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

had been refused, and it was plain enough that he had helped himself in this way; he had threatened revenge, and this was it. Indeed, when I hunted him up in town on the Tuesday night, he confessed as much in the most brazen manner imaginable. But he wouldn’t tell me who was the purchaser, and finding out took the rest of the week; but I did find out, and a nice time I’ve had of it ever since! Backwards and forwards between Esher and the Métropole, where the Queenslander is staying, sometimes twice a day; threats, offers, prayers, entreaties, not one of them a bit of good!”

“But,” said Raffles, “surely it’s a clear case? The sale was illegal; you can pay him back his money and force him to give the picture up.”

“Exactly; but not without an action and a public scandal, and that my client declines to face. He would rather lose even his picture than have the whole thing get into the papers; he has disowned his son, but he will not disgrace him; yet his picture he must have by hook or crook, and there’s the rub! I am to get it back by fair means or foul. He gives me carte blanche in the matter, and, I verily believe, would throw in a blank check if asked. He offered one to the Queenslander, but Craggs simply tore it in two; the one old boy is as much a character as the other, and between the two of them I’m at my wits’ end.”

“So you put that advertisement in the paper?” said Raffles, in the dry tones he had adopted throughout the interview.

“As a last resort. I did.”

“And you wish us to steal this picture?”

It was magnificently said; the lawyer flushed from his hair to his collar.

“I knew you were not the men!” he groaned. “I never thought of men of your stamp! But it’s not stealing,” he exclaimed heatedly; “it’s recovering stolen property. Besides, Sir Bernard will pay him his five thousand as soon as he has the picture; and, you’ll see, old Craggs will be just as loath to let it come out as Sir Bernard himself. No, no⁠—it’s an enterprise, an adventure, if you like⁠—but not stealing.”

“You yourself mentioned the law,” murmured Raffles.

“And the risk,” I added.

“We pay for that,” he said once more.

“But not enough,” said Raffles, shaking his head. “My good sir, consider what it means to us. You spoke of those clubs; we should not only get kicked out of them, but put in prison like common burglars! It’s true we’re hard up, but it simply isn’t worth it at the price. Double your stakes, and I for one am your man.”

Addenbrooke wavered.

“Do you think you could bring it off?”

“We could try.”

“But you have no⁠—”

“Experience? Well, hardly!”

“And you would really run the risk for four thousand pounds?”

Raffles looked at me. I nodded.

“We would,” said he, “and blow the odds!”

“It’s more than I can ask my client to pay,” said Addenbrooke, growing firm.

“Then it’s more than you can expect us to risk.”

“You are in earnest?”

“God wot!”

“Say three thousand if you succeed!”

“Four is our figure, Mr. Addenbrooke.”

“Then I think it should be nothing if you fail.”

“Doubles or quits?” cried Raffles. “Well, that’s sporting. Done!”

Addenbrooke opened his lips, half rose, then sat back in his chair, and looked long and shrewdly at Raffles⁠—never once at me.

“I know your bowling,” said he reflectively. “I go up to Lord’s whenever I want an hour’s real rest, and I’ve seen you bowl again and again⁠—yes, and take the best wickets in England on a plumb pitch. I don’t forget the last Gentleman and Players; I was there. You’re up to every trick⁠—every one⁠ ⁠… I’m inclined to think that if anybody could bowl out this old Australian⁠ ⁠… Damme, I believe you’re my very man!”

The bargain was clinched at the Café Royal, where Bennett Addenbrooke insisted on playing host at an extravagant luncheon. I remember that he took his whack of champagne with the nervous freedom of a man at high pressure, and have no doubt I kept him in countenance by an equal indulgence; but Raffles, ever an exemplar in such matters, was more abstemious even than his wont, and very poor company to boot. I can see him now, his eyes in his plate⁠—thinking⁠—thinking. I can see the solicitor glancing from him to me in an apprehension of which I did my best to disabuse him by reassuring looks. At the close Raffles apologized for his preoccupation, called for an A.B.C. timetable, and announced his intention of catching the 3:02 to Esher.

“You must excuse me, Mr. Addenbrooke,” said he, “but I have my own idea, and for the moment I should much prefer to keep it to myself. It may end in fizzle, so I would rather not speak about it to either of you just yet. But speak to Sir Bernard I must, so will you write me one line to him on your card? Of course, if you wish, you must come down with me and hear what I say; but I really don’t see much point in it.”

And as usual Raffles had his way, though Bennett Addenbrooke showed some temper when he was gone, and I myself shared his annoyance to no small extent. I could only tell him that it was in the nature of Raffles to be self-willed and secretive, but that no man of my acquaintance had half his audacity and determination; that I for my part would trust him through and through, and let him gang his own gait every time. More I dared not say, even to remove those chill misgivings with which I knew that the lawyer went his way.

That day I saw no more of Raffles, but a telegram reached me when I was dressing for dinner:

“Be in your rooms tomorrow from noon and keep rest of day clear, Raffles.”

It had been sent off from Waterloo at 6:42.

So Raffles was back in town; at an