than in the upper, and it is not hard to bring them to the top.
"What do you mean?" he snapped, leaning forward and gripping the rim of his desk. His eyes, however, shifted from mine.
"I mean," said I, "that a man may be a thief and an enemy to Society and still be a man, with his own personal pride and self-respect. When that is gone he can't claim to be anything but a low-grade, mean-spirited sneak."
That fetched him. Ivan shed his sleek politeness as a pickpocket slips out of his coat.
"Be careful what you say, Mr. Clamart," he snarled, his face purple. "I'm not accustomed to such talk."
"I believe you," I answered. "Nor are you accustomed to the sort of act that causes it. I'd be willing to stake my life that this is the first time in yours that you ever paid a man for saving you and your gang by shoving a job on him as you have on me. You are a master-criminal and you couldn't be unless you were a big man. Big men don't do petty things. I know my human nature, monsieur, and I place you as gentleman born, like myself, who, for reasons of his own, has taken up crime as a profession. But in your world you are known to be square and generous and laid out on large lines. When I was in the Santé you offered to back me with your fund and you would have done it, too. And then, when I get out, by a miracle, you turn around and steal from me something that I value a lot more than my liberty. Are you proud of that job, monsieur?"
