Bowlder's eyes roamed instinctively to the sideboard. There wasn't much light; enough, however, to show Bowlder that the sideboard's burden of silverware was gone. With such a start, Bowlder was able to infer a great deal.
“Made a clean shweep, eh?” remarked Bowlder.
The masked stranger nodded.
“If you've got all there is loose and little in the houshe,” said Bowlder—he was talking plainer every moment now—“you've got $1,500 worth. Been up-shtairs yet?”
Again the man of the mask nodded. Also he exhibited symptoms of being about to depart.
“Don't go yet!” remonstrated Bowlder. “Want to talk to you. Did you get the old lady's jewellery upstairs?”
Again the burglar nodded. He seemed disinclined to use his voice unless it was necessary.
“Thash's bad!” remarked Bowlder reflectively; referring to the conquest of his wife's jewellery. “The old lady won't do a thing but make me buy her some more. And the worst of it is, she'll put up the figures on what jimcracks you've got, and insisht they're worth four times their true value. I'm lucky if she don't put it higher than $1,000. And they ain't worth $200; you'll be lucky if you get that on 'em.”
The burglar looked hopeful as well as he could with a mask, but retorted nothing to Bowlder. The latter mused sorrowfully over his wife's jewels.
“You see it putsh me in the hole!” said Bowlder. “I get it going and coming. You come along and rob me; and then Mrs. B. comes home and robs me again. Don't you think that's a little rough?”