Mr. Penfound turned sharply at the voice. It was the elder burglar who spoke, and the elder burglar had faced him and was approaching the stall, regardless of revolvers. Mr. Penfound noticed a twinkle in the man’s eye, a faint appreciation of the fact that the situation was funny, and Mr. Penfound gave way to a slight smile. He was being disobeyed flatly, but for the life of him he could not shoot. Besides, there was no occasion to shoot, as the burglar was certainly making no attempt to escape. The fellow was brave enough, after all. “Two slabs and a pint o’ thick,” he said to the stallkeeper, and was immediately served with a jug of coffee and two huge pieces of bread-and-butter, for which he flung down twopence. Mr. Penfound was astounded--he was too astounded to speak--by the coolness of this criminal. “Look here,” the elder burglar continued, quietly handing one of the pieces of bread-and-butter to his companion in sin, who by this time had also crept up, “you can put down them revolvers and tuck in till the peeler comes along. We know when we’re copped, and we aren’t going to skip. You tuck in, governor.” “Give it a name,” said the stallkeeper, with an eye to business. Mr. Penfound, scarcely knowing what he did or why he did it, put down one revolver and then the other, fished a shilling from his pocket, and presently was engaged in the consumption of a ham sandwich and coffee. “You’re a cool one,” he said at length, rather admiringly, to the elder burglar. “So are you,” said the elder burglar; and he and Mr. Penfound both glanced somewhat scornfully at the other burglar, undersized, cringing, pale. “Ever been caught before?” asked Mr. Penfound pleasantly. “What’s that got to do with you?” The retort was gruff, final--a snub, and Mr. Penfound felt it as such. He had the curious sensation that he was in the presence of a superior spirit, a stronger personality than his own. “Here’s a policeman,” remarked the stallkeeper casually, and they all listened, and heard the noise of regular footfalls away round a distant corner. Mr. Penfound struggled inwardly with a sudden overmastering impulse, and then yielded. “You can go,” he said quietly to the elder burglar, “so clear off before the policeman sees you.” “Straight?” the man said, looking him in the eyes to make sure there was no joking. “Straight, my friend.... Here, shake.” So it happened that Mr. Penfound and the elder burglar shook hands. The next instant Mr. Penfound was alone with the stallkeeper; the other two, with the celerity born of practice, had vanished into the night. “Did you ever see such a man?” said Mr. Penfound to the stallkeeper, putting the revolvers in his pocket, and feeling strangely happy, as one who has done a good action. “Yer don’t kid me,” was the curt reply. “It was all a plant. Want anythink else? Because if not, ye’d best go.”