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

earlier stage of our relations I should have hunted him up then and there, but now I knew better. His telegram meant that he had no desire for my society that night or the following forenoon; that when he wanted me I should see him soon enough.

And see him I did, towards one o’clock next day. I was watching for him from my window in Mount Street, when he drove up furiously in a hansom, and jumped out without a word to the man. I met him next minute at the lift gates, and he fairly pushed me back into my rooms.

“Five minutes, Bunny!” he cried. “Not a moment more.”

And he tore off his coat before flinging himself into the nearest chair.

“I’m fairly on the rush,” he panted; “having the very devil of a time! Not a word till I tell you all I’ve done. I settled my plan of campaign yesterday at lunch. The first thing was to get in with this man Craggs; you can’t break into a place like the Métropole, it’s got to be done from the inside. Problem one, how to get at the fellow. Only one sort of pretext would do⁠—it must be something to do with this blessed picture, so that I might see where he’d got it and all that. Well, I couldn’t go and ask to see it out of curiosity, and I couldn’t go as a second representative of the other old chap, and it was thinking how I could go that made me such a bear at lunch. But I saw my way before we got up. If I could only lay hold of a copy of the picture I might ask leave to go and compare it with the original. So down I went to Esher to find out if there was a copy in existence, and was at Broom Hall for one hour and a half yesterday afternoon. There was no copy there, but they must exist, for Sir Bernard himself (there’s ‘copy’ there!) has allowed a couple to be made since the picture has been in his possession. He hunted up the painters’ addresses, and the rest of the evening I spent in hunting up the painters themselves; but their work had been done on commission; one copy had gone out of the country, and I’m still on the track of the other.”

“Then you haven’t seen Craggs yet?”

“Seen him and made friends with him, and if possible he’s the funnier old cuss of the two; but you should study ’em both. I took the bull by the horns this morning, went in and lied like Ananias, and it was just as well I did⁠—the old ruffian sails for Australia by tomorrow’s boat. I told him a man wanted to sell me a copy of the celebrated Infanta Maria Teresa of Velasquez, that I’d been down to the supposed owner of the picture, only to find that he had just sold it to him. You should have seen his face when I told him that! He grinned all round his wicked old head. ‘Did old Debenham admit the sale?’ says he; and when I said he had he chuckled to himself for about five minutes. He was so pleased that he did just what I hoped he would do; he showed me the great picture⁠—luckily it isn’t by any means a large one⁠—also the case he’s got it in. It’s an iron map-case in which he brought over the plans of his land in Brisbane; he wants to know who would suspect it of containing an Old Master, too? But he’s had it fitted with a new Chubb’s lock, and I managed to take an interest in the key while he was gloating over the canvas. I had the wax in the palm of my hand, and I shall make my duplicate this afternoon.”

Raffles looked at his watch and jumped up saying he had given me a minute too much.

“By the way,” he added, “you’ve got to dine with him at the Métropole tonight!”

“I?”

“Yes; don’t look so scared. Both of us are invited⁠—I swore you were dining with me. I accepted for us both; but I shan’t be there.”

His clear eye was upon me, bright with meaning and with mischief. I implored him to tell me what his meaning was.

“You will dine in his private sitting-room,” said Raffles; “it adjoins his bedroom. You must keep him sitting as long as possible, Bunny, and talking all the time!”

In a flash I saw his plan.

“You’re going for the picture while we’re at dinner?”

“I am.”

“If he hears you?”

“He shan’t.”

“But if he does!”

And I fairly trembled at the thought.

“If he does,” said Raffles, “there will be a collision, that’s all. Revolver would be out of place in the Métropole, but I shall certainly take a life-preserver.”

“But it’s ghastly!” I cried. “To sit and talk to an utter stranger and to know that you’re at work in the next room!”

“Two thousand apiece,” said Raffles, quietly.

“Upon my soul I believe I shall give it away!”

“Not you, Bunny. I know you better than you know yourself.”

He put on his coat and his hat.

“What time have I to be there?” I asked him, with a groan.

“Quarter to eight. There will be a telegram from me saying I can’t turn up. He’s a terror to talk, you’ll have no difficulty in keeping the ball rolling; but head him off his picture for all you’re worth. If he offers to show it to you, say you must go. He locked up the case elaborately this afternoon, and there’s no earthly reason why he should unlock it again in this hemisphere.”

“Where shall I find you when I get away?”

“I shall be down at Esher. I hope to catch the 9:55.”

“But surely I can see you again this afternoon?” I cried in a ferment, for his hand was on the door. “I’m not half coached up yet! I know I shall make a mess of it!”

“Not you,” he