I was sitting at my desk when Norris's pirate came in. I didn't like the look of him, for I saw at once that he was hard wood, and that he wouldn't whittle. He was a sleek, handsome, well-dressed man of middle age, with gray eyes, iron-gray hair and mustache, the latter close-cropped. Here, then, was Wilton--a man of catlike neatness from top to toe. He stepped softly like a cat. Then he began smoothing his fur--neatly folded his coat and carefully laid it over the back of a chair; blew a speck of dust from his hat, and tenderly flicked its brim with his handkerchief and placed it with gentle precision on the top of the coat. It's curious how the habit of taking care gets into the character of a gentleman thief. He almost purred when he said “Good morning.” Then he seemed to smell the dog, and stopped and took in his surroundings. His hands were small and bony; he felt his necktie, adjusted his cuffs with an outward thrust of both arms, and sat down. Without a word more he handed me the note from Norris, and I read it. “Yes,” I said; “Mr. Norris has given me a brief history of your affectionate regard for him.” He tried to take my measure with a keen glance. I looked serious, and he took me seriously. “You see,” he began, in a low voice, “for years I have been trying to protect him from unscrupulous men.” He gently touched the end of one forefinger with the point of the other as he spoke. His words were neatly said, and were like his clothing, neatly pressed and dusted, and calculated to present a respectable appearance. “Tell me all about it,” I said. “Norris didn't go into details.” “Understand,” he went on, gently moving his head as if to shake it down in his linen a little more comfortably, “I have never made a cent out of this. I have only kept enough to cover my expenses.” It was the old story long familiar to me. The gentleman knave generally operates on a high moral plane. Sometimes he can even fool himself about it. He had climbed on a saint's pedestal and was looking down on me. It shows the respect they all have for honor. “There are two men besides myself who know the facts, and I have succeeded so far in keeping them quiet,” he added. “I don't know you, but you won't be offended if I assume that you're a man of honor,” I said. In the half-moment of silence that followed the old fog-siren screeched a warning. There was a quick, nervous movement of the visitor's body that brought his head a little nearer to me. The fur had begun to rise on the cat's back. “There's nothing to prevent it,” said he, with a look of surprise. “Save a possible element of professional pride,” was my answer. “That vanishes in the presence of a lawyer,” said he. It was a kind of swift and surprising cuff with the paw, after which I knew him better. “But we're licensed, you know, and now, your reputation being established, I suggest that you are in honor bound to let us know the names of those men.”