He had opened the top drawer in the right-hand pedestal, and taken therefrom a big bulldog revolver; it was the work of few moments to empty its five chambers, and hand the pistol by its barrel to the owner. "Curse you!" hissed the latter, hurling it into the fender with a fearful clatter. "But you'll pay for this, my fine gentlemen; this isn't sharp practice, but criminal fraud." "The burden of proof," said Raffles, "lies with you. Meanwhile, will you be good enough to open that door instead of looking as sick as a cold mud-poultice?" The money-lender had, indeed, turned as grey as his hair; and his eyebrows, which were black and looked dyed, stood out like smears of ink. Nevertheless, the simile which Raffles had employed with his own unfortunate facility was more picturesque than discreet. I saw it set Mr. Shylock thinking. Luckily, the evil of the day was sufficient for it and him; but so far from complying, he set his back to the locked door and swore a sweet oath never to budge. "Oh, very well!" resumed Raffles, and the receiver was at his ear without more ado. "Is that the Exchange? Give me nine-two-double-three Gerrard, will you?" "It's fraud," reiterated Levy. "And you know it." "It's nothing of the sort, and _you_ know it," murmured Raffles, with the proper pre-occupation of the man at the telephone. "You lent the money," I added. "That's your business. It's nothing to do with you what he chooses to do with it." "He's a cursed swindler," hissed Levy. "And you're his damned decoy!" I was not sorry to see Raffles's face light up across the desk. "Is that Howson, Anstruther and Martin?--they're only my solicitors, Mr. Levy.... Put me through to Mr. Martin, please.... That you, Charlie? ... You might come in a cab to Jermyn Street--I forget the number--Dan Levy's, the money-lender's--thanks, old chap! ... Wait a bit, Charlie--a constable...." But Dan Levy had unlocked his door and flung it open. "There you are, you scoundrels! But we'll meet again, my fine swell-mobsmen!" Raffles was frowning at the telephone. "I've been cut off," said he. "Wait a bit! Clear call for you, Mr. Levy, I believe!" And they changed places, without exchanging another word until Raffles and I were on the stairs. "Why, the 'phone's not even _through!_" yelled the money-lender, rushing out. "But _we_ are, Mr. Levy!" cried Raffles. And down we ran into the street. CHAPTER V Thin Air Raffles hailed a passing hansom, and had bundled me in before I realised that he was not coming with me. "Drive down to the club for Teddy's cricket-bag," said he; "we'll make him get straight into flannels to save time. Order breakfast for three in half-an-hour precisely, and I'll tell him everything before you're back."