He was not alone at the table.  As Pinton put the glass of Pilsner to his lips he met the gaze of two sardonic eyes.  He could not finish his glass.  He returned the look of the other man and then arose, with a nervous jerk that almost upset the table.

“Sit down, old pal; don’t be crazy.  I’ll never say a word.  Sit down, you fool; don’t you see people are looking at you?”

The voice was low, kindly in intonation, but it went through Pinton like a saw biting its way into wood.

He sat down all in a heap.  He knew the eyes; he knew the voice.  It was the owner of the dark lantern—­the mysterious man in the other house of that last Saturday night.  Pinton felt as if he were about to become ill.

“Lord, but you are a nervous one!” said the other, most reassuringly.  “Sit still and I’ll order brandy.  It will settle your stomach.”

That brought Pinton to his senses at once.

“No, no, I’ll be all right in a moment,” he said rather huskily.  “I never drink spirits.  Thank you, all the same.”

“Don’t mention it,” said the man, and he tossed off his Wuerzburger.  Each man stealthily regarded the other.  Pinton saw the stranger of the lantern and staircase.  Close by he was handsome and engaging.  His hair was worn like a violin virtuoso’s, and his hands were white, delicate, and well cared for.  He spoke first.

“How did you make out on that job?—­I don’t fancy there was much in it.  Boarding-houses, you know!”

Pinton, every particle of colour leaving his flabby face, asked:—­

“What job?”

The stranger looked at him keenly and went on rather ironically:—­

“You are the most nervous duck I ever ran across.  When I saw you last your pocket was full of the silver plate of that pantry, and I can thank you for a fright myself, for when I saw you, I was just getting ready to crack a neat little crib.  Say! why didn’t you flash your glim at me or make some friendly signal at least?  You popped out of sight like a prairie rabbit when a coyote heaves in view.”

Pinton felt the ground heave beneath him.  What possible job could the man mean?  What was a “glim,” and what did the fellow suggest by silver plate?  Then it struck him all of a sudden.  Heavens! he was taken for a burglar by a burglar.  His presence in the pie pantry had been misinterpreted by a cracksman; and he, the harmless organist of Dr. Bulgerly’s church, was claimed as the associate of a dangerous, perhaps notorious, thief.  Pinton’s cup of woe overflowed.

He arose, put on his hat, and started to go.  The young man grasped his arm, and said in a most conciliatory fashion:—­

“Perhaps I have hurt your sensitive nature.  It was far from my intention to do so.  I saluted you at first in the coarse, conventional manner which is expected by members of our ancient and honourable craft, and if I have offended you, I humbly beg your pardon.”