"Is this your defence?" asked Raffles as he resumed his seat on the judicial locker.
"Isn't it your own?" the other asked in his turn, with an eager removal of all resentment from his manner. "'Aven't we both been got at by those two jackets? Of course I was sorry ever to 'ave trusted 'em an inch, and you were quite right to serve me as you did if what they'd been telling you 'ad been the truth; but, now you see it was all a pack of lies it's surely about time to stop treating me like a mad dog."
"Then you really mean to stand by your side of the original arrangement?"
"Always did," declared our captive; "never 'ad the slightest intention of doing anything else."
"Then where's the first thing you promised me in fair exchange for what you destroyed last night? Where's Mr. Garland's note of hand?"
"In my pocket-book, and that's in my pocket."
"In case the worst comes to the worst," murmured Raffles in sly commentary, and with a sidelong glance at me.
"What's that? Don't you believe me? I'll 'and it over this minute, if only you'll take these damned things off my wrists. There's no excuse for 'em now, you know!"
Raffles shook his head.
"I'd rather not trust myself within reach of your raw fists yet, prisoner. But my marshal will produce the note from your person if it's there."