Hullo, Jos! said the intruder in a light, careless and rather scornful tone.

It was a stroke of genius on his part to address Mr. Ilam as “Jos.” That curt and familiar monosyllable, directed like a bullet at the formidable Ilam, the august President of the City, made such an impression upon both Mr. Gloucester and the L. and W. E. Bank-clerk that they took no part whatever in the immediately subsequent proceedings. They were astounded into silence. They trembled lest lightning should descend and utterly destroy the intruder.

And Ilam himself was plainly at a loss. He was about to say to the intruder: “You have no right to speak to me in such a way,” and to order him out of the place, when the ridiculousness of protesting and the futility of ordering presented themselves vividly to his mind.

Besides, there was the revolver.

So Mr. Ilam said merely, in a sort of pained surprise:

“Jetsam!”

“Exactly,” said Jetsam.

And the imperturbable fellow, with his grey hair and his shabby suit and his weary eyes, nonchalantly sat down on the edge of one of the counting-tables, his legs dangling, and his body leaning forward.

The two employÉs were by this time convinced that the new-comer must be either the Shah of Persia in disguise, or else some extremely intimate and life-long friend of Ilam’s, perhaps richer than Ilam himself. The bank-clerk knew by sight several chairmen of banks who were quite as badly dressed as the man on the table. Nevertheless, they did not carry revolvers. The revolver was certainly rather disquieting. However, they bent to their work, as though both eyes of the Recording Angel were upon them.

Ilam closed the door of the safe.

“The doorkeeper let you pass?” he ventured.

“No, not at all,” replied Jetsam.

“He isn’t at his post?”

“Not just at the moment. I’ve had him removed for a bit. He’ll doubtless return as soon as I’ve gone. I thought it would be simpler to have my own doorkeeper.”

“What did the Soudanese say, though?”

“Which Soudanese?”

“The Soudanese who is outside the door.”

“Oh, him? He didn’t say anything.”

“This is a serious breach of rules for you to be here, you know,” said Ilam. “And I must ask you to go.”

“I really can’t go just yet,” said Jetsam.

“What are you doing here?”

“Nothing,” said Jetsam; “except nursing this revolver. I’m going to do something soon.”

Both the bank-clerk and Mr. Gloucester looked up. They even went so far as to glance at their employer for instructions; but their employer seemed to avoid the eyes of the underlings. Then Mr. Gloucester spoke in a low tone to the clerk, and the clerk replied, and some bags of gold were bundled into a coffer and the coffer locked and double-locked, and the bank-clerk murmured respectfully:

“These are the lot, sir. Shall I take them and go?”

“Yes,” said Ilam.

“Will you help me?” said the clerk to Mr. Gloucester.

“Yes,” said Mr. Gloucester.

And Mr. Gloucester and the clerk each picked up several coffers.

“Good-night, sir,” said the clerk.

“Good-night,” said Ilam.

“Stop that!” Jetsam exclaimed, turning his head slowly behind him to follow the movements of the pair.

“I beg pardon?” murmured the clerk interrogatively.

“I thought I told you to go to the other end of the room,” thundered Jetsam.

“But Mr. Ilam——”

“Go to the other end of the room, up there at that corner,” Jetsam commanded sternly, adding, “or I’ll blow your idiotic brains out! Do you hear?”

The clerk was in love with a girl who lived with her mother in a pretty little semi-detached villa at Weybridge. He thought of her; he thought of all the evenings he had spent with her; he conjured her up in all her different dresses; he heard her voice in all its tones—and all this in the fraction of a second. Then he put down the boxes and discreetly betook himself to the corner indicated by Mr. Jetsam, thinking obscurely and slangily that to be a bank-clerk was not all jam.

“And you, too!” ordered Jetsam, raising a finger to Mr. Gloucester.

Mr. Gloucester was not in love with a charming young thing at Weybridge. He never had been in love; he had never lived with anyone except himself and a bull-terrier; but he was fond of playing chess at night at Simpson’s; and he suddenly saw Simpson’s and the chess-boards, and the foamy quart, and the bull-terrier lying under the table. Life and Simpson’s seemed infinitely precious to him in those instants. And he put down his boxes and followed the bank-clerk to the suggested corner.

“I must really——” he began protestingly.

“Silence!” exploded Mr. Jetsam; and there was silence.

You must picture the large, low room, with its concrete lining and its half-dozen sixteen candle-power electric lights burning in the ceiling; and underneath these lights the four men—Ilam leaning against the gigantic safe which rose out of the floor in the middle of the apartment; Jetsam still nonchalantly swinging his legs as he sat on the table, facing him directly; and the democracy, somewhat scared and undecided, in a corner. Jetsam had his back to the door, and since the two piles of coffers were near the door they were out of his field of vision.

Jetsam winked at Ilam—deliberately winked at him.

“Simple as a, b, c, isn’t it?” he pleasantly remarked.

“What?” demanded Ilam.

“What I’m doing now—holding up a strong room and its staff.”

“You’ll suffer for this,” said Ilam.

“That remains to be seen,” was the reply. “I gravely doubt if I shall suffer for it. Up to now, what have I done? I have asked those gentlemen to go into a corner and not to indulge in desultory and disturbing conversation; and they have been good enough to humour my caprice; and I have winked at you, Jos. Is there anything illegal in winking at you? A few days ago you did more than wink at me—you nearly killed me!”

“I must go,” said Ilam. “I have an appointment—I——”

He moved slightly.

