A Thief in the Night E. W. Hornung (manga ebook reader TXT) đ
- Author: E. W. Hornung
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âEminently fair,â said Raffles sententiously.
âSo the jeweller thought,â crowed the clerk. âYou see, it wasnât as if the Yanks had chosen out the half of what heâd brought on appro.; theyâd gone slow on purpose, and theyâd paid for all they could on the nail, just for a blind. Well, I suppose you can guess what happened in the end? The jeweller never heard of those Americans again; and these few cigarettes and lumps of sugar were all he found.â
âDuplicate boxes!â I cried, perhaps a thought too promptly.
âDuplicate boxes!â murmured Raffles, as profoundly impressed as a second Mr. Pickwick.
âDuplicate boxes!â echoed the triumphant clerk. âArtful beggars, these Americans, sir! Youâve got to crawss the âErring Pond to learn a trick worth one oâ that?â
âI suppose so,â assented the grave gentleman wit the silver hair. âUnless,â he added, as if suddenly inspired, âunless it was that man Raffles.â
âIt couldnât âve bin,â jerked the clerk from his conning-tower of a collar. âHeâd gone to Davy Jones long before.â
âAre you sure?â asked Raffles. âWas his body ever found?â
âFound and buried,â replied our imaginative friend. âMalter, I think it was; or it may have been Giberaltar. I forget which.â
âBesides,â I put in, rather annoyed at all this wilful work, yet not indisposed to make a late contributionâ ââbesides, Raffles would never have smoked those cigarettes. There was only one brand for him. It wasâ âlet me seeâ ââ
âSullivans?â cried the clerk, right for once. âItâs all a matter of âabit,â he went on, as he replaced the twenty-five tin box with the vulgar wrapper. âI tried them once, and I didnât like âem myself. Itâs all a question of taste. Now, if you want a good smoke, and cheaper, give me a Golden Gem at quarter of the price.â
âWhat we really do want,â remarked Raffles mildly, âis to see something else as clever as that last.â
âThen come this way,â said the clerk, and led us into a recess almost monopolized by the iron-clamped chest of thrilling memory, now a mere platform for the collection of mysterious objects under a dust-sheet on the lid. âThese,â he continued, unveiling them with an air, âare the Raffles Relics, taken from his rooms in the Albany after his death and burial, and the most complete set weâve got. Thatâs his centre-bit, and this is the bottle of rock-oil heâs supposed to have kept dipping it in to prevent making a noise. Hereâs the revawlver he used when he shot at a gentleman on the roof down Horsham way; it was afterward taken from him on the P. & O. boat before he jumped overboard.â
I could not help saying I understood that Raffles had never shot at anybody. I was standing with my back to the nearest window, my hat jammed over my brows and my overcoat collar up to my ears.
âThatâs the only time we know about,â the clerk admitted; âand it couldnât be brought âome, or his precious pal would have got more than he did. This empty cawtridge is the one he âid the Emperorâs pearl in, on the Peninsular and Orient. These gimlets and wedges were what he used for fixinâ doors. This is his rope-ladder, with the telescope walking-stick he used to hook it up with; heâs said to have âad it with him the night he dined with the Earl of Thornaby, and robbed the house before dinner. Thatâs his life-preserver; but no one can make out what this little thick velvet bagâs for, with the two holes and the elawstic round each. Perhaps you can give a guess, sir?â
Raffles had taken up the bag that he had invented for the noiseless filing of keys. Now he handled it as though it were a tobacco-pouch, putting in finger and thumb, and shrugging over the puzzle with a delicious face; nevertheless, he showed me a few grains of steel filing as the result of his investigations, and murmured in my ear, âThese sweet police!â I, for my part, could not but examine the life-preserver with which I had once smitten Raffles himself to the ground: actually, there was his blood upon it still; and seeing my horror, the clerk plunged into a characteristically garbled version of that incident also. It happened to have come to light among others at the Old Bailey, and perhaps had its share in promoting the quality of mercy which had undoubtedly been exercised on my behalf. But the present recital was unduly trying, and Raffles created a noble diversion by calling attention to an early photograph of himself, which may still hang on the wall over the historic chest, but which I had carefully ignored. It shows him in flannels, after some great feat upon the tented field. I am afraid there is a Sullivan between his lips, a look of lazy insolence in the half-shut eyes. I have since possessed myself of a copy, and it is not Raffles at his best; but the features are clean-cut and regular; and I often wish that I had lent it to the artistic gentlemen who have battered the statue out of all likeness to the man.
âYou wouldnât think it of him, would you?â quoth the clerk. âIt makes you understand how no one ever did think it of him at the time.â
The youth was looking full at Raffles, with the watery eyes of unsuspecting innocence. I itched to emulate the fine bravado of my friend.
âYou said he had a pal,â I observed, sinking deeper into the collar of my coat. âHavenât you got a photograph of him?â
The pale clerk gave such a sickly smile, I could have smacked some blood into his pasty face.
âYou mean Bunny?â said the familiar fellow. âNo, sir, heâd be out of place; weâve only room for real criminals here. Bunny was neither one thing nor the other. He could follow Raffles, but thatâs all he could
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