After tea that day Acton went down to the farm solus, not having, as you will presently see, any need of Jack’s company, even if Bourne had felt any desire to accompany him, which he didn’t.

The monitor tinkled his bell, and in answer to the ringing, Raffles lounged out of a barn, the inseparable Warmint trotting at his master’s heels.

“Suppose we’d better go into the stable, Raffles.”

The odour of the Coon’s afternoon cigar still hung about the place, and the stable was half dark, but as Acton had an idea that his conversation with Raffles would not be a short one, and the night was rather cold, they went in.

“Fire away, Raffles. Start at the beginning.”

“Very good, sir,” said Raffles, seating himself on the corn-chest. “Agreeable to instructions received from Mr. Acting

“Acton,” suggested that gentleman.

“Acting I said so, didn’t I? Very well! Agreeable to instructions received from you, sir, I prepared

“Don’t be so beastly legal, you ass!”

“Let a cove tell ’is tale ’is own way, sir. We’ll get on better like that. As I was going to say, following your tip, I prepared to show that young shaver, Bourne, a few things which as you told me he ought not to know of, and to do a few things which you told me he ought not to do in fact, to put him on the way of breakin’ every blessed rule that that beak of your school ’as drawn up for the guidance of the youth and the beauties under ’is ’and. What’s the name of the beak, sir?”

“Oh, Moore!” said Acton, impatiently.

“The young shaver spoke of ’im different.”

“Corker, perhaps,” said Acton.

“That’s it,” continued Raffles. “Well, Corker ’asn’t got a thoroughbred greenhorn in Bourne, Mr. Acting.”

“No. Young Bourne’s head is on his shoulders, more or less. Get on.”

“Well, we opened the ball with a little bunny-shootin’, for he couldn’t stand Warmint’s workin’ among the rats. He shoots moderate straight, so I doctored his cartridges, or he’d have cleared out the bank. Not more than two in the half-dozen, sir. And then he couldn’t understand it. What might Corker say to the bunnies, sir?”

“Oh, a thrashing, perhaps, and a stringing up for the rest of the term.”

“We went to the Blue Cow on wet days. Billiards, beer, and ’baccy, Mr. Acting, was the true bill there. What’s the law on those fancy articles?”

“A thrashing for first course, and et ceteras which you wouldn’t understand.”

“Well, he’s earned ’em. We couldn’t do any betting on the horses, since the Lincolnshire Handicap is not in sight yet, but he fluttered a little on the Sporting Club matches; and he was lucky more than ordinary.”

“You didn’t wing him there, then?”

“Nothing to speak of. He may have dropped half a sov. altogether, but I doubt it.”

“Then, Raffles, you’re a fool. Do you think I brought you down here to be moral instructor to young Bourne, you grey old badger? Couldn’t you bag an innocent of sixteen or so? Besides, what the deuce do you mean by tipping me the wink as Bourne and I used to get on our ‘bikes’? You always did it, and I thought you were winding up the youngster hand over hand.”

“Them winks,” said Raffles, diplomatically, “was meant to show that I was moving moving slow, but sure. You’ve observed, Mr. Acting, yourself, as ’ow the young shaver had a head on ’is shoulders.”

“Yes, but I didn’t bargain for yours being off your shoulders.”

“Well, what with bunnies, cartridges, and the Blue Cow, and the other extras, he is about cleaned out now.”

“Cleaned out!” said Acton, with intense irritation. “That’s not what I wanted. I told you distinctly that I must have him five pounds deep at the least. 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.”

“It has,” said that bright specimen of humanity, regretfully. “I can’t pretend that I’d any hand in the blowing out of them blessed barrels.”

“All right, Raffles; don’t weep. You’d have done it, of course, if you’d thought about it,” said Acton, with a curious sneer; “but this is my plan as far as you’re concerned. When young Bourne comes, you’re to ask for L7 10s. And you’re to be an adamantine Jew; you’re to have the money instanter, or there’ll be a rumpus.”

“I twig. Make it seven guineas, though,” said Raffles, generously.

“Seven guineas! So be it. You can suggest that, unless you get the cash, you would see Moore.”

“Corker, D.D.? I’m on.”

“Or Bourne, senior.”

“The shaver’s brother. I’m tumbling to the dodge.”

“Bourne will curl up at this.”

“Naturally.”

“But you’re still the blood-thirsty Jew.”

“Moses, and Aaron, and the rest.”

“You’ll suggest at last that I be tackled for a loan.”

“And you’ll lend it him!” said Raffles, with an unspeakable leer.

“The business wants careful handling, remember. Young Bourne will think twice about borrowing, and, perhaps, if he could keep me out of it, would stand your racket, or Corker’s either. So drive him lightly.”

“You’ll see him on the borrowing tack to-morrow, Mr. Acting.”

“And the rest is my business.”

“Where do I come in?”

“You can cleave to the seven guineas if you earn ’em.”

“Seven pounds ten, Mr. Acting.”

“Seven pound seven, Mr. Raffles. Your own proposal.”

“Orl right,” said Raffles, resignedly. “I think I know them ropes.”

“Good!” said Acton. “Then you can scuttle now to Rotherhithe, or where the deuce else you like. I’m off.”

Acton wheeled out his bicycle and melted into the gathering dark, and his jackal lurched off to the station and reached Rotherhithe to dream of his seven guineas which he was going to get. Raffles felt sure of those seven guineas.