“Any 'bjections to me lighting a shegar?” queried Bowlder.
“Not at all,” said the tall man.
Bowlder was soon puffing away. Being friendly, not to say polite by nature, Bowlder bestowed one on his visitor.
“Is it a mild cigar?” asked the burglar.
“Colorado claro,” said Bowlder.
“That's all right!” assented the other. “I don't like a strong smoke; it makes my head ache.”
As the visitor lighted the cigar, Bowlder noticed that he wore a black mask across his eyes, and that the latter shone through the apertures cut for their convenience like beads. The mask gave Bowlder a chill which the pistol had not evoked. Indeed, it came very near destroying the whole force of the drinks he had accumulated.
When the stranger had lighted his cigar, Bowlder and he puffed at each other a moment without a word.
“What are you doing in my houshe?” at last demanded Bowlder.
The stranger smiled and puffed on. Then he kicked a large sack with his foot. Bowlder had not observed this sack before. As the stranger touched it with his foot, it gave out a metallic clinking.