"Oh, nonsense! Come! Let's have some of that black bottle of yours!"
The host's faith in his visitor's good intentions was shown by his backing up to the closet, from which he took the black bottle referred to and a couple of heavy bottom tumblers—watching Hall all the time. The latter laughed at this—not a pleasant laugh by any means.
"Why, man," he said, "what are you afraid of? Do you think I would be foolish enough to shoot you, as I see you are prepared to do for me, to obtain these precious papers of yours?"
The old man looked confused, but said nothing, and returned to his chair opposite Hall, to whom he handed the one glass which he filled. It was tossed off in an instant and extended for more, although the contents was brandy, stolen brandy. To a keen observer it would appear that Hall was nerving himself for something desperate. His smile was truly wonderful as he held forth his glass for refilling. The old man refilled it, and was about to fill his own when Hall said in a careless way:
"Those are not the papers behind you, are they?"
There was nothing on the table behind the old man except a couple of newspapers, but he turned his head for an instant, and in that instant a pinch of white powder, scarcely enough to be perceptible to the keen eyes of youth, was dropped into his glass.
"Gave you a scare, didn't I?" said Hall, with a harsh laugh; then changing his tone: "Come! Drink up! Drink my success!"
The old man filled the glass slowly—very slowly it seemed to the watcher, who was holding his glass to his lips, waiting for the other, and looking very excited.
"Drink! Drink!" he repeated.
The old man had the glass to his lips, but set it down. "I won't," he replied, looking suspiciously at Hall.