The burglar’s tools clinked and jingled together as he stowed them away. Then he suddenly leaped to his feet and faced Van Nesten.
“Shoot me—strangle me—do something!” cried Van Nesten. “For God’s sake don’t leave me here like this!”
But the burglar had not hesitated an instant. His hand had been in his pocket even as he rose from the floor, and a knife gleamed as he advanced with a rush.
“Stab me, then!” said Van Nesten wildly. “Stab me, then! Don’t leave me here to roast!”
“What!” cried the burglar. He recoiled from those words as suddenly as if he had been hit. An upward motion tore the mask from his face, and aghast he glared at Van Nesten.
“My God, man!” he said “what you think I am?”
The rising smoke eddied between them.
But the burglar recovered himself almost instantly.
“You’re scart,” he said, “and I don’t blame you.”
With two deft strokes of his knife he severed the cords that bound Van Nesten’s hands and feet. Then he stepped back and thrust the knife in his pocket.