Some hours later Mr. Van Nesten awoke—a little gradually—in confusion and with reluctance. But a blinding stream of light was in his eyes and a figure—a grotesque and crouching figure, with a strip of black cloth across its face—was before him. This he became more or less vaguely aware of, and then came the pressure of something cold and hard against his right temple. He flashed wide awake in an instant—and perfectly, perfectly sober.
“Don’t move,” said the burglar. And Mr. Van Nesten didn’t. The burglar ran a deft hand over him to detect the presence of possible fire-arms, and then he stepped back.
“Get up!” he said sharply.
Van Nesten stood up. He was a young man, of good physique, and now that the first shock was over, did not feel greatly afraid. He looked steadfastly at the eyes which showed through the holes in the black mask. The burglar regarded him steadily, his pistol in his hand. He was taking stock of the situation.
“You belong here?” he demanded at last.
“I do,” said Van Nesten.
“Then”—the pistol was raised to a level with the young man’s head—“you open that safe!”
Van Nesten winced. It is no light matter to look into the muzzle of a big revolver. He experienced a quick impulse to duck—to fend his face—to dodge and run, but he controlled himself and remained perfectly quiet.
“Don’t say you can’t!”
The burglar’s tone was threatening.