Raffles, Further Adventures of the Amateur Cracksman
by
E. W. Hornung
Part 1 out of 4
RAFFLES
FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN
BY E. W. HORNUNG
RAFFLES
NO SINECURE
I
I am still uncertain which surprised me more, the telegram
calling my attention to the advertisement, or the advertisement
itself. The telegram is before me as I write. It would appear
to have been handed in at Vere Street at eight o'clock in the
morning of May 11, 1897, and received before half-past at
Holloway B.O. And in that drab region it duly found me, unwashen
but at work before the day grew hot and my attic insupportable.
"See Mr. Maturin's advertisement Daily Mail might suit you
earnestly beg try will speak if necessary ---- ----"
I transcribe the thing as I see it before me, all in one
breath that took away mine; but I leave out the initials at the
end, which completed the surprise. They stood very obviously for
the knighted specialist whose consulting-room is within a
cab-whistle of Vere Street, and who once called me kinsman for
his sins. More recently he had called me other names. I was a
disgrace, qualified by an adjective which seemed to me another.
I had made my bed, and I could go and lie and die in it. If I
ever again had the insolence to show my nose in that house, I
should go out quicker than I came in. All this, and more, my
least distant relative could tell a poor devil to his face;
could ring for his man, and give him his brutal instructions on
the spot; and then relent to the tune of this telegram! I have
no phrase for my amazement. I literally could not believe my
eyes. Yet their evidence was more and more conclusive: a very
epistle could not have been more characteristic of its sender.
Meanly elliptical, ludicrously precise, saving half-pence at
the expense of sense, yet paying like a man for "Mr." Maturin,
that was my distinguished relative from his bald patch to his
corns. Nor was all the rest unlike him, upon second thoughts.
He had a reputation for charity; he was going to live up to it
after all. Either that, or it was the sudden impulse of which
the most calculating are capable at times; the morning papers
with the early cup of tea, this advertisement seen by chance,
and the rest upon the spur of a guilty conscience.
Well, I must see it for myself, and the sooner the better,
though work pressed. I was writing a series of articles upon
prison life, and had my nib into the whole System; a literary
and philanthropical daily was parading my "charges," the graver
ones with the more gusto; and the terms, if unhandsome for
creative work, were temporary wealth to me. It so happened that
my first check had just arrived by the eight o'clock post; and
my position should be appreciated when I say that I had to cash
it to obtain a Daily Mail.
Of the advertisement itself, what is to be said? It should speak
for itself if I could find it, but I cannot, and only remember
that it was a "male nurse and constant attendant" that was
"wanted for an elderly gentleman in feeble health." A male
nurse! An absurd tag was appended, offering "liberal salary to
University or public-school man"; and of a sudden I saw that I
should get this thing if I applied for it. What other
"University or public-school man" would dream of doing so? Was
any other in such straits as I? And then my relenting relative;
he not only promised to speak for me, but was the very man to do
so. Could any recommendation compete with his in the matter of
a male nurse? And need the duties of such be necessarily
loathsome and repellent? Certainly the surroundings would be
better than those of my common lodging-house and own particular
garret; and the food; and every other condition of life that I
could think of on my way back to that unsavory asylum. So I
dived into a pawnbroker's shop, where I was a stranger only
upon my present errand, and within the hour was airing a decent
if antiquated suit, but little corrupted by the pawnbroker's
moth, and a new straw hat, on the top of a tram.
The address given in the advertisement was that of a flat at
Earl's Court, which cost me a cross-country journey, finishing
with the District Railway and a seven minutes' walk. It was now
past mid-day, and the tarry wood-pavement was good to smell as
I strode up the Earl's Court Road. It was great to walk the
civilized world again. Here were men with coats on their backs,
and ladies in gloves. My only fear was lest I might run up
against one or other whom I had known of old. But it was my
lucky day. I felt it in my bones. I was going to get this
berth; and sometimes I should be able to smell the wood-pavement
on the old boy's errands; perhaps he would insist on skimming
over it in his bath-chair, with me behind.
I felt quite nervous when I reached the flats. They were a small
pile in a side street, and I pitied the doctor whose plate I saw
upon the palings before the ground-floor windows; he must be in
a very small way, I thought. I rather pitied myself as well.
I had indulged in visions of better flats than these. There
were no balconies. The porter was out of livery. There was no
lift, and my invalid on the third floor! I trudged up, wishing
I had never lived in Mount Street, and brushed against a
dejected individual coming down. A full-blooded young fellow in
a frock-coat flung the right door open at my summons.
"Does Mr. Maturin live here?" I inquired.
"That's right," said the full-blooded young man, grinning all
over a convivial countenance.
"I--I've come about his advertisement in the Daily Mail."
"You're the thirty-ninth," cried the blood; "that was the
thirty-eighth you met upon the stairs, and the day's still
young. Excuse my staring at you. Yes, you pass your prelim.,
and can come inside; you're one of the few. We had most just
after breakfast, but now the porter's heading off the worst
cases, and that last chap was the first for twenty minutes.
Come in here."
And I was ushered into an empty room with a good bay-window,
which enabled my full-blooded friend to inspect me yet more
critically in a good light; this he did without the least false
delicacy; then his questions began.
"'Varsity man?"
"No."
"Public school?"
"Yes."
"Which one?"
I told him, and he sighed relief.
"At last! You're the very first I've not had to argue with as
to what is and what is not a public school. Expelled?"
"No," I said, after a moment's hesitation; "no, I was not
expelled. And I hope you won't expel me if I ask a question in
my turn?"
"Certainly not."
"Are you Mr. Maturin's son?"
"No, my name's Theobald. You may have seen it down below."
"The doctor?" I said.
"His doctor," said Theobald, with a satisfied eye. "Mr.
Maturin's doctor. He is having a male nurse and attendant by my
advice, and he wants a gentleman if he can get one. I rather
think he'll see you, though he's only seen two or three all day.
There are certain questions which he prefers to ask himself, and
it's no good going over the same ground twice. So perhaps I had
better tell him about you before we get any further."
And he withdrew to a room still nearer the entrance, as I could
hear, for it was a very small flat indeed. But now two doors
were shut between us, and I had to rest content with murmurs
through the wall until the doctor returned to summon me.
"I have persuaded my patient to see you," he whispered, "but I
confess I am not sanguine of the result. He is very difficult
to please. You must prepare yourself for a querulous invalid,
and for no sinecure if you get the billet."
"May I ask what's the matter with him?"
"By all means--when you've got the billet."
Dr. Theobald then led the way, his professional dignity so
thoroughly intact that I could not but smile as I followed his
swinging coat-tails to the sick-room. I carried no smile across
the threshold of a darkened chamber which reeked of drugs and
twinkled with medicine bottles, and in the middle of which a
gaunt figure lay abed in the half-light.
"Take him to the window, take him to the window," a thin voice
snapped, "and let's have a look at him. Open the blind a bit.
Not as much as that, damn you, not as much as that!"
The doctor took the oath as though it had been a fee. I no
longer pitied him. It was now very clear to me that he had one
patient who was a little practice in himself. I determined
there and then that he should prove a little profession to me,
if we could but keep him alive between us. Mr. Maturin,
however, had the whitest face that I have ever seen, and his
teeth gleamed out through the dusk as though the withered lips
no longer met about them; nor did they except in speech; and
anything ghastlier than the perpetual grin of his repose I defy
you to imagine. It was with this grin that he lay regarding me
while the doctor held the blind.
"So you think you could look after me, do you?"
"I'm certain I could, sir."
"Single-handed, mind! I don't keep another soul. You would
have to cook your own grub and my slops. Do you think you could
do all that?"
"Yes, sir, I think so."
"Why do you? Have you any experience of the kind?"
"No, sir, none."
"Then why do you pretend you have?"
"I only meant that I would do my best."
"Only meant, only meant! Have you done your best at everything
else, then?"
I hung my head. This was a facer. And there was something in
my invalid which thrust the unspoken lie down my throat.
"No, sir, I have not," I told him plainly.
"He, he, he!" the old wretch tittered; "and you do well to own
it; you do well, sir, very well indeed. If you hadn't owned up,
out you would have gone, out neck-and-crop! You've saved your
bacon. You may do more. So you are a public-school boy, and a
very good school yours is, but you weren't at either University.
Is that correct?"
"Absolutely."
"What did you do when you left school?"
"I came in for money."
"And then?"
"I spent my money."
"And since then?"
I stood like a mule.
"And since then, I say!"
"A relative of mine will tell you if you ask him. He is an
eminent man, and he has promised to speak for me. I would
rather say no more myself."
"But you shall, sir, but you shall! Do you suppose that I
suppose a public-school boy would apply for a berth like this if
something or other hadn't happened? What I want is a gentleman
of sorts, and I don't much care what sort; but you've got to
tell me what did happen, if you don't tell anybody else. Dr.
Theobald, sir, you can go to the devil if you won't take a hint.
This man may do or he may not. You have no more to say to it
till I send him down to tell you one thing or the other. Clear
out, sir, clear out; and if you think you've anything to
complain of, you stick it down in the bill!"
In the mild excitement of our interview the thin voice had
gathered strength, and the last shrill insult was screamed after
the devoted medico, as he retired in such order that I felt
certain he was going to take this trying patient at his word.
The bedroom door closed, then the outer one, and the doctor's
heels went drumming down the common stair. I was alone in the
flat with this highly singular and rather terrible old man.
"And a damned good riddance!" croaked the invalid, raising
himself on one elbow without delay. "I may not have much body
left to boast about, but at least I've got a lost old soul to
call my own. That's why I want a gentleman of sorts about me.
