The stranger removed a cigarette from his mouth to enable him the better to lay his finger upon his lips, imposing silence, and as he did so the movement of his hand and his way of holding the cigarette somehow caused Tom to stare.
Then his puzzled scrutiny gave way to an expression of blank amazement, as again the figure raised his finger to his lips to anticipate any impulse of Tom's to call.

Nor did Tom violate this caution until the stranger was within a dozen feet or so.
"Roscoe--Bent!" he ejaculated.

"Don't you know me?
I'm Tom Slade." "Well--I'll--be----" Roscoe began, then broke off, holding Tom at arm's length and looking at him incredulously.

"Tom Slade--_I'll be--jiggered_!" "I kinder knew it was you," said Tom in his impassive way, "as soon as I saw you take that cigarette out of your mouth, 'cause you do it such a swell way, kind of," he added, ingenuously; "just like the way you used to when you sat on the window-sill in Temple Camp office and jollied Margaret Ellison.

Maybe you don't remember." Still Roscoe held him at arm's length, smiling all over his handsome, vivacious face.