E. W. Hornung_A J Raffles 02 (3 page)

BOOK: E. W. Hornung_A J Raffles 02
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"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 £95, and there was no attempt to
get it for £90. 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 (£116), 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 £400 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 £51 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 £95, the necklet for £200, and my flaming star at another
£100, 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."

BOOK: E. W. Hornung_A J Raffles 02
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