I've been too dependent on that chap. He won't even let me
smoke, and he's been in the flat all day to see I didn't.
You'll find the cigarettes behind the Madonna of the Chair."
It was a steel engraving of the great Raffaelle, and the frame
was tilted from the wall; at a touch a packet of cigarettes
tumbled down from behind.
"Thanks; and now a light."
I struck the match and held it, while the invalid inhaled with
normal lips; and suddenly I sighed. I was irresistibly reminded
of my poor dear old Raffles. A smoke-ring worthy of the great
A. J. was floating upward from the sick man's lips.
"And now take one yourself. I have smoked more poisonous
cigarettes. But even these are not Sullivans!"
I cannot repeat what I said. I have no idea what I did. I only
know--I only knew--that it was A. J. Raffles in the flesh!
II
"Yes, Bunny, it was the very devil of a swim; but I defy you to
sink in the Mediterranean. That sunset saved me. The sea was
on fire. I hardly swam under water at all, but went all I knew
for the sun itself; when it set I must have been a mile away;
until it did I was the invisible man. I figured on that, and
only hope it wasn't set down as a case of suicide. I shall get
outed quite soon enough, Bunny, but I'd rather be dropped by the
hangman than throw my own wicket away."
"Oh, my dear old chap, to think of having you by the hand again!
I feel as though we were both aboard that German liner, and all
that's happened since a nightmare. I thought that time was the
last!"
"It looked rather like it, Bunny. It was taking all the risks,
and hitting at everything. But the game came off, and some day
I'll tell you how."
"Oh, I'm in no hurry to hear. It's enough for me to see you
lying there. I don't want to know how you came there, or why,
though I fear you must be pretty bad. I must have a good look
at you before I let you speak another word!"
I raised one of the blinds, I sat upon the bed, and I had that
look. It left me all unable to conjecture his true state of
health, but quite certain in my own mind that my dear Raffles
was not and never would be the man that he had been. He had
aged twenty years; he looked fifty at the very least. His hair
was white; there was no trick about that; and his face was
another white. The lines about the corners of the eyes and
mouth were both many and deep. On the other hand, the eyes
themselves were alight and alert as ever; they were still keen
and gray and gleaming, like finely tempered steel. Even the
mouth, with a cigarette to close it, was the mouth of Raffles
and no other: strong and unscrupulous as the man himself. It
was only the physical strength which appeared to have departed;
but that was quite sufficient to make my heart bleed for the
dear rascal who had cost me every tie I valued but the tie
between us two.
"Think I look much older?" he asked at length.
"A bit," I admitted. "But it is chiefly your hair."
"Whereby hangs a tale for when we've talked ourselves out,
though I have often thought it was that long swim that started
it. Still, the Island of Elba is a rummy show, I can assure
you. And Naples is a rummier!"
"You went there after all?"
"Rather! It's the European paradise for such as our noble
selves. But there's no place that's a patch on little London as
a non-conductor of heat; it never need get too hot for a fellow
here; if it does it's his own fault. It's the kind of wicket
you don't get out on, unless you get yourself out. So here I am
again, and have been for the last six weeks. And I mean to have
another knock."
"But surely, old fellow, you're not awfully fit, are you?"
"Fit? My dear Bunny, I'm dead--I'm at the bottom of the
sea--and don't you forget it for a minute."
"But are you all right, or are you not?"
"No, I'm half-poisoned by Theobald's prescriptions and putrid
cigarettes, and as weak as a cat from lying in bed."
"Then why on earth lie in bed, Raffles?"
"Because it's better than lying in gaol, as I am afraid YOU
know, my poor dear fellow. I tell you I am dead; and my one
terror is of coming to life again by accident. Can't you see?
I simply dare not show my nose out of doors--by day. You have
no idea of the number of perfectly innocent things a dead man
daren't do. I can't even smoke Sullivans, because no one man
was ever so partial to them as I was in my lifetime, and you
never know when you may start a clew."
"What brought you to these mansions?"
"I fancied a flat, and a man recommended these on the boat; such
a good chap, Bunny; he was my reference when it came to signing
the lease. You see I landed on a stretcher--most pathetic
case--old Australian without a friend in old country--ordered
Engadine as last chance--no go--not an earthly--sentimental wish
to die in London--that's the history of Mr. Maturin. If it
doesn't hit you hard, Bunny, you're the first. But it hit
friend Theobald hardest of all. I'm an income to him. I
believe he's going to marry on me."
"Does he guess there's nothing wrong?"
"Knows, bless you! But he doesn't know I know he knows, and
there isn't a disease in the dictionary that he hasn't treated
me for since he's had me in hand. To do him justice, I believe
he thinks me a hypochondriac of the first water; but that young
man will go far if he keeps on the wicket. He has spent half
his nights up here, at guineas apiece."
"Guineas must be plentiful, old chap!"
"They have been, Bunny. I can't say more. But I don't see why
they shouldn't be again."
I was not going to inquire where the guineas came from. As if I
cared! But I did ask old Raffles how in the world he had got
upon my tracks; and thereby drew the sort of smile with which
old gentlemen rub their hands, and old ladies nod their noses.
Raffles merely produced a perfect oval of blue smoke before
replying.
"I was waiting for you to ask that, Bunny; it's a long time
since I did anything upon which I plume myself more. Of course,
in the first place, I spotted you at once by these prison
articles; they were not signed, but the fist was the fist of my
sitting rabbit!"
"But who gave you my address?"
"I wheedled it out of your excellent editor; called on him at
dead of night, when I occasionally go afield like other ghosts,
and wept it out of him in five minutes. I was your only
relative; your name was not your own name; if he insisted I
would give him mine. He didn't insist, Bunny, and I danced down
his stairs with your address in my pocket."
"Last night?"
"No, last week."
"And so the advertisement was yours, as well as the telegram!"
I had, of course, forgotten both in the high excitement of the
hour, or I should scarcely have announced my belated discovery
with such an air. As it was I made Raffles look at me as I had
known him look before, and the droop of his eyelids began to
sting.
"Why all this subtlety?" I petulantly exclaimed. "Why couldn't
you come straight away to me in a cab?"
He did not inform me that I was hopeless as ever. He did not
address me as his good rabbit.
He was silent for a time, and then spoke in a tone which made me
ashamed of mine.
"You see, there are two or three of me now, Bunny: one's at the
bottom of the Mediterranean, and one's an old Australian
desirous of dying in the old country, but in no immediate danger
of dying anywhere. The old Australian doesn't know a soul in
town; he's got to be consistent, or he's done. This sitter
Theobald is his only friend, and has seen rather too much of
him; ordinary dust won't do for his eyes. Begin to see? To
pick you out of a crowd, that was the game; to let old Theobald
help to pick you, better still! To start with, he was dead
against my having anybody at all; wanted me all to himself,
naturally; but anything rather than kill the goose! So he is
to have a fiver a week while he keeps me alive, and he's going
to be married next month. That's a pity in some ways, but a
good thing in others; he will want more money than he foresees,
and he may always be of use to us at a pinch. Meanwhile he
eats out of my hand."
I complimented Raffles on the mere composition of his telegram,
with half the characteristics of my distinguished kinsman
squeezed into a dozen odd words; and let him know how the old
ruffian had really treated me. Raffles was not surprised; we had
dined together at my relative's in the old days, and filed for
reference a professional valuation of his household gods. I now
learnt that the telegram had been posted, with the hour marked
for its despatch, at the pillar nearest Vere Street, on the
night before the advertisement was due to appear in the Daily
Mail. This also had been carefully prearranged; and Raffles's
only fear had been lest it might be held over despite his
explicit instructions, and so drive me to the doctor for an
explanation of his telegram. But the adverse chances had been
weeded out and weeded out to the irreducible minimum of risk.
His greatest risk, according to Raffles, lay nearest home:
bedridden invalid that he was supposed to be, his nightly terror
was of running into Theobald's arms in the immediate
neighborhood of the flat. But Raffles had characteristic
methods of minimizing even that danger, of which something
anon; meanwhile he recounted more than one of his nocturnal
adventures, all, however, of a singularly innocent type; and one
thing I noticed while he talked. His room was the first as you
entered the flat. The long inner wall divided the room not
merely from the passage but from the outer landing as well.
Thus every step upon the bare stone stairs could be heard by
Raffles where he lay; and he would never speak while one was
ascending, until it had passed his door. The afternoon brought
more than one applicant for the post which it was my duty to
tell them that I had already obtained. Between three and four,
however, Raffles, suddenly looking at his watch, packed me off
in a hurry to the other end of London for my things.
"I'm afraid you must be famishing, Bunny. It's a fact that I
eat very little, and that at odd hours, but I ought not to have
forgotten you. Get yourself a snack outside, but not a square
meal if you can resist one. We've got to celebrate this day
this night!"
"To-night?" I cried.
"To-night at eleven, and Kellner's the place. You may well open
your eyes, but we didn't go there much, if you remember, and the
staff seems changed. Anyway we'll risk it for once. I was in
last night, talking like a stage American, and supper's ordered
for eleven sharp."
"You made as sure of me as all that!"
"There was no harm in ordering supper. We shall have it in a
private room, but you may as well dress if you've got the duds."
"They're at my only forgiving relative's."
"How much will get them out, and square you up, and bring you
back bag and baggage in good time?"
I had to calculate.
"A tenner, easily."
