"Then you must sign another paper, the contents of which you will not know until some future time," continued the judge, very quietly.
"If I do it, may I be ——!" screamed Israel, bouncing from his seat.
"It is well. You may go," calmly remarked the judge. "You are free; these gentlemen will see you from this house, and attend you until bank hours, when they will have the honor of presenting you to the holders of your notes, who will, doubtless, gather in respectable numbers in front of your banking house."
Israel was free, but the twelve gentlemen, with clubs, gathered round him, anxious to escort him safely on his way.
"Come, my dear little Turk, we are ready," said one of the number, with a very gruff voice, laying a hand,—it was such a hard hand,—on the shoulders of the Financier, "We're a-dyin' to go with you; ain't we, boys?"
"Dyin' ain't the word,—we're starvin' to death to be alone with the gentleman in blue trowsers," responded another.
Israel bit his lips in silent rage.
"Give me the papers," he said, in a sullen voice, and following a sign from the finger of the judge, he advanced to the table, and beheld the documents, the first of which he read.
It was an important document, containing a brief statement of all Israel's financial affairs,—evidently prepared by one who knew all about him,—together with his solemn promise to redeem every one of his notes, dollar for dollar.
"Could Fetch have betrayed me?"—Israel hissed the words between his set teeth, as he took up the pen.—"If I thought so, I'd cut his throat."