I dragged the thief to his feet and began to threaten and to question him. He was a lad of twenty, I should say, hatchet-faced and with tousled yellow hair. When he spoke to me I discovered that he had the public school voice and manner, never to be mistaken under any circumstances. “Now come,” I said; “here is seven years’ penal servitude waiting for you on the doorstep. Let me see that there is some spark of manhood left in you yet. Otherwise——” But here I pointed again to the electric wires, which had burned his hands, and he shuddered at my gesture. “Oh, I’ll play the game,” he said. “You won’t get anything out of me. Do what you like—I’m not afraid of you.” It was a lie, for he was very much afraid of me. One glance told me that the boy was a coward. “Okyada,” I said, calling my servant, “here is someone who is not afraid of you. Tell him what they do to such people in Japan.” The little fellow played his part to perfection. He took the craven lad by both his hands and began to drag him back toward the wires. A resounding shriek made me tremble for the nerves of my dear sister, Harriet. I went to the door to reassure her, and when I returned the lad was on his knees, sobbing like a woman. “I can’t stand pain—I never could,” he said. “If you’re a gentleman, you won’t ask me to give away my pals.” “Your pals,” I said quietly, “being the refuse of Europe—rogues and bullies and blackmailers. A nice gang for a man who played cricket for his house at Harrow.” He looked at me amazed. “How the devil do you know that?” “You have the colours in your tie. Now stand up and answer my questions. Your silence cannot save those who sent you here to-night. They knew perfectly well that you would fail; they wished you to fail, and to lie to me when they caught you. I am not the man to be lied to. Understand that; I have certain little secrets of my own. You have investigated one of them. Do not compel me to demonstrate the others to you.” I could see that he was thinking deeply. Presently he asked: “What are you going to do with me? What’s the game if I split?” “Answer me truly,” I said, “and I will keep you out of prison.” “That’s all very fine——” “I will keep you out of prison and try to save you from yourself.” “You can’t do that, sir.” “We will see. There is at the heart of every man a seed of God’s sowing, which neither time nor men may kill. I shall find it in yours, my lad. Oh, think of it! When you stood at the wicket in the playing fields of Harrow, your beloved school, your friends about you when you had a home, a mother, sisters, gentle hands to welcome you; was it to bring you to such a night as this? No, indeed. There is something which is sleeping, but may wake again—a voice to call you; a hand upon your shoulder compelling you to look back. Let it be my hand, lad. Let mine be the voice which you hear. It will be kinder than others which may speak afterwards.”