"I had one ready for you. Here it is, and I wouldn't lose any
time if I were you. On the way you might look up Theobald, tell
him you've got it and how long you'll be gone, and that I can't
be left alone all the time. And, by Jove, yes! You get me a
stall for the Lyceum at the nearest agent's; there are two or
three in High Street; and say it was given you when you come in.
That young man shall be out of the way to-night."
I found our doctor in a minute consulting-room and his
shirt-sleeves, a tall tumbler at his elbow; at least I caught
sight of the tumbler on entering; thereafter he stood in front
of it, with a futility which had my sympathy.
"So you've got the billet," said Dr. Theobald. "Well, as I told
you before, and as you have since probably discovered for
yourself, you won't find it exactly a sinecure. My own part of
the business is by no means that; indeed, there are those who
would throw up the case, after the kind of treatment that you
have seen for yourself. But professional considerations are not
the only ones, and one cannot make too many allowances in such a
case."
"But what is the case?" I asked him. "You said you would tell
me if I was successful."
Dr. Theobald's shrug was worthy of the profession he seemed
destined to adorn; it was not incompatible with any construction
which one chose to put upon it. Next moment he had stiffened.
I suppose I still spoke more or less like a gentleman. Yet,
after all, I was only the male nurse. He seemed to remember
this suddenly, and he took occasion to remind me of the fact.
"Ah," said he, "that was before I knew you were altogether
without experience; and I must say that I was surprised even at
Mr. Maturin's engaging you after that; but it will depend upon
yourself how long I allow him to persist in so curious an
experiment. As for what is the matter with him, my good fellow,
it is no use my giving you an answer which would be double Dutch
to you; moreover, I have still to test your discretionary
powers. I may say, however, that that poor gentleman presents
at once the most complex and most troublesome case, which is
responsibility enough without certain features which make it all
but insupportable. Beyond this I must refuse to discuss my
patient for the present; but I shall certainly go up if I can
find time."
He went up within five minutes. I found him there on my return
at dusk. But he did not refuse my stall for the Lyceum, which
Raffles would not allow me to use myself, and presented to him
off-hand without my leave.
"And don't you bother any more about me till to-morrow," snapped
the high thin voice as he was off. "I can send for you now when
I want you, and I'm hoping to have a decent night for once."
III
It was half-past ten when we left the flat, in an interval of
silence on the noisy stairs. The silence was unbroken by our
wary feet. Yet for me a surprise was in store upon the very
landing. Instead of going downstairs, Raffles led me up two
flights, and so out upon a perfectly flat roof.
"There are two entrances to these mansions," he explained
between stars and chimney-stacks: "one to our staircase, and
another round the corner. But there's only one porter, and he
lives on the basement underneath us, and affects the door
nearest home. We miss him by using the wrong stairs, and we run
less risk of old Theobald. I got the tip from the postmen, who
come up one way and down the other. Now, follow me, and look
out!"
There was indeed some necessity for caution, for each half of the
building had its L-shaped well dropping sheer to the base, the
parapets so low that one might easily have tripped over them
into eternity. However, we were soon upon the second staircase,
which opened on the roof like the first. And twenty minutes of
the next twenty-five we spent in an admirable hansom, skimming
east.
"Not much change in the old hole, Bunny. More of these
magic-lantern advertisements . . . and absolutely the worst bit
of taste in town, though it's saying something, in that
equestrian statue with the gilt stirrups and fixings; why don't
they black the buffer's boots and his horse's hoofs while they
are about it? . . . More bicyclists, of course. That was just
beginning, if you remember. It might have been useful to us. .
. . And there's the old club, getting put into a crate for the
Jubilee; by Jove, Bunny, we ought to be there. I wouldn't lean
forward in Piccadilly, old chap. If you're seen I'm thought of,
and we shall have to be jolly careful at Kellner's. . . . Ah,
there it is! Did I tell you I was a low-down stage Yankee at
Kellner's? You'd better be another, while the waiter's in the
room."
We had the little room upstairs; and on the very threshold I,
even I, who knew my Raffles of old, was taken horribly aback.
The table was laid for three. I called his attention to it in a
whisper.
"Why, yep!" came through his nose. "Say, boy, the lady, she's
not comin', but you leave that tackle where 'tis. If I'm liable
to pay, I guess I'll have all there is to it."
I have never been in America, and the American public is the
last on earth that I desire to insult; but idiom and intonation
alike would have imposed upon my inexperience. I had to look at
Raffles to make sure that it was he who spoke, and I had my own
reasons for looking hard.
"Who on earth was the lady?" I inquired aghast at the first
opportunity.
"She isn't on earth. They don't like wasting this room on two,
that's all. Bunny--my Bunny--here's to us both!"
And we clinked glasses swimming with the liquid gold of
Steinberg, 1868; but of the rare delights of that supper I can
scarcely trust myself to write. It was no mere meal, it was no
coarse orgy, but a little feast for the fastidious gods, not
unworthy of Lucullus at his worst. And I who had bolted my
skilly at Wormwood Scrubbs, and tightened my belt in a Holloway
attic, it was I who sat down to this ineffable repast! Where
the courses were few, but each a triumph of its kind, it would
be invidious to single out any one dish; but the Jambon de
Westphalie au Champagne tempts me sorely. And then the champagne
that we drank, not the quantity but the quality! Well, it was
Pol Roger, '84, and quite good enough for me; but even so it was
not more dry, nor did it sparkle more, than the merry rascal
who had dragged me thus far to the devil, but should lead me
dancing the rest of the way. I was beginning to tell him so. I
had done my honest best since my reappearance in the world; but
the world had done its worst by me. A further antithesis and my
final intention were both upon my tongue when the waiter with
the Chateau Margaux cut me short; for he was the bearer of more
than that great wine; bringing also a card upon a silver tray.
"Show him up," said Raffles, laconically.
"And who is this?" I cried when the man was gone. Raffles
reached across the table and gripped my arm in a vice. His eyes
were steel points fixed on mine.
"Bunny, stand by me," said he in the old irresistible voice, a
voice both stern and winning. "Stand by me, Bunny--if there's a
row!"
And there was time for nothing more, the door flying open, and a
dapper person entering with a bow; a frock-coat on his back,
gold pince-nez on his nose; a shiny hat in one hand, and a black
bag in the other.
"Good-evening, gentlemen," said he, at home and smiling.
"Sit down," drawled Raffles in casual response. "Say, let me
introduce you to Mr. Ezra B. Martin, of Shicawgo. Mr. Martin is
my future brother-in-law. This is Mr. Robinson, Ezra, manager to
Sparks & Company, the cellerbrated joolers on Re-gent Street."
I pricked up my ears, but contented myself with a nod. I
altogether distrusted my ability to live up to my new name and
address.
"I figured on Miss Martin bein' right here, too," continued
Raffles, "but I regret to say she's not feelin' so good. We
light out for Parrus on the 9 A. M. train to-morrer mornin', and
she guessed she'd be too dead. Sorry to disappoint you, Mr.
Robinson; but you'll see I'm advertisin' your wares."
Raffles held his right hand under the electric light, and a
diamond ring flashed upon his little finger. I could have sworn
it was not there five minutes before.
The tradesman had a disappointed face, but for a moment it
brightened as he expatiated on the value of that ring and on the
price his people had accepted for it. I was invited to guess the
figure, but I shook a discreet head. I have seldom been more
taciturn in my life.
"Forty-five pounds," cried the jeweller; "and it would be cheap
at fifty guineas."
"That's right," assented Raffles. "That'd be dead cheap, I
allow. But then, my boy, you gotten ready cash, and don't you
forget it."
I do not dwell upon my own mystification in all this. I merely
pause to state that I was keenly enjoying that very element.
Nothing could have been more typical of Raffles and the past.
It was only my own attitude that was changed.
It appeared that the mythical lady, my sister, had just become
engaged to Raffles, who seemed all anxiety to pin her down with
gifts of price. I could not quite gather whose gift to whom was
the diamond ring; but it had evidently been paid for; and I
voyaged to the moon, wondering when and how. I was recalled to
this planet by a deluge of gems from the jeweller's bag. They
lay alight in their cases like the electric lamps above. We all
three put our heads together over them, myself without the
slightest clew as to what was coming, but not unprepared for
violent crime. One does not do eighteen months for nothing.
"Right away," Raffles was saying. "We'll choose for her, and
you'll change anything she don't like. Is that the idea?"
"That was my suggestion, sir."
"Then come on, Ezra. I guess you know Sadie's taste. You help
me choose."
And we chose--lord! What did we not choose? There was her ring,
a diamond half-hoop. It cost L95, and there was no attempt to
get it for L90. Then there was a diamond necklet--two hundred
guineas, but pounds accepted. That was to be the gift of the
bridegroom. The wedding was evidently imminent. It behooved me
to play a brotherly part. I therefore rose to the occasion;
calculated she would like a diamond star (L116), but reckoned it
was more than I could afford; and sustained a vicious kick under
the table for either verb. I was afraid to open my mouth on
finally obtaining the star for the round hundred. And then the
fat fell in the fire; for pay we could not; though a remittance
(said Raffles) was "overdo from Noo York."
"But I don't know you, gentlemen," the jeweller exclaimed. "I
haven't even the name of your hotel!"
"I told you we was stoppin' with friends," said Raffles, who was
not angry, though thwarted and crushed. "But that's right, sir!
Oh, that's dead right, and I'm the last man to ask you to take
Quixotic risks. I'm tryin' to figure a way out. Yes, SIR,
that's what I'm tryin' to do."
