Then he lay back motionless as a log.
The opium held him fast in its power.
"Now for the box," exclaimed the tiger, excitedly.
Chivey tore open the box, and lifting up some musty old deeds and parchments, he feasted his eyes upon a mine of wealth.
A pile of gold.
Bright glittering pieces of every size and country.
And beside it thick bundles of paper money.
"Gold is uncommonly pretty," said the tiger, "but the notes packs the closest."
Bundle after bundle he stowed away about his person, regularly padding his chest under his shirt.
"Now for a trifle of loose cash," he said, coolly.