The Amateur Cracksman E. W. Hornung (desktop ebook reader txt) 📖

Raffles lit the landing gas.

“He’s in there,” said he, cocking his revolver. “Do you remember how we used to break into the studies at school? Here goes!”

His flat foot crashed over the keyhole, the lock gave, the door flew open, and in the sudden draught the landing gas heeled over like a cobble in a squall; as the flame righted itself I saw a fixed bath, two bath-towels knotted together⁠—an open window⁠—a cowering figure⁠—and Raffles struck aghast on the threshold.

“Jack⁠—Rutter?”

The words came thick and slow with horror, and in horror I heard myself repeating them, while the cowering figure by the bathroom window rose gradually erect.

“It’s you!” he whispered, in amazement no less than our own; “it’s you two! What’s it mean, Raffles? I saw you get over the gate; a bell rang, the place is full of them. Then you broke in. What’s it all mean?”

“We may tell you that, when you tell us what in God’s name you’ve done, Rutter!”

“Done? What have I done?” The unhappy wretch came out into the light with bloodshot, blinking eyes, and a bloody shirtfront. “You know⁠—you’ve seen⁠—but I’ll tell you if you like. I’ve killed a robber; that’s all. I’ve killed a robber, a usurer, a jackal, a blackmailer, the cleverest and the cruellest villain unhung. I’m ready to hang for him. I’d kill him again!”

And he looked us fiercely in the face, a fine defiance in his dissipated eyes; his breast heaving, his jaw like a rock.

“Shall I tell you how it happened?” he went passionately on. “He’s made my life a hell these weeks and months past. You may know that. A perfect hell! Well, tonight I met him in Bond Street. Do you remember when I met you fellows? He wasn’t twenty yards behind you; he was on your tracks, Raffles; he saw me nod to you, and stopped me and asked me who you were. He seemed as keen as knives to know, I couldn’t think why, and didn’t care either, for I saw my chance. I said I’d tell him all about you if he’d give me a private interview. He said he wouldn’t. I said he should, and held him by the coat; by the time I let him go you were out of sight, and I waited where I was till he came back in despair. I had the whip-hand of him then. I could dictate where the interview should be, and I made him take me home with him, still swearing to tell him all about you when we’d had our talk. Well, when we got here I made him give me something to eat, putting him off and off; and about ten o’clock I heard the gate shut. I waited a bit, and then asked him if he lived alone.

“ ‘Not at all,’ says he; ‘did you not see the servant?’

“I said I’d seen her, but I thought I’d heard her go; if I was mistaken no doubt she would come when she was called; and I yelled three times at the top of my voice. Of course there was no servant to come. I knew that, because I came to see him one night last week, and he interviewed me himself through the gate, but wouldn’t open it. Well, when I had done yelling, and not a soul had come near us, he was as white as that ceiling. Then I told him we could have our chat at last; and I picked the poker out of the fender, and told him how he’d robbed me, but, by God, he shouldn’t rob me any more. I gave him three minutes to write and sign a settlement of all his iniquitous claims against me, or have his brains beaten out over his own carpet. He thought a minute, and then went to his desk for pen and paper. In two seconds he was round like lightning with a revolver, and I went for him bald-headed. He fired two or three times and missed; you can find the holes if you like; but I hit him every time⁠—my God! I was like a savage till the thing was done. And then I didn’t care. I went through his desk looking for my own bills, and was coming away when you turned up. I said I didn’t care, nor do I; but I was going to give myself up tonight, and shall still; so you see I shan’t give you fellows much trouble!”

He was done; and there we stood on the landing of the lonely house, the low, thick, eager voice still racing and ringing through our ears; the dead man below, and in front of us his impenitent slayer. I knew to whom the impenitence would appeal when he had heard the story, and I was not mistaken.

“That’s all rot,” said Raffles, speaking after a pause; “we shan’t let you give yourself up.”

“You shan’t stop me! What would be the good? The woman saw me; it would only be a question of time; and I can’t face waiting to be taken. Think of it: waiting for them to touch you on the shoulder! No, no, no; I’ll give myself up and get it over.”

His speech was changed; he faltered, floundered. It was as though a clearer perception of his position had come with the bare idea of escape from it.

“But listen to me,” urged Raffles; “We’re here at our peril ourselves. We broke in like thieves to enforce redress for a grievance very like your own. But don’t you see? We took out a pane⁠—did the thing like regular burglars. Regular burglars will get the credit of all the rest!”

“You mean that I shan’t be suspected?”

“I do.”

“But I don’t want to get off scotfree,” cried Rutter hysterically. “I’ve killed him. I know that. But it was in self-defence; it wasn’t murder. I must own up and take the consequences. I shall