Mr. Bennett did not know what she meant. He was only conscious of the most singular sensation he had ever experienced. To assist his understanding, possibly, Miss Jones gave a practical demonstration of her meaning. With her disengaged hand she made some slight movements in the air, keeping her eyes fixed on Mr. Bennett all the while. Mr. Bennett in vain struggled to escape her gaze. Suddenly he was conscious that, as it were, something had gone from him--his resolution--his freedom of will--he knew not what. Miss Jones put down her hand. "I think that you will do. How do you feel?" "Very queer." Mr. Bennett's utterance was peculiar. He spoke as a man might speak who is under the influence of a drug, or as one who dreams--unconsciously, without intention, as it were. "Oh, they always do feel like that at first. Are you considered a good burglar as a rule?" "As a rule." Mr. Bennett hesitatingly put up his hand and drew it across his brow. It was the hand which held the lantern. When the lantern touched his skin he found that it was hot. He let it fall from his hand with a clatter to the floor. Miss Jones eyed him keenly all the time. "I see you are not quite subjective yet, but I think that you will do. And of course I can always complete the influence if I will. It only illustrates what I have continually said--that it is not necessarily the lowest mental organisations that traffic in crime. I should say that yours was above rather than below the average. Have you yourself any ideas upon that point?" As he answered Mr. Bennett faintly sighed. "None!" Miss Jones smiled, and as she smiled he smiled too, though there was this feature about Mr. Bennett's smile--there was not in it any sense of mirth. Miss Jones seemed to notice this, for she smiled still more. Immediately Mr. Bennett's smile expanded into a hideous grin. Then she burst into laughter. Mr. Bennett laughed out too. "After all, you are more subjective than I thought you were. I don't think I ever had a subject laugh quite so sympathetically before." As Miss Jones said this--which she did when she had done laughing--she turned and adjusted the pillows so as to form a support to her back. Against this she reclined at ease. She placed the revolver on the bolster at her side. From a receptacle in the nature of a tidy, which was fastened to the wall above her head, she drew a small leather case. From this she took a cigarette and a match. With the most charming air imaginable she proceeded to light the cigarette and smoke. Mr. Bennett watched all her movements, feeling that he must be playing a part in a dream. It was a perceptible relief when she removed her eyes from his face, though they were such pretty eyes. Yet, although she was not looking at him, he felt that she saw him all the time--he had a hideous impression that she even saw what was passing in his mind. "I wouldn't think about my revolver. You won't be able to fire it, you know."