"I wish you could, sir," the jeweller said, with feeling. "It
isn't as if we hadn't seen the color of your money. But certain
rules I'm sworn to observe; it isn't as if I was in business for
myself; and--you say you start for Paris in the morning!"
"On the 9 A. M. train," mused Raffles; "and I've heard no-end
yarns about the joolers' stores in Parrus. But that ain't fair;
don't you take no notice o' that. I'm tryin' to figure a way
out. Yes, SIR!"
He was smoking cigarettes out of a twenty-five box; the
tradesman and I had cigars. Raffles sat frowning with a
pregnant eye, and it was only too clear to me that his plans had
miscarried. I could not help thinking, however, that they
deserved to do so, if he had counted upon buying credit for all
but L400 by a single payment of some ten per cent. That again
seemed unworthy of Raffles, and I, for my part, still sat
prepared to spring any moment at our visitor's throat.
"We could mail you the money from Parrus," drawled Raffles at
length. "But how should we know you'd hold up your end of the
string, and mail us the same articles we've selected to-night?"
The visitor stiffened in his chair. The name of his firm should
be sufficient guarantee for that.
"I guess I'm no better acquainted with their name than they are
with mine," remarked Raffles, laughing. "See here, though! I
got a scheme. You pack 'em in this!"
He turned the cigarettes out of the tin box, while the jeweller
and I joined wondering eyes.
"Pack 'em in this," repeated Raffles, "the three things we want,
and never mind the boxes; you can pack 'em in cotton-wool. Then
we'll ring for string and sealing wax, seal up the lot right
here, and you can take 'em away in your grip. Within three
days we'll have our remittance, and mail you the money, and
you'll mail us this darned box with my seal unbroken! It's no
use you lookin' so sick, Mr. Jooler; you won't trust us any, and
yet we're goin' to trust you some. Ring the bell, Ezra, and
we'll see if they've gotten any sealing-wax and string."
They had; and the thing was done. The tradesman did not like
it; the precaution was absolutely unnecessary; but since he was
taking all his goods away with him, the sold with the unsold,
his sentimental objections soon fell to the ground. He packed
necklet, ring, and star, with his own hands, in cotton-wool; and
the cigarette-box held them so easily that at the last moment,
when the box was closed, and the string ready, Raffles very
nearly added a diamond bee-brooch at L51 10s. This temptation,
however, he ultimately overcame, to the other's chagrin. The
cigarette-box was tied up, and the string sealed, oddly enough,
with the diamond of the ring that had been bought and paid for.
"I'll chance you having another ring in the store the dead spit
of mine," laughed Raffles, as he relinquished the box, and it
disappeared into the tradesman's bag. "And now, Mr. Robinson, I
hope you'll appreciate my true hospitality in not offering you
any thing to drink while business was in progress. That's
Chateau Margaux, sir, and I should judge it's what you'd call an
eighteen-carat article."
In the cab which we took to the vicinity of the flat, I was
instantly snubbed for asking questions which the driver might
easily overhear, and took the repulse just a little to heart. I
could make neither head nor tail of Raffles's dealings with the
man from Regent Street, and was naturally inquisitive as to the
meaning of it all. But I held my tongue until we had regained
the flat in the cautious manner of our exit, and even there
until Raffles rallied me with a hand on either shoulder and an
old smile upon his face.
"You rabbit!" said he. "Why couldn't you wait till we got home?"
"Why couldn't you tell me what you were going to do?" I retorted
as of yore.
"Because your dear old phiz is still worth its weight in
innocence, and because you never could act for nuts! You looked
as puzzled as the other poor devil; but you wouldn't if you had
known what my game really was."
"And pray what was it?"
"That," said Raffles, and he smacked the cigarette-box down upon
the mantelpiece. It was not tied. It was not sealed. It flew
open from the force of the impact. And the diamond ring that
cost L95, the necklet for L200, and my flaming star at another
L100, all three lay safe and snug in the jeweller's own
cotton-wool!
"Duplicate boxes!" I cried.
"Duplicate boxes, my brainy Bunny. One was already packed and
weighted, and in my pocket. I don't know whether you noticed me
weighing the three things together in my hand? I know that
neither of you saw me change the boxes, for I did it when I was
nearest buying the bee-brooch at the end, and you were too
puzzled, and the other Johnny too keen. It was the cheapest
shot in the game; the dear ones were sending old Theobald to
Southampton on a fool's errand yesterday afternoon, and showing
one's own nose down Regent Street in broad daylight while he was
gone; but some things are worth paying for, and certain risks
one must always take. Nice boxes, aren't they? I only wished
they contained a better cigarette; but a notorious brand was
essential; a box of Sullivans would have brought me to life
to-morrow."
"But they oughtn't to open it to-morrow."
"Nor will they, as a matter of fact. Meanwhile, Bunny, I may
call upon you to dispose of the boodle."
"I'm on for any mortal thing!"
My voice rang true, I swear, but it was the way of Raffles to
take the evidence of as many senses as possible. I felt the
cold steel of his eyes through mine and through my brain. But
what he saw seemed to satisfy him no less than what he heard,
for his hand found my hand, and pressed it with a fervor foreign
to the man.
"I know you are, and I knew you would be. Only remember, Bunny,
it's my turn next to pay the shot!"
You shall hear how he paid it when the time came.
A JUBILEE PRESENT
The Room of Gold, in the British Museum, is probably well enough
known to the inquiring alien and the travelled American. A true
Londoner, however, I myself had never heard of it until Raffles
casually proposed a raid.
"The older I grow, Bunny, the less I think of your so-called
precious stones. When did they ever bring in half their market
value in L. s. d. There was the first little crib we ever
cracked together--you with your innocent eyes shut. A thousand
pounds that stuff was worth; but how many hundreds did it
actually fetch. The Ardagh emeralds weren't much better; old
Lady Melrose's necklace was far worse; but that little lot the
other night has about finished me. A cool hundred for goods
priced well over four; and L35 to come off for bait, since we
only got a tenner for the ring I bought and paid for like an
ass. I'll be shot if I ever touch a diamond again! Not if it
was the Koh-I-noor; those few whacking stones are too well
known, and to cut them up is to decrease their value by
arithmetical retrogression. Besides, that brings you up against
the Fence once more, and I'm done with the beggars for good and
all. You talk about your editors and publishers, you literary
swine. Barabbas was neither a robber nor a publisher, but a
six-barred, barbed-wired, spike-topped Fence. What we really
want is an Incorporated Society of Thieves, with some
public-spirited old forger to run it for us on business lines."
Raffles uttered these blasphemies under his breath, not, I am
afraid, out of any respect for my one redeeming profession, but
because we were taking a midnight airing on the roof, after a
whole day of June in the little flat below. The stars shone
overhead, the lights of London underneath, and between the lips
of Raffles a cigarette of the old and only brand. I had sent in
secret for a box of the best; the boon had arrived that night;
and the foregoing speech was the first result. I could afford
to ignore the insolent asides, however, where the apparent
contention was so manifestly unsound.
"And how are you going to get rid of your gold?" said I,
pertinently.
"Nothing easier, my dear rabbit."
"Is your Room of Gold a roomful of sovereigns?"
Raffles laughed softly at my scorn.
"No, Bunny, it's principally in the shape of archaic ornaments,
whose value, I admit, is largely extrinsic. But gold is gold,
from Phoenicia to Klondike, and if we cleared the room we
should eventually do very well."
"How?"
"I should melt it down into a nugget, and bring it home from the
U.S.A. to-morrow."
"And then?"
"Make them pay up in hard cash across the counter of the Bank of
England. And you CAN make them."
That I knew, and so said nothing for a time, remaining a hostile
though a silent critic, while we paced the cool black leads with
our bare feet, softly as cats.
"And how do you propose to get enough away," at length I asked,
"to make it worth while?"
"Ah, there you have it," said Raffles. "I only propose to
reconnoitre the ground, to see what we can see. We might find
some hiding-place for a night; that, I am afraid, would be our
only chance."
"Have you ever been there before?"
"Not since they got the one good, portable piece which I believe
that they exhibit now. It's a long time since I read of it--I
can't remember where--but I know they have got a gold cup of
sorts worth several thousands. A number of the immorally rich
clubbed together and presented it to the nation; and two of the
richly immoral intend to snaffle it for themselves. At any rate
we might go and have a look at it, Bunny, don't you think?"
Think! I seized his arm.
"When? When? When?" I asked, like a quick-firing gun.
"The sooner the better, while old Theobald's away on his
honeymoon."
Our medico had married the week before, nor was any
fellow-practitioner taking his work--at least not that
considerable branch of it which consisted of Raffles--during his
brief absence from town. There were reasons, delightfully
obvious to us, why such a plan would have been highly unwise in
Dr. Theobald. I, however, was sending him daily screeds, and
both matutinal and nocturnal telegrams, the composition of which
afforded Raffles not a little enjoyment.
"Well, then, when--when?" I began to repeat.
"To-morrow, if you like."
"Only to look?"
The limitation was my one regret.
"We must do so, Bunny, before we leap."
"Very well," I sighed. "But to-morrow it is!"
And the morrow it really was.
I saw the porter that night, and, I still think, bought his
absolute allegiance for the second coin of the realm. My story,
however, invented by Raffles, was sufficiently specious in
itself. That sick gentleman, Mr. Maturin (as I had to remem-ber
to call him), was really, or apparently, sickening for fresh
air. Dr. Theobald would allow him none; he was pestering me for
just one day in the country while the glorious weather lasted.
