“By getting a man to put himself in the shadow of the penitentiary,” said Murray. “I know all about you people, Shylock. How much did you loan?” The money-lender was angered almost to the point of defiance—but not quite. Loan-sharks do not easily reach that point: the very nature of their business makes it inadvisable, except when some poor devil is in their power. “Oh, of course, if it’s a personal matter with you,” he said, “I might scale it a little. The note is for a thousand dollars, with various incidental charges that make it now a thousand and eighty dollars. I might knock off a hundred from that.” “How much did you loan him, Shylock?” repeated Murray. “Nine hundred dollars,” answered the money-lender in desperation. “Shylock,” said Murray with cold deliberation, “I know you people. If I didn’t, I might ask to see the canceled check, but that would prove nothing. You give a check for the full amount, but the man has to put up a cash bonus when he gets it. How much did you loan him?” “I’ll stand on the note,” declared the money-lender angrily. “I know my rights, and I can be as ugly as you. The note is signed by himself and his wife, and you’ll have a hard time going back of it.” Murray touched a bell and a boy answered. “Ask Mrs. Vincent to step in here,” said Murray. The money-lender was plainly disconcerted, but he was not unaccustomed to hard battles, so he nerved himself to bluff the thing through, it being too late to do anything else. “Mrs. Vincent,” said Murray, when the woman appeared, “I have found the insurance policy.” “Where is it?” she asked eagerly. “Mr. Shylock,”—with a motion toward the money-lender,—“holds it.” “Give it to me, Mr. Shylock,” demanded Mrs. Vincent, who was not a woman to grasp the bitter insult of the name, and her innocent repetition of it added to the anger of the man. Still, the habit of never letting his personal feelings interfere with business was strong within him. “I must be paid first,” he said. “Paid!” she cried. “What is there to pay? The insurance money is mine!” “I hold a note,” insisted the money-lender. “What’s that to me?” she retorted. “Do you think I’m going to pay his debts? I didn’t contract them; I wasn’t with him; he left me years ago! Let _her_ look out for the debts! Give me the policy or I’ll have you arrested!” The woman was wildly and covetously excited: she would not rest easy until the actual possession of the money assured her that there was no possibility of a slip. The money-lender, too, was anxious. Murray alone seemed to be taking the matter quietly, for these two were now playing the game for him, although the details required his close attention. A very slight miscalculation might carry it beyond his control. “It’s assigned to me,” said the money-lender with a pretense of confidence. “I have your signature.” “It’s a lie!” she cried. “Oh, no,” interrupted Murray quietly; “it’s a forgery.”