to
give the criminal a good breakfast and to evince an interest in his
future. Twice had Sam gone down for a short term, and once for a long
term of imprisonment, and on each occasion Thornton Lyne had made a
parade of collecting the returned wanderer, driving him home, giving him
breakfast and a great deal of worldly and unnecessary advice, and
launching him forth again upon the world with ten pounds--a sum just
sufficient to buy Sam a new kit of burglar's tools.

Never before had Sam shown such gratitude; and never before had Thornton
Lyne been less disinterested in his attentions. There was a hot
bath--which Sam Stay could have dispensed with, but which, out of sheer
politeness, he was compelled to accept, a warm and luxurious breakfast; a
new suit of clothes, with not two, but four, five-pound notes in the
pocket.

After breakfast, Lyne had his talk.

"It's no good, sir," said the burglar, shaking his head. "I've tried
everything to get an honest living, but somehow I can't get on in the
straight life. I drove a taxicab for three months after I came out, till
a busy-fellow[A] tumbled to me not having a license, and brought me up
under the Prevention of Crimes Act. It's no use my asking you to give me
a job in your shop, sir, because I couldn't stick it, I couldn't really!
I'm used to the open air life; I like being my own master. I'm one of
those fellows you've read about--the word begins with A."

[Footnote A: Detective.]

"Adventurers?" said Lyne with a little laugh. "Yes, I think you are, Sam,
and I'm going to give you an adventure after your own heart."

And then he began to tell a tale of base ingratitude--of a girl he had
helped, had indeed saved from starvation and who had betrayed him at
every turn. Thornton Lyne was a poet. He was also a picturesque liar. The
lie came as easily as the truth, and easier, since there was a certain
crudeness about truth which revolted his artistic soul. And as the tale
was unfolded of Odette Rider's perfidy, Sam's eyes narrowed. There was
nothing too bad for such a creature as this. She was wholly undeserving
of sympathy.

Presently Thornton Lyne stopped, his eyes fixed on the other to note the
effect.

"Show me," said Sam, his voice trembling. "Show me a way of getting even
with her, sir, and I'll go through hell to do it!"

"That's the kind of stuff I like to hear," said Lyne, and poured out from
the long bottle which stood on the coffee-tray a stiff tot of Sam's