I was myself convinced that no possible harm could come of the
experiment. Would the porter help me in so innocent and
meritorious an intrigue? The man hesitated. I produced my
half-sovereign. The man was lost. And at half-past eight next
morning--before the heat of the day--Raffles and I drove to Kew
Gardens in a hired landau which was to call for us at mid-day
and wait until we came. The porter had assisted me to carry my
invalid downstairs, in a carrying-chair hired (like the landau)
from Harrod's Stores for the occasion.
It was little after nine when we crawled together into the
gardens; by half-past my invalid had had enough, and out he
tottered on my arm; a cab, a message to our coachman, a timely
train to Baker Street, another cab, and we were at the British
Museum--brisk pedestrians now--not very many minutes after the
opening hour of 10 A.M.
It was one of those glowing days which will not be forgotten by
many who were in town at the time. The Diamond Jubilee was upon
us, and Queen's weather had already set in. Raffles, indeed,
declared it was as hot as Italy and Australia put together; and
certainly the short summer nights gave the channels of wood and
asphalt and the continents of brick and mortar but little time
to cool. At the British Museum the pigeons were crooning among
the shadows of the grimy colonnade, and the stalwart janitors
looked less stalwart than usual, as though their medals were too
heavy for them. I recognized some habitual Readers going to
their labor underneath the dome; of mere visitors we seemed
among the first.
"That's the room," said Raffles, who had bought the two-penny
guide, as we studied it openly on the nearest bench; "number 43,
upstairs and sharp round to the right. Come on, Bunny!"
And he led the way in silence, but with a long methodical stride
which I could not understand until we came to the corridor
leading to the Room of Gold, when he turned to me for a moment.
"A hundred and thirty-nine yards from this to the open street,"
said Raffles, "not counting the stairs. I suppose we COULD do
it in twenty seconds, but if we did we should have to jump the
gates. No, you must remember to loaf out at slow march, Bunny,
whether you like it or not."
"But you talked about a hiding-place for a night?"
"Quite so--for all night. We should have to get back, go on
lying low, and saunter out with the crowd next day--after doing
the whole show thoroughly."
"What! With gold in our pockets--"
"And gold in our boots, and gold up the sleeves and legs of our
suits! You leave that to me, Bunny, and wait till you've tried
two pairs of trousers sewn together at the foot! This is only
a preliminary reconnoitre. And here we are."
It is none of my business to describe the so-called Room of
Gold, with which I, for one, was not a little disappointed. The
glass cases, which both fill and line it, may contain unique
examples of the goldsmith's art in times and places of which
one heard quite enough in the course of one's classical
education; but, from a professional point of view, I would as
lief have the ransacking of a single window in the West End as
the pick of all those spoils of Etruria and of ancient Greece.
The gold may not be so soft as it appears, but it certainly
looks as though you could bite off the business ends of the
spoons, and stop your own teeth in doing so. Nor should I care
to be seen wearing one of the rings; but the greatest fraud of
all (from the aforesaid standpoint) is assuredly that very cup
of which Raffles had spoken. Moreover, he felt this himself.
"Why, it's as thin as paper," said he, "and enamelled like a
middle-aged lady of quality! But, by Jove, it's one of the most
beautiful things I ever saw in my life, Bunny. I should like to
have it for its own sake, by all my gods!"
The thing had a little square case of plate-glass all to itself
at one end of the room. It may have been the thing of beauty
that Raffles affected to consider it, but I for my part was in
no mood to look at it in that light. Underneath were the names
of the plutocrats who had subscribed for this national gewgaw,
and I fell to wondering where their L8,000 came in, while
Raffles devoured his two-penny guide-book as greedily as a
school-girl with a zeal for culture.
"Those are scenes from the martyrdom of St. Agnes," said he . .
. "'translucent on relief . . . one of the finest specimens of
its kind.' I should think it was! Bunny, you Philistine, why
can't you admire the thing for its own sake? It would be worth
having only to live up to! There never was such rich enamelling
on such thin gold; and what a good scheme to hang the lid up
over it, so that you can see how thin it is. I wonder if we
could lift it, Bunny, by hook or crook?"
"You'd better try, sir," said a dry voice at his elbow.
The madman seemed to think we had the room to ourselves. I knew
better, but, like another madman, had let him ramble on
unchecked. And here was a stolid constable confronting us, in
the short tunic that they wear in summer, his whistle on its
chain, but no truncheon at his side. Heavens! how I see him
now: a man of medium size, with a broad, good-humored,
perspiring face, and a limp moustache. He looked sternly at
Raffles, and Raffles looked merrily at him.
"Going to run me in, officer?" said he. "That WOULD be a
joke--my hat!"
"I didn't say as I was, sir," replied the policeman. "But
that's queer talk for a gentleman like you, sir, in the British
Museum!" And he wagged his helmet at my invalid, who had taken
his airing in frock-coat and top-hat, the more readily to
assume his present part.
"What!" cried Raffles, "simply saying to my friend that I'd like
to lift the gold cup? Why, so I should, officer, so I should!
I don't mind who hears me say so. It's one of the most beautiful
things I ever saw in all my life."
The constable's face had already relaxed, and now a grin peeped
under the limp moustache. "I daresay there's many as feels like
that, sir," said he.
"Exactly; and I say what I feel, that's all," said Raffles
airily. "But seriously, officer, is a valuable thing like this
quite safe in a case like that?"
"Safe enough as long as I'm here," replied the other, between
grim jest and stout earnest. Raffles studied his face; he was
still watching Raffles; and I kept an eye on them both without
putting in my word.
"You appear to be single-handed," observed Raffles. "Is that
wise?"
The note of anxiety was capitally caught; it was at once
personal and public-spirited, that of the enthusiastic savant,
afraid for a national treasure which few appreciated as he did
himself. And, to be sure, the three of us now had this treasury
to ourselves; one or two others had been there when we entered;
but now they were gone.
"I'm not single-handed," said the officer, comfortably. "See
that seat by the door? One of the attendants sits there all day
long."
"Then where is he now?"
"Talking to another attendant just outside. If you listen
you'll hear them for yourself."
We listened, and we did hear them, but not just outside. In my
own mind I even questioned whether they were in the corridor
through which we had come; to me it sounded as though they were
just outside the corridor.
"You mean the fellow with the billiard-cue who was here when we
came in?" pursued Raffles.
"That wasn't a billiard-cue! It was a pointer," the intelligent
officer explained.
"It ought to be a javelin," said Raffles, nervously. "It ought
to be a poleaxe! The public treasure ought to be better guarded
than this. I shall write to the Times about it--you see if I
don't!"
All at once, yet somehow not so suddenly as to excite suspicion,
Raffles had become the elderly busybody with nerves; why, I
could not for the life of me imagine; and the policeman seemed
equally at sea.
"Lor' bless you, sir," said he, "I'm all right; don't you bother
your head about ME."
"But you haven't even got a truncheon!"
"Not likely to want one either. You see, sir, it's early as
yet; in a few minutes these here rooms will fill up; and there's
safety in numbers, as they say."
"Oh, it will fill up soon, will it?"
"Any minute now, sir."
"Ah!"
"It isn't often empty as long as this, sir. It's the Jubilee, I
suppose."
"Meanwhile, what if my friend and I had been professional
thieves? Why, we could have over-powered you in an instant, my
good fellow!"
"That you couldn't; leastways, not without bringing the whole
place about your ears."
"Well, I shall write to the Times, all the same. I'm a
connoisseur in all this sort of thing, and I won't have
unnecessary risks run with the nation's property. You said
there was an attendant just outside, but he sounds to me as
though he were at the other end of the corridor. I shall write
to-day!"
For an instant we all three listened; and Raffles was right.
Then I saw two things in one glance. Raffles had stepped a few
inches backward, and stood poised upon the ball of each foot,
his arms half raised, a light in his eyes. And another kind of
light was breaking over the crass features of our friend the
constable.
"Then shall I tell you what I'LL do?" he cried, with a sudden
clutch at the whistle-chain on his chest. The whistle flew out,
but it never reached his lips. There were a couple of sharp
smacks, like double barrels discharged all but simultaneously,
and the man reeled against me so that I could not help catching
him as he fell.
"Well done, Bunny! I've knocked him out--I've knocked him out!
Run you to the door and see if the attendants have heard
anything, and take them on if they have."
Mechanically I did as I was told. There was no time for
thought, still less for remonstrance or reproach, though my
surprise must have been even more complete than that of the
constable before Raffles knocked the sense out of him. Even in
my utter bewilderment, however, the instinctive caution of the
real criminal did not desert me. I ran to the door, but I
sauntered through it, to plant myself before a Pompeiian fresco
in the corridor; and there were the two attendants still
gossiping outside the further door; nor did they hear the dull
crash which I heard even as I watched them out of the corner of
each eye.
It was hot weather, as I have said, but the perspiration on my
body seemed already to have turned into a skin of ice. Then I
caught the faint reflection of my own face in the casing of the
fresco, and it frightened me into some semblance of myself as
Raffles joined me with his hands in his pockets. But my fear
and indignation were redoubled at the sight of him, when a
single glance convinced me that his pockets were as empty as his
hands, and his mad outrage the most wanton and reckless of his
whole career.
"Ah, very interesting, very interesting, but nothing to what
they have in the museum at Naples or in Pompeii itself. You
must go there some day, Bunny. I've a good mind to take you
myself. Meanwhile--slow march! The beggar hasn't moved an
eyelid. We may swing for him if you show indecent haste!"
"We!" I whispered. "We!"
And my knees knocked together as we came up to the chatting
attendants. But Raffles must needs interrupt them to ask the
way to the Prehistoric Saloon.
