"Take something yourself, Max." As Mr.Max poured the drinks an odd experience befell Mr.Jose Espalin.

His tilted chair leaned against the casing of the billiard-room door.

As Max filled the first glass Espalin became suddenly aware of something round and hard and cold pressed against his right temple.

Mr.Espalin felt some curiosity, but he sat perfectly still.

The object shifted a few inches; Mr.Espalin perceived from the tail of his eye the large, unfeeling muzzle of a sixshooter; beyond it, a glimpse of the forgotten elderly stranger, Mr.Pringle.
Only Mr.Pringle's fighting face appeared, and that but for a moment; he laid a finger to lip and crouched, hidden by the partition and by Espalin's body.