Bab Bab 3 · Gentlemen And Players

Old Raffles may or may not have been an exceptional criminal, but as a

cricketer I dare swear he was unique. Himself a dangerous bat, a

brilliant field, and perhaps the very finest slow bowler of his decade,

he took incredibly little interest in the game at large. He never went

up to Lord's without his cricket-bag, or showed the slightest interest

in the result of a match in which he was not himself engaged. Nor was

this mere hateful egotism on his part. He professed to have lost all

enthusiasm for the game, and to keep it up only from the very lowest

motives.

"Cricket," said Raffles, "like everything else, is good enough sport

until you discover a better. As a source of excitement it isn't in it

with other things you wot of, Bunny, and the involuntary comparison

becomes a bore. What's the satisfaction of taking a man's wicket when

you want his spoons? Still, if you can bowl a bit your low cunning

won't get rusty, and always looking for the weak spot's just the kind

of mental exercise one wants. Yes, perhaps there's some affinity

between the two things after