“Eh?” repeated Jetsam persuasively.
“Yes,” growled Ilam, and his eye caught the eye of the young bank-clerk by pure accident.
At that moment the young bank-clerk, fired by martial valour, a thirst for glory, and the thought of what a splendid thrilling tale he would have to tell to the charming young thing at Weybridge, sprang furiously forward in the direction of Jetsam.
“Stop!” said Jetsam, slipping off the table and facing the youth, revolver ready.
The youth hesitated for the fifth of a second.
“No,” said the youth, and came on.
Jetsam fired almost point-blank at the hero’s face, and the hero started back and sank to the ground. And there was a great hush in the room and a smell of powder and a little smoke. The youth lay still.
“Get up!” said Jetsam fiercely. “Get up, or I’ll kick you up!”
And, strange to relate, the youth discovered the whereabouts of his limbs and got up, and returned to the corner.
“A singular example of what imagination will do!” commented Jetsam. “The first chamber of this revolver was loaded with blank. I expected to have to use it for theatrical effect, to begin with, and I was not wrong. Let me add that the other five chambers are most carefully loaded, and that I once earned my living in a music-hall by shooting the pips out of cards with this revolver.” He then addressed Mr. Gloucester. “Now, old man,” he said, “how much gold is there in one of those boxes?”