrance. "Gentleman George boarded a train for Maine, dropped into this place, grabbed at a fat mill-owner's purse in broad daylight, and got locked up here for a fool hobo, while the police were scouring the earth for him." Miss Gastonguay leaned forward, propped her trembling chin on her hand, and ejaculated, "What does this man look like?" "I guess you know as well as I do," he said with quiet impudence, "but in case you haven't seen him for a spell, I'll say he's more of a high-roller than ever. You'd think him the latest duke from Europe." Miss Gastonguay subdued her almost mortal agony. "Go on," she said, with a ghastly smile. "Tell me some more about this criminal life, I'm interested in it."