"At the top of the stairs."
"Thank you. Then we'll work round that way to the Egyptian
part."
And we left them resuming their providential chat.
"I believe you're mad," I said bitterly as we went.
"I believe I was," admitted Raffles; "but I'm not now, and I'll
see you through. A hundred and thirty-nine yards, wasn't it?
Then it can't be more than a hundred and twenty now--not as
much. Steady, Bunny, for God's sake. It's SLOW march--for our
lives."
There was this much management. The rest was our colossal luck.
A hansom was being paid off at the foot of the steps outside,
and in we jumped, Raffles shouting "Charing Cross!" for all
Bloomsbury to hear.
We had turned into Bloomsbury Street without exchanging a
syllable when he struck the trap-door with his fist.
"Where the devil are you driving us?"
"Charing Cross, sir."
"I said King's Cross! Round you spin, and drive like blazes, or
we miss our train! There's one to York at 10:35," added Raffles
as the trap-door slammed; "we'll book there, Bunny, and then
we'll slope through the subway to the Metropolitan, and so to
ground via Baker Street and Earl's Court."
And actually in half an hour he was seated once more in the
hired carrying chair, while the porter and I staggered upstairs
with my decrepit charge, for whose shattered strength even one
hour in Kew Gardens had proved too much! Then, and not until
then, when we had got rid of the porter and were alone at last,
did I tell Raffles, in the most nervous English at my command,
frankly and exactly what I thought of him and of his latest
deed. Once started, moreover, I spoke as I have seldom spoken
to living man; and Raffles, of all men, stood my abuse without a
murmur; or rather he sat it out, too astounded even to take off
his hat, though I thought his eyebrows would have lifted it from
his head.
"But it always was your infernal way," I was savagely
concluding. "You make one plan, and yet you tell me another--"
"Not to-day, Bunny, I swear!"
"You mean to tell me you really did start with the bare idea of
finding a place to hide in for a night?"
"Of course I did."
"It was to be the mere reconnoitre you pretended?"
"There was no pretence about it, Bunny."
"Then why on earth go and do what you did?"
"The reason would be obvious to anyone but you," said Raffles,
still with no unkindly scorn. "It was the temptation of a
minute--the final impulse of the fraction of a second, when
Roberto saw that I was tempted, and let me see that he saw it.
It's not a thing I care to do, and I sha'n't be happy till the
papers tell me the poor devil is alive. But a knock-out shot was
the only chance for us then."
"Why? You don't get run in for being tempted, nor yet for
showing that you are!"
"But I should have deserved running in if I hadn't yielded to
such a temptation as that, Bunny. It was a chance in a hundred
thousand! We might go there every day of our lives, and never
again be the only outsiders in the room, with the
billiard-marking Johnnie practically out of ear-shot at one and
the same time. It was a gift from the gods; not to have taken
it would have been flying in the face of Providence."
"But you didn't take it," said I. "You went and left it
behind."
I wish I had had a Kodak for the little smile with which Raffles
shook his head, for it was one that he kept for those great
moments of which our vocation is not devoid. All this time he
had been wearing his hat, tilted a little over eyebrows no
longer raised. And now at last I knew where the gold cup was.
It stood for days upon his chimney-piece, this costly trophy
whose ancient history and final fate filled newspaper columns
even in these days of Jubilee, and for which the flower of
Scotland Yard was said to be seeking high and low. Our
constable, we learnt, had been stunned only, and, from the
moment that I brought him an evening paper with the news,
Raffles's spirits rose to a height inconsistent with his equable
temperament, and as unusual in him as the sudden impulse upon
which he had acted with such effect. The cup itself appealed to
me no more than it had done before. Exquisite it might be,
handsome it was, but so light in the hand that the mere gold of
it would scarcely have poured three figures out of melting-pot.
And what said Raffles but that he would never melt it at all!
"Taking it was an offence against the laws of the land, Bunny.
That is nothing. But destroying it would be a crime against God
and Art, and may I be spitted on the vane of St. Mary Abbot's
if I commit it!"
Talk such as this was unanswerable; indeed, the whole affair had
passed the pale of useful comment; and the one course left to a
practical person was to shrug his shoulders and enjoy the joke.
This was not a little enhanced by the newspaper reports, which
described Raffles as a handsome youth, and his unwilling
accomplice as an older man of blackguardly appearance and low
type.
"Hits us both off rather neatly, Bunny," said he. "But what
none of them do justice to is my dear cup. Look at it; only
look at it, man! Was ever anything so rich and yet so chaste?
St. Agnes must have had a pretty bad time, but it would be
almost worth it to go down to posterity in such enamel upon such
gold. And then the history of the thing. Do you realize that
it's five hundred years old and has belonged to Henry the
Eighth and to Elizabeth among others? Bunny, when you have me
cremated, you can put my ashes in yonder cup, and lay us in the
deep-delved earth together!"
"And meanwhile?"
"It is the joy of my heart, the light of my life, the delight of
mine eye."
"And suppose other eyes catch sight of it?"
"They never must; they never shall."
Raffles would have been too absurd had he not been thoroughly
alive to his own absurdity; there was nevertheless an underlying
sincerity in his appreciation of any and every form of beauty,
which all his nonsense could not conceal. And his infatuation
for the cup was, as he declared, a very pure passion, since the
circum-stances debarred him from the chief joy of the average
collector, that of showing his treasure to his friends. At last,
however, and at the height of his craze, Raffles and reason
seemed to come together again as suddenly as they had parted
company in the Room of Gold.
"Bunny," he cried, flinging his newspaper across the room, "I've
got an idea after your own heart. I know where I can place it
after all!"
"Do you mean the cup?"
"I do."
"Then I congratulate you."
"Thanks."
"Upon the recovery of your senses."
"Thanks galore. But you've been confoundedly unsympathetic
about this thing, Bunny, and I don't think I shall tell you my
scheme till I've carried it out."
"Quite time enough," said I.
"It will mean your letting me loose for an hour or two under
cloud of this very night. To-morrow's Sunday, the Jubilee's on
Tuesday, and old Theobald's coming back for it."
"It doesn't much matter whether he's back or not if you go late
enough."
"I mustn't be late. They don't keep open. No, it's no use your
asking any questions. Go out and buy me a big box of Huntley &
Palmer's biscuits; any sort you like, only they must be theirs,
and absolutely the biggest box they sell."
"My dear man!"
"No questions, Bunny; you do your part and I'll do mine."
Subtlety and success were in his face. It was enough for me,
and I had done his extraordinary bidding within a quarter of an
hour. In another minute Raffles had opened the box and tumbled
all the biscuits into the nearest chair.
"Now newspapers!"
I fetched a pile. He bid the cup of gold a ridiculous farewell,
wrapped it up in newspaper after newspaper, and finally packed
it in the empty biscuit-box.
"Now some brown paper. I don't want to be taken for the
grocer's young man."
A neat enough parcel it made, when the string had been tied and
the ends cut close; what was more difficult was to wrap up
Raffles himself in such a way that even the porter should not
recognize him if they came face to face at the corner. And the
sun was still up. But Raffles would go, and when he did I
should not have known him myself.
He may have been an hour away. It was barely dusk when he
returned, and my first question referred to our dangerous ally,
the porter. Raffles had passed him unsuspected in going, but
had managed to avoid him altogether on the return journey,
which he had completed by way of the other entrance and the
roof. I breathed again.
"And what have you done with the cup?"
"Placed it!"
"How much for? How much for?"
"Let me think. I had a couple of cabs, and the postage was a
tanner, with another twopence for registration. Yes, it cost me
exactly five-and-eight."
"IT cost YOU! But what did you GET for it, Raffles?"
"Nothing, my boy."
"Nothing!"
"Not a crimson cent."
"I am not surprised. I never thought it had a market value. I
told you so in the beginning," I said, irritably. "But what on
earth have you done with the thing?"
"Sent it to the Queen."
"You haven't!"
Rogue is a word with various meanings, and Raffles had been one
sort of rogue ever since I had known him; but now, for once, he
was the innocent variety, a great gray-haired child, running
over with merriment and mischief.
"Well, I've sent it to Sir Arthur Bigge, to present to her
Majesty, with the loyal respects of the thief, if that will do
for you," said Raffles. "I thought they might take too much
stock of me at the G.P.O. if I addressed it to the Sovereign
her-self. Yes, I drove over to St. Martin's-le-Grand with it,
and I registered the box into the bargain. Do a thing properly
if you do it at all."
"But why on earth," I groaned, "do such a thing at all?"
"My dear Bunny, we have been reigned over for sixty years by
infinitely the finest monarch the world has ever seen. The
world is taking the present opportunity of signifying the fact
for all it is worth. Every nation is laying of its best at her
royal feet; every class in the community is doing its little
level--except ours. All I have done is to remove one reproach
from our fraternity."
At this I came round, was infected with his spirit, called him
the sportsman he always was and would be, and shook his
daredevil hand in mine; but, at the same time, I still had my
qualms.
"Supposing they trace it to us?" said I.
"There's not much to catch hold of in a biscuit-box by Huntley &
Palmer," replied Raffles; "that was why I sent you for one. And
I didn't write a word upon a sheet of paper which could possibly
be traced. I simply printed two or three on a virginal
post-card--another half-penny to the bad--which might have been
bought at any post-office in the kingdom. No, old chap, the
G.P.O. was the one real danger; there was one detective I
spotted for myself; and the sight of him has left me with a
thirst. Whisky and Sullivans for two, Bunny, if you please."
Raffles was soon clinking his glass against mine.
