person eloquent on the decay of human courage through security, a
security Mr. Ledbetter rather thoughtlessly joined him in deploring. Mr.
Ledbetter, in the first delight of emancipation from "duty," and being
anxious, perhaps, to establish a reputation for manly conviviality,
partook, rather more freely than was advisable, of the excellent whisky
the talkative person produced. But he did not become intoxicated, he
insists.

He was simply eloquent beyond his sober wont, and with the finer edge
gone from his judgment. And after that long talk of the brave old days
that were past forever, he went out into moonlit Hithergate--alone and
up the cliff road where the villas cluster together.

He had bewailed, and now as he walked up the silent road he still
bewailed, the fate that had called him to such an uneventful life as
a pedagogue's. What a prosaic existence he led, so stagnant, so
colourless! Secure, methodical, year in year out, what call was there
for bravery? He thought enviously of those roving, mediaeval days, so
near and so remote, of quests and spies and condottieri and many a risky
blade-drawing business. And suddenly came a doubt, a strange doubt,
springing out of some chance thought of tortures, and destructive
altogether of the position he had assumed that evening.

Was he--Mr. Ledbetter--really, after all, so brave as he assumed? Would
he really be so pleased to have railways, policemen, and security vanish
suddenly from the earth?

The talkative man had spoken enviously of crime. "The burglar," he said,
"is the only true adventurer left on earth. Think of his single-handed
fight against the whole civilised world!" And Mr. Ledbetter had echoed
his envy. "They DO have some fun out of life," Mr. Ledbetter had said.
"And about the only people who do. Just think how it must feel to wire
a lawn!" And he had laughed wickedly. Now, in this franker intimacy of
self-communion he found himself instituting a comparison between his
own brand of courage and that of the habitual criminal. He tried to
meet these insidious questionings with blank assertion. "I could do all
that," said Mr. Ledbetter. "I long to do all that. Only I do not give
way to my criminal impulses. My moral courage restrains me." But he
doubted even while he told himself these things.

Mr. Ledbetter passed a large villa standing by itself. Conveniently
situated above a quiet, practicable balcony was a window, gaping black,
wide open. At the time h