I'm going to have the seven ten or
show you up. That's straight."
"Show me up," repeated Jack, blankly. "You miserable blackmailer!"
Bourne felt then the beautiful feelings of being in the grasp of a
low-bred cad who could play with him as a cat with a mouse. He sat
staring in front of him livid with rage, and Raffles, who was watching
him covertly, and with no small anxiety, could see he was digesting the
whole situation. Jack would indeed then and there have let Raffles do
his worst, and would have stood the racket from Corker--and his
brother--rather than be blackmailed by the villain by his side, but he
said hopelessly to himself, "How can I do it without bringing Acton into
it? When this comes out all his training with the Coon must come out
too; perhaps he'll lose his monitorship for not keeping his hand on me,
and Phil's done him a bad enough turn already. I can't round on him.
Heavens! I can't do that."
This reads rather pitiful, doesn't it, under the circumstances?
Jack at the end of his resources tried a desperate bluff.
"I'll put Acton on your track, my beauty, and perhaps he'll make you
see--or feel--reason."
"That game's no good, young shaver. I don't want to see Mr. Acting no
more than you want to tell him of your little blow-outs. Look here, are
you going to pay? Yes or no?"
"I haven't got the money," said Jack, at his wits' end.
"Ho! that's very likely," said Raffles, with a sneer; "anyhow, you could
mighty soon get it if you wanted to.
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