“You don’t remember me, do you?” he said. Geoffrey slowly raised his eyes without moving—his revolver was drooping in his right hand. He ran his mind over his criminal acquaintance unsuccessfully, and repeated: “Remember you?” “Yes, we were at school together for a time.” Geoffrey stared, and then exclaimed spontaneously: “You used to be able to wag your ears.” “Can still.” “Why, you are Skinny McVay.” The man nodded. Neither was without a sense of humour, and yet saw nothing comic in these untender reminiscences. “I remember the masters all hated you,” said Geoffrey, “but you were straight enough then, weren’t you?” Again the man nodded. “I took to this sort of thing a month or so ago.” After a moment Geoffrey said: “Did not I hear you were in the navy?” “No,” said McVay. “I was at Annapolis for a few months. I had an idea I should like the navy, but Heavens above! I could not stand the Academy. They threw me out. It seems I had broken every rule they had ever made. It was worse than State’s prison.” “Are you in a position to judge?” asked Geoffrey coolly. “No,” said McVay, as if he nevertheless had information on the subject. “Well, you will be soon,” said Holland, not sorry for an opportunity to point out that his heart was not softened by recollections of his school days. But McVay appeared to ignore this intimation. “Yes,” he said ruminatively; “I’ve done a lot of things in my time.” “Well, I don’t want to hear about them,” said Geoffrey, who had no intention of being drawn into an intimate interchange. The burglar looked more surprised than angered at this shortness, and only said: “Would you have any objection to my putting a match to that fire?” “No,” said Geoffrey, and McVay, with wonderful dexterity, managed to start a cheering blaze with his left hand. For a few minutes Geoffrey’s determined attention to his book discouraged his companion, but presently rapping the pages of Tristram Shandy with the back of his hand, he exclaimed: “Sterne! Ah, there was a man! Something of my own type, too, it sometimes strikes me. Capable, you know, really a genius, but so unfortunately different from other people. Ordinary standards meant nothing to him—too original—sees life from another standpoint, entirely. That’s me! I—” “Sit down,” roared Geoffrey. “Oh, it’s nothing, nothing,” said McVay, “only I talk better on my feet.” “Well, you wouldn’t talk as well with a bullet in you.” McVay sank back again in his chair. “Yes,” he said, “that’s me. Why, Holland, I have no doubt you would be surprised if you knew the number of things that I can do—that I am really proficient in. Anything with the hands,” he waved his fingers supplely in the air, “is no trouble to me at all. I have at once a natural skill that most people take a lifetime to acquire.” “I’m told there’s work for all where you are going.” McVay looked a trifle puzzled for an instant, but never allowing himself to remain at a loss, he said: