“I don’t think you’ll even do that,” Jacob replied, without moving.
The man solemnly took off his coat, unfastened his collar and tie and turned up his shirt sleeves as though he meant business.
“Come on, guv’nor,” he invited, making a feint in Jacob’s direction. “I won’t hurt you more than I can help.”
Jacob withdrew his right hand from behind his back, and the little revolver which he was holding flashed in a glint of sunshine.
“I’ll give you till I count ten to get outside,” he said.
The man promptly abandoned his sparring position and turned towards the grating.
“’Ere,” he called out truculently, “see that, guv’nor?”
“Don’t be afraid,” Hartwell rejoined. “It isn’t loaded.”
The prize fighter took a step forward.