"Kindly subpoena Mr. Simon Rabofsky," said Shagarach to Aronson. "It is that gentleman just starting to leave the room. He will remain for a few moments."
The writ was made out and handed by the awe-stricken Aronson to the money-lender, who glared at him furiously. But he could not escape.
"Mr. Rabofsky is a second-hand dealer, I believe?" continued Shagarach.
"I think so."
"Of a higher class than yourself?"
"Oh, yes sir. Mr. Rabofsky's reputation is first class."
"How much money did Simon Rabofsky offer you to keep him out of this scrape?" was the next question. The witness looked over at the money-lender in terror; then back at Shagarach, and his terror was intensified.
"No money," he finally gasped.
"Would you be willing to swear that if Mr. Henderson, the owner of that pipe, should call to-day at 84 Salem street and request Mrs. Rebecca Rabofsky to sell him the colored meerschaum which her husband was showing to a customer yesterday, when Mr. Shagarach called, he would be told that no such article was in the store?"
Either the length of the question or its import confused the witness.