O’Hagan closed his matchbox with a _click_ and fixed his eyes upon the officer. “Constable,” he said, with dignity, “step into the shop. This is an outrage for which Mr. Ritzmann shall pay. Step inside if you please—all of you.” The wide-eyed clerks returned to the shop. Ritzmann, never taking his gaze from O’Hagan, but keeping at a safe distance, entered behind the Captain, clutching at the perplexed policeman and whispering: “He has robbed me! He’s got my cheque in his pocket!” Having entered the shop,—to the excited clerks: “Return to your duties, good fellows!” ordered O’Hagan. “I am not accustomed to be made an object of vulgar curiosity! Mr. Ritzmann, lead the way to your office. Constable—follow.” The odd trio entered Ritzmann’s sanctum. O’Hagan closed the door. “He’s dangerous!” cried the publisher. “He carries a pistol!” O’Hagan raised his hand. “The officer, Mr. Ritzmann,” he said, “is prepared to do his duty. But you have not stated your case. Of what am I accused?” “Of extorting money from me, at the point of a pistol!” “Officer! You have my permission to look for the weapon!” The constable ran his hands over O’Hagan. “Excuse me, sir,” he reported to Mr. Ritzmann, who was now regaining colour and perspiring freely, “but the gentleman hasn’t got any pistol on him!” “He’s dropped it in the passage!” yelled Ritzmann. “He——” Again O’Hagan raised the forceful hand. “One of your clerks can go and look; and would you be good enough to request your manager to join us?” The necessary instructions were given, and the manager appeared. O’Hagan threw down his bunch of agreements and displayed the cheque. “Sir,” he said to the manager, “are these in order?” “He made me do it!” cried Ritzmann hoarsely, “at the point of a pistol!” A shopman entered to report that there was no pistol in the passage. Ritzmann began to swear. “Silence!” thundered O’Hagan. “Silence! you contemptible scoundrel!” To the manager: “Are those agreements and this cheque quite regular?” “Well,” said the manager, glancing deprecatingly at his employer—“I can see nothing irregular about them. They are in your writing, Mr. Ritzmann!” “He held a pistol to my head!” cried the publisher. “You’re a pack of fools! Fools! Officer! will you do your duty and arrest that thief!” O’Hagan took a stride towards the speaker. “Stop him!” quavered Ritzmann, paling. “He——” “Mr. Ritzmann,” said O’Hagan calmly, “you are a low blackguard! Repenting of your bargain, you invented this cock-and-bull story as a means of evading it! Knowing me to be a man who has led an adventurous life, you thought yourself safe in charging me with carrying arms! I have several witnesses to the fact that you have grossly slandered me. That your charge is absurd—insane—worthy of a ‘penny-dreadful’—renders it none the less slanderous. You will either apologise, here and now, or—there is my card. My solicitor will take charge of the matter in the morning!”