“Why, there are twenty thousand dollars here!” exclaimed Mr. Harris, examining the packages of money.
“Now you believe me, don’t you?” said the detective to Jack.
“Yes,” replied Jack, “you were right,” and then he stepped forward alone, close to Rutley, and with a sneer on his face, confronted him. “So, my noble partner! You gave me the kiss of ‘Judas’ for ten thousand shekels, eh?”
Rutley was amazed, but maintaining his imperturbability, exclaimed: “You propound a riddle, my poor man. I don’t know you.”
“Ha, ha, ha, ha,” laughed Jack, bitterly. “The riddle should be plain with the key in your keeping. But I know you, me Lord Beauchamp, alias Philip Rutley. Now, damn you, take the medicine your treachery awards you.”
Rutley straightened up, his mortification was very great. Naturally astute, shrewd and alert, for once he had been caught napping. With distended, staring eyes, he whispered, aghast: “Jack, Jack,” and then, recovering himself, composedly said: “A—my poor fellow, you are mistaken; I don’t know you,” and then he swung himself about and laughed in that peculiar, high-pitched key—“He, he, he, he; he must be crazy.”
“Crazy, eh!” and Jack laughed low, hoarsely and derisively. “Ha, ha, ha, ha. The detective told me you had sold me for the reward offered for recovery of the child, but I would not believe him. Now! I know he told the truth. For the proof is there,” and he pointed to the money in the hands of Mr. Harris. “The proof that you betrayed your partner”—
“You lie! You lie! Damn you, you lie!” exclaimed Rutley bitterly, as he swiftly turned to Jack, and then muttered to himself: “Ye Gods, I have been trapped by a fluke.” Then, with marvellous nerve, declared: “Oh, this is preposterous; I will immediately bring some friends and prove that you malign me,” and so saying he turned to move off.
“Detective Simms, he is your man; arrest him!” said Mrs. Harris.
On seeing his chance of escape lessening every moment Rutley abandoned all idea of further defense, and made a grab for his coat.