How can I engineer my schemes if my sharpers can't cut? You'll
look blue, Raffles, when I settle your account, take my word for it."
"Not quite so quick off the mark, Mr. Acting. What do you value this
piece of ironmongery at?"
Raffles fished up the gun which had burst in Jack's hands that afternoon
from behind the corn-chest, and held it up to the light.
"A burst gun!" said Acton. "It's worth throwing away; no more."
"It was worth this morning, say fifteen bob, before Bourne blew its ribs
out."
"Jove!" said Acton, "let me handle the thing." He looked at the torn
breech, and whistled with involuntary horror. "Much of a squeak,
Raffles?"
"Touch and go, sir. He'll never be nearer pegging out than he was this
afternoon; for he scraped the gates of his family buryin'-place, in a
manner of speakin.' It went clean through his hat--rim and crown."
"Did he know his luck?"
"Nobody better."
"He looked more than average queer as we trotted home. I thought he was
digesting your little bill, Raffles."
"No; he only owes me a matter of shillin's. But I could say that I
ticketed the gun at L5 or L6, when the old shooter wasn't worth----"
"Fifteen bob," said Acton, looking at the worn barrel.
"See where I have--where you have--the youngster tied neatly up? He owes
me--or you--seven, eight, nine pounds, or any fancy figure I--or you--
like to mention for that old piece of iron there."
"Raffles, we're in luck! Luck has served me better than all your downy
work.
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