“Let me advise you not to move,” Jetsam warned him, raising the revolver an inch or so. “It mightn’t be very good for your constitution. You must grasp, the fact that you are being held up. A worn-out operation, you will say—a trick lacking in novelty! Yes; but one, nevertheless, based on the fundamental human instincts, and therefore pretty certain to succeed. Indeed, I am surprised how simple it is. You might fancy from my easy bearing that I had devoted a lifetime to holding people up. Not in the least. I have never held anyone up before. And yet, how well I am succeeding! The thing works like a charm; merely because you can see in my eye that I mean to be obeyed.”

“I suppose you want money?” said Ilam savagely.

“I don’t want impudence!” retorted Jetsam. “Apologize, if you please, my friend!”

“What have I said?”

“It isn’t what you said—it’s your manner of saying it that was unworthy of you. You mean to apologize for wounding my feelings, don’t you?” Jetsam smiled. “No, don’t move; merely express your regret!”

“I’m sorry,” muttered Ilam.

“There—you see!” cried Jetsam to the men in the corner. “Let that be a lesson to you. And remember, that only great men like Mr. Ilam have sufficient moral force, when they are in the wrong, to admit the fact. Well, Jos, I accept your apology in the cheerful and generous spirit in which you offer it; and I shall not deny that I do want money. That is part of what I came for.”

“How much do you want?” asked Ilam.

“Well,” said Jetsam. “How much have you got handy?”

Mr. Ilam intimated that there was a small sum in gold.

“A thousand in gold?” queried Jetsam.

Ilam nodded.

“Probably more,” Jetsam commented. “But a thousand will suffice me. If I need a fresh supply I can always come again, can’t I? And besides, all that is yours is mine, eh?”

Ilam maintained silence.

“Eh?” repeated Jetsam persuasively.

“Yes,” growled Ilam, and his eye caught the eye of the young bank-clerk by pure accident.

At that moment the young bank-clerk, fired by martial valour, a thirst for glory, and the thought of what a splendid thrilling tale he would have to tell to the charming young thing at Weybridge, sprang furiously forward in the direction of Jetsam.

“Stop!” said Jetsam, slipping off the table and facing the youth, revolver ready.

The youth hesitated for the fifth of a second.

“No,” said the youth, and came on.

Jetsam fired almost point-blank at the hero’s face, and the hero started back and sank to the ground. And there was a great hush in the room and a smell of powder and a little smoke. The youth lay still.

“Get up!” said Jetsam fiercely. “Get up, or I’ll kick you up!”

And, strange to relate, the youth discovered the whereabouts of his limbs and got up, and returned to the corner.

“A singular example of what imagination will do!” commented Jetsam. “The first chamber of this revolver was loaded with blank. I expected to have to use it for theatrical effect, to begin with, and I was not wrong. Let me add that the other five chambers are most carefully loaded, and that I once earned my living in a music-hall by shooting the pips out of cards with this revolver.” He then addressed Mr. Gloucester. “Now, old man,” he said, “how much gold is there in one of those boxes?”

“Two thousand five hundred!” answered Mr. Gloucester politely.

“And it weighs?”

“About sixty pounds.”

“It isn’t worth while breaking into it,” said Jetsam smoothly, looking at Ilam. “I’ll take the lot. In our final settlement it shall be brought into account.” His glance shifted to Gloucester. “Thank you,” he added, “for this information so courteously given.

“Perhaps you are satisfied now!” said Ilam.

“Why don’t you go? You think you won’t get caught, but you will.”

“Surely, you won’t give me away, Jos!” protested Jetsam. “I’m convinced you won’t; because you see, if you begin to talk about me I should probably begin to talk about you, and think how dreadful that would be.”

“Keep it up! Keep it up!” said Ilam.

“Hence,” Jetsam proceeded, ignoring the interruption, “I shall confidently rely on you to see that these excellent gentlemen here in the corner keep their elegant mouths shut. I shall rely on you for that. You understand, gentlemen, Mr. Ilam wishes you not to prattle, even in the privacy of your own homes.”

“Are you going?” said Ilam doggedly.

“Yes,” said Jetsam; “and so are you.”

“Me!”

“Yes, you. The money is a mere incidental. What I came for was your distinguished self.”

“I’m not coming with you. I haven’t the slightest intention of coming with you.”

“You may not have much intention, but you are coming,” said the suave Jetsam. “Besides, who is going to carry this box outside for me? I can’t carry the box and a revolver, too. Obviously Providence has designated precisely you to carry this box. Come.”

“Not I!” Ilam defied him.

“Come!” repeated Jetsam. “I have a vehicle awaiting outside, and we shall see what we shall see.”

“No!” insisted Ilam.

Mr. Jetsam advanced two paces.

“Listen!” said he angrily and yet calmly. “If you don’t come, I’ll shoot you where you stand. You ought to be able to perceive that I mean what I say.”

Ilam’s reply was a mute surrender. He dropped his eyes, and the next moment the two underlings had the spectacle of the corpulent Mr. Ilam lifting a sixty-pound weight and struggling with it to the door, followed by the revolver and Mr. Jetsam behind the revolver.

“Stop in the doorway a second,” ordered Jetsam. He addressed the clerks again. “If I were you, I shouldn’t hurry out of here. You might catch cold.”

And then they saw Ilam disappear, the box in his arms, and Mr. Jetsam follow him. Mr. Jetsam closed the door. The clerks were alone.

“Well, of all the——!” exclaimed the younger man.

“I wonder how soon it will be safe for us to leave!” said Mr. Gloucester.