however, he contented himself with the sofa.

"Take off your mask," he said as he sat down.

"So I will, thank you," said the burglar as if he had been asked to
remove his hat, and with his left hand he slipped it off. The face that
met Geoffrey's interested gaze was thin, yet ruddy, and tanned by
exposure so that his very light brilliant eyes flared oddly in so dark a
surrounding. Above, his sandy hair, which had receded somewhat from his
forehead, curled up from his temples like a baby's. His upper lip was
long and with a pleasant mouth gave his face an expression of humour.
His hands were ugly, but small.

They sat for some time without moving, the burglar engaged in bandaging
the cut on his right hand with obvious indifference to Holland's
presence, Geoffrey meanwhile studying him carefully. The process of
bandaging over, the man reached out his hand toward the bookcase and,
selecting a volume of Sterne, settled back comfortably in his chair.
Holland stared at him an instant in wonder, and then attempted to follow
his example. But his attention to his book was much less concentrated
than that of his captive, whose expression soon showed him to be
completely absorbed.

They must have sat thus for an hour, before the burglar began to show
signs of restlessness. He asked if it were still snowing, and looked
distinctly disturbed on being told it was. At last he broke the silence
again.

"You don't remember me, do you?" he said.