Murray touched a bell and a boy answered.
“Ask Mrs. Vincent to step in here,” said Murray.
The money-lender was plainly disconcerted, but he was not unaccustomed to hard battles, so he nerved himself to bluff the thing through, it being too late to do anything else.
“Mrs. Vincent,” said Murray, when the woman appeared, “I have found the insurance policy.”
“Where is it?” she asked eagerly.
“Mr. Shylock,”—with a motion toward the money-lender,—“holds it.”
“Give it to me, Mr. Shylock,” demanded Mrs. Vincent, who was not a woman to grasp the bitter insult of the name, and her innocent repetition of it added to the anger of the man. Still, the habit of never letting his personal feelings interfere with business was strong within him.
“I must be paid first,” he said.
“Paid!” she cried. “What is there to pay? The insurance money is mine!”
“I hold a note,” insisted the money-lender.