"The Queen," said he. "God bless her!"
THE FATE OF FAUSTINA
"Mar--ga--ri,
e perzo a Salvatore! Mar--ga--ri,
Ma l'ommo e cacciatore! Mar--ga--ri,
Nun ce aje corpa tu!
Chello ch' e fatto, e fatto, un ne parlammo cchieu!"
A piano-organ was pouring the metallic music through our open
windows, while a voice of brass brayed the words, which I have
since obtained, and print above for identification by such as
know their Italy better than I. They will not thank me for
reminding them of a tune so lately epidemic in that land of
aloes and blue skies; but at least it is unlikely to run in
their heads as the ribald accompaniment to a tragedy; and it
does in mine.
It was in the early heat of August, and the hour that of the
lawful and necessary siesta for such as turn night into day. I
was therefore shutting my window in a rage, and wondering
whether I should not do the same for Raffles, when he appeared
in the silk pajamas to which the chronic solicitude of Dr.
Theobald confined him from morning to night.
"Don't do that, Bunny," said he. "I rather like that thing, and
want to listen. What sort of fellows are they to look at, by
the way?"
I put my head out to see, it being a primary rule of our quaint
establishment that Raffles must never show himself at any of the
windows. I remember now how hot the sill was to my elbows, as
I leant upon it and looked down, in order to satisfy a curiosity
in which I could see no point.
"Dirty-looking beggars," said I over my shoulder: "dark as dark;
blue chins, oleaginous curls, and ear-rings; ragged as they make
them, but nothing picturesque in their rags."
"Neapolitans all over," murmured Raffles behind me; "and that's
a characteristic touch, the one fellow singing while the other
grinds; they always have that out there."
"He's rather a fine chap, the singer," said I, as the song
ended. "My hat, what teeth! He's looking up here, and grinning
all round his head; shall I chuck him anything?"
"Well, I have no reason to love the Neapolitans; but it takes me
back--it takes me back! Yes, here you are, one each."
It was a couple of half-crowns that Raffles put into my hand,
but I had thrown them into the street for pennies before I saw
what they were. Thereupon I left the Italians bowing to the mud,
as well they might, and I turned to protest against such wanton
waste. But Raffles was walking up and down, his head bent, his
eyes troubled; and his one excuse disarmed remonstrance.
"They took me back," he repeated. "My God, how they took me
back!"
Suddenly he stopped in his stride.
"You don't understand, Bunny, old chap; but if you like you
shall. I always meant to tell you some day, but never felt
worked up to it before, and it's not the kind of thing one talks
about for talking's sake. It isn't a nursery story, Bunny, and
there isn't a laugh in it from start to finish; on the contrary,
you have often asked me what turned my hair gray, and now you
are going to hear."
This was promising, but Raffles's manner was something more. It
was unique in my memory of the man. His fine face softened and
set hard by turns. I never knew it so hard. I never knew it
so soft. And the same might be said of his voice, now tender as
any woman's, now flying to the other extreme of equally unwonted
ferocity. But this was toward the end of his tale; the beginning
he treated characteristically enough, though I could have wished
for a less cavalier account of the island of Elba, where, upon
his own showing, he had met with much humanity.
"Deadly, my dear Bunny, is not the word for that glorified snag,
or for the mollusks, its inhabitants. But they started by
wounding my vanity, so perhaps I am prejudiced, after all. I
sprung myself upon them as a shipwrecked sailor--a sole
survivor--stripped in the sea and landed without a stitch--yet
they took no more interest in me than you do in Italian
organ-grinders. They were decent enough. I didn't have to pick
and steal for a square meal and a pair of trousers; it would
have been more exciting if I had. But what a place! Napoleon
couldn't stand it, you remember, but he held on longer than I
did. I put in a few weeks in their infernal mines, simply to
pick up a smattering of Italian; then got across to the
mainland in a little wooden timber-tramp; and ungratefully glad
I was to leave Elba blazing in just such another sunset as the
one you won't forget.
"The tramp was bound for Naples, but first it touched at
Baiae, where I carefully deserted in the night. There are
too many English in Naples itself, though I thought it would
make a first happy hunting-ground when I knew the language
better and had altered myself a bit more. Meanwhile I got a
billet of several sorts on one of the loveliest spots that ever
I struck on all my travels. The place was a vineyard, but it
overhung the sea, and I got taken on as tame sailorman and
emergency bottle-washer. The wages were the noble figure of a
lira and a half, which is just over a bob, a day, but there were
lashings of sound wine for one and all, and better wine to bathe
in. And for eight whole months, my boy, I was an absolutely
honest man. The luxury of it, Bunny! I out-heroded Herod,
wouldn't touch a grape, and went in the most delicious danger of
being knifed for my principles by the thieving crew I had
joined.
"It was the kind of place where every prospect pleases--and all
the rest of it--especially all the rest. But may I see it in my
dreams till I die--as it was in the beginning--before anything
began to happen. It was a wedge of rock sticking out into the
bay, thatched with vines, and with the rummiest old house on the
very edge of all, a devil of a height above the sea: you might
have sat at the windows and dropped your Sullivan-ends plumb
into blue water a hundred and fifty feet below.
"From the garden behind the house--such a garden, Bunny--
oleanders and mimosa, myrtles, rosemarys and red tangles
of fiery, untamed flowers--in a corner of this garden was the top
of a subterranean stair down to the sea; at least there were
nearly two hundred steps tunnelled through the solid rock; then
an iron gate, and another eighty steps in the open air; and last
of all a cave fit for pirates, a-penny-plain-and-two-pence-
colored. This cave gave upon the sweetest little thing in coves,
all deep blue water and honest rocks; and here I looked after the
vineyard shipping, a pot-bellied tub with a brown sail, and a
sort of dingy. The tub took the wine to Naples, and the dingy
was the tub's tender.
"The house above was said to be on the identical site of a
suburban retreat of the admirable Tiberius; there was the old
sinner's private theatre with the tiers cut clean to this day,
the well where he used to fatten his lampreys on his slaves, and
a ruined temple of those ripping old Roman bricks, shallow as
dominoes and ruddier than the cherry. I never was much of an
antiquary, but I could have become one there if I'd had nothing
else to do; but I had lots. When I wasn't busy with the boats
I had to trim the vines, or gather the grapes, or even help make
the wine itself in a cool, dark, musty vault underneath the
temple, that I can see and smell as I jaw. And can't I hear it
and feel it too! Squish, squash, bubble; squash, squish,
guggle; and your feet as though you had been wading through
slaughter to a throne. Yes, Bunny, you mightn't think it, but
this good right foot, that never was on the wrong side of the
crease when the ball left my hand, has also been known to
'crush the lees of pleasure
From sanguine grapes of pain.'"
He made a sudden pause, as though he had stumbled on the truth
in jest. His face filled with lines. We were sitting in the
room that had been bare when first I saw it; there were
basket-chairs and a table in it now, all meant ostensibly for
me; and hence Raffles would slip to his bed, with schoolboy
relish, at every tinkle of the bell. This afternoon we felt
fairly safe, for Theobald had called in the morning, and Mrs.
Theobald still took up much of his time. Through the open
window we could hear the piano-organ and "Mar--gar--ri" a few
hundred yards further on. I fancied Raffles was listening to it
while he paused. He shook his head abstractedly when I handed
him the cigarettes; and his tone hereafter was never just what
it had been.
"I don't know, Bunny, whether you're a believer in transmigration
of souls. I have often thought it easier to believe than lots
of other things, and I have been pretty near believing in it
myself since I had my being on that villa of Tiberius. The
brute who had it in my day, if he isn't still running it with a
whole skin, was or is as cold-blooded a blackguard as the worst
of the emperors, but I have often thought he had a lot in common
with Tiberius. He had the great high sensual Roman nose, eyes
that were sinks of iniquity in themselves, and that swelled with
fat-ness, like the rest of him, so that he wheezed if he walked
a yard; otherwise rather a fine beast to look at, with a huge
gray moustache, like a flying gull, and the most courteous
manners even to his men; but one of the worst, Bunny, one of
the worst that ever was. It was said that the vineyard was only
his hobby; if so, he did his best to make his hobby pay. He
used to come out from Naples for the week-ends--in the tub when
it wasn't too rough for his nerves--and he didn't always come
alone. His very name sounded unhealthy--Corbucci. I suppose I
ought to add that he was a Count, though Counts are two-a-penny
in Naples, and in season all the year round.
"He had a little English, and liked to air it upon me, much to
my disgust; if I could not hope to conceal my nationality as yet,
I at least did not want to have it advertised; and the swine had
English friends. When he heard that I was bathing in November,
when the bay is still as warm as new milk, he would shake his
wicked old head and say, 'You are very audashuss--you are very
audashuss!' and put on no end of side before his Italians. By
God, he had pitched upon the right word unawares, and I let him
know it in the end!
"But that bathing, Bunny; it was absolutely the best I ever had
anywhere. I said just now the water was like wine; in my own
mind I used to call it blue champagne, and was rather annoyed
that I had no one to admire the phrase. Otherwise I assure you
that I missed my own particular kind very little indeed, though
I often wished that YOU were there, old chap; particularly when
I went for my lonesome swim; first thing in the morning, when
the Bay was all rose-leaves, and last thing at night, when your
body caught phosphorescent fire! Ah, yes, it was a good enough
life for a change; a perfect paradise to lie low in; another
Eden until . . .
"My poor Eve!"
And he fetched a sigh that took away his words; then his jaws
snapped together, and his eyes spoke terribly while he conquered
his emotion. I pen the last word advisedly. I fancy it is one
which I have never used before in writing of A. J. Raffles, for
I cannot at the moment recall any other occasion upon which its
use would have been justified. On resuming, however, he was not
only calm, but cold; and this flying for safety to the other
extreme is the single instance of self-distrust which the
present Achates can record to the credit of his impious AEneas.
"I called the girl Eve," said he. "Her real name was Faustina,
and she was one of a vast family who hung out in a hovel on the
inland border of the vineyard. And Aphrodite rising from the
sea was less wonderful and not more beautiful than Aphrodite
emerging from that hole!
"It was the most exquisite face I ever saw or shall see in this
life. Absolutely perfect features; a skin that reminded you of
old gold, so delicate was its bronze; magnificent hair, not
black but nearly; and such eyes and teeth as would have made
the fortune of a face without another point. I tell you, Bunny,
London would go mad about a girl like that. But I don't believe
there's such another in the world. And there she was wasting
her sweetness upon that lovely but desolate little corner of it!
Well, she did not waste it upon me. I would have married her,
and lived happily ever after in such a hovel as her people's
--with her. Only to look at her--only to look at her for the
rest of my days--I could have lain low and remained dead even to
you! And that's all I'm going to tell you about that, Bunny;
cursed be he who tells more! Yet don't run away with the idea
that this poor Faustina was the only woman I ever cared about.
I don't believe in all that 'only' rot; nevertheless I tell you
that she was the one being who ever entirely satisfied my sense
of beauty; and I honestly believe I could have chucked the world
and been true to Faustina for that alone.
"We met sometimes in the little temple I told you about,
sometimes among the vines; now by honest accident, now by
flagrant design; and found a ready-made rendezvous, romantic as
one could wish, in the cave down all those subterranean steps.
Then the sea would call us--my blue champagne--my sparkling
cobalt--and there was the dingy ready to our hand. Oh, those
nights! I never knew which I liked best, the moonlit ones when
you sculled through silver and could see for miles, or the dark
nights when the fishermen's torches stood for the sea, and a red
zig-zag in the sky for old Vesuvius. We were happy. I don't
mind owning it. We seemed not to have a care between us. My
mates took no interest in my affairs, and Faustina's family did
not appear to bother about her. The Count was in Naples five
nights of the seven; the other two we sighed apart.
"At first it was the oldest story in literature--Eden plus Eve.
The place had been a heaven on earth before, but now it was
heaven itself. So for a little; then one night, a Monday night,
Faustina burst out crying in the boat; and sobbed her story as
we drifted without mishap by the mercy of the Lord. And that
was almost as old a story as the other.
"She was engaged--what! Had I never heard of it? Did I mean to
upset the boat? What was her engagement beside our love?
'Niente, niente,' crooned Faustina, sighing yet smiling through
her tears. No, but what did matter was that the man had
threatened to stab her to the heart--and would do it as soon as
look at her--that I knew.
"I knew it merely from my knowledge of the Neapolitans, for I
had no idea who the man might be. I knew it, and yet I took
this detail better than the fact of the engagement, though now I
began to laugh at both. As if I was going to let her marry
anybody else! As if a hair of her lovely head should be touched
while I lived to protect her! I had a great mind to row away to
blazes with her that very night, and never go near the vineyard
again, or let her either. But we had not a lira between us at
the time, and only the rags in which we sat barefoot in the
boat. Besides, I had to know the name of the animal who had
threatened a woman, and such a woman as this.
"For a long time she refused to tell me, with splendid obduracy;
but I was as determined as she; so at last she made conditions.
I was not to go and get put in prison for sticking a knife into
him--he wasn't worth it--and I did promise not to stab him in
the back. Faustina seemed quite satisfied, though a little
puzzled by my manner, having herself the racial tolerance for
cold steel; and next moment she had taken away my breath. 'It
is Stefano,' she whispered, and hung her head.
"And well she might, poor thing! Stefano, of all creatures on
God's earth--for her!
"Bunny, he was a miserable little undersized wretch--ill-favored
--servile--surly--and second only to his master in bestial
cunning and hypocrisy. His face was enough for me; that was what
I read in it, and I don't often make mistakes. He was
Corbucci's own confidential body-servant, and that alone was
enough to damn him in decent eyes: always came out first on the
Saturday with the spese, to have all ready for his master and
current mistress, and stayed behind on the Monday to clear and
lock up. Stefano! That worm! I could well understand his
threatening a woman with a knife; what beat me was how any woman
could ever have listened to him; above all, that Faustina should
be the one! It passed my comprehension. But I questioned her as
gently as I could; and her explanation was largely the
thread-bare one you would expect. Her parents were so poor.
They were so many in family. Some of them begged--would I
promise never to tell? Then some of them stole--sometimes--and
all knew the pains of actual want. She looked after the cows,
but there were only two of them, and brought the milk to the
vineyard and elsewhere; but that was not employment for more
than one; and there were countless sisters waiting to take her
place. Then he was so rich, Stefano.
"'Rich!' I echoed. 'Stefano?'
"'Si, Arturo mio.'
"Yes, I played the game on that vineyard, Bunny, even to going
my own first name.
"'And how comes he to be rich?' I asked, suspiciously.
"She did not know; but he had given her such beautiful jewels;
the family had lived on them for months, she pretending an
avocat had taken charge of them for her against her marriage.
But I cared nothing about all that.
"'Jewels! Stefano!' I could only mutter.
"'Perhaps the Count has paid for some of them. He is very
kind.'
"'To you, is he?'
"'Oh, yes, very kind.'
"'And you would live in his house afterwards?'
"'Not now, mia cara--not now!'
"'No, by God you don't!' said I in English. 'But you would have
done so, eh?'
"'Of course. That was arranged. The Count is really very
kind.'
"'Do you see anything of him when he comes here?'
"Yes, he had sometimes brought her little presents, sweetmeats,
ribbons, and the like; but the offering had always been made
through this toad of a Stefano. Knowing the men, I now knew
all. But Faustina, she had the pure and simple heart, and the
white soul, by the God who made it, and for all her kindness to
a tattered scapegrace who made love to her in broken Italian
between the ripples and the stars. She was not to know what I
was, remember; and beside Corbucci and his henchman I was the
Archangel Gabriel come down to earth.
"Well, as I lay awake that night, two more lines of Swinburne
came into my head, and came to stay:
"God said 'Let him who wins her take
And keep Faustine.'
"On that couplet I slept at last, and it was my text and
watchword when I awoke in the morning. I forget how well you
know your Swinburne, Bunny; but don't you run away with the idea
that there was anything else in common between his Faustine and
mine. For the last time let me tell you that poor Faustina was
the whitest and the best I ever knew.
"Well, I was strung up for trouble when the next Saturday came,
and I'll tell you what I had done. I had broken the pledge and
burgled Corbucci's villa in my best manner during his absence
in Naples. Not that it gave me the slightest trouble; but no
human being could have told that I had been in, when I came out.
And I had stolen nothing, mark you, but only borrowed a revolver
from a drawer in the Count's desk, with one or two trifling
accessories; for by this time I had the measure of these damned
Neapolitans. They are spry enough with a knife, but you show
them the business end of a shooting-iron, and they'll streak
like rabbits for the nearest hole. But the revolver wasn't for
my own use. It was for Faustina, and I taught her how to use it
in the cave down there by the sea, shooting at candles stuck
upon the rock. The noise in the cave was something frightful,
but high up above it couldn't be heard at all, as we proved to
each other's satisfaction pretty early in the proceedings. So
now Faustina was armed with munitions of self-defence; and I
knew enough of her character to entertain no doubt as to their
spirited use upon occasion. Between the two of us, in fact, our
friend Stefano seemed tolerably certain of a warm week-end.
"But the Saturday brought word that the Count was not coming
this week, being in Rome on business, and unable to return in
time; so for a whole Sunday we were promised peace; and made
bold plans accordingly. There was no further merit in hushing
this thing up. 'Let him who wins her take and keep Faustine.'
Yes, but let him win her openly, or lose her and be damned to
him! So on the Sunday I was going to have it out with her
people--with the Count and Stefano as soon as they showed their
noses. I had no inducement, remember, ever to return to
surreptitious life within a cab-fare of Wormwood Scrubbs.
Faustina and the Bay of Naples were quite good enough for me.
And the prehistoric man in me rather exulted in the idea of
fighting for my desire.
"On the Saturday, however, we were able to meet for the last
time as heretofore--just once more in secret--down there in the
cave--as soon as might be after dark. Neither of us minded if
we were kept for hours; each knew in the end that the other
would come; and there was a charm of its own even in waiting
with such knowledge. But that night I did lose patience: not in
the cave, but up above, where first on one pretext and then on
another the direttore kept me going until I smelt a rat. He was
not given to exacting overtime, this direttore, whose only fault
was his servile subjection to our common boss. It seemed pretty
obvious, therefore, that he was acting upon some secret
instructions from Corbucci himself, and, the moment I suspected
this, I asked him to his face if it was not the case. And it
was; he admitted it with many shrugs, being a conveniently weak
person, whom one felt almost ashamed of bullying as the
occasion demanded.
"The fact was, however, that the Count had sent for him on
finding he had to go to Rome, and had said he was very sorry to
go just then, as among other things he intended to speak to me
about Faustina. Stefano had told him all about his row with
her, and moreover that it was on my account, which Faustina had
never told me, though I had guessed as much for myself. Well,
the Count was going to take his jackal's part for all he was
worth, which was just exactly what I had expected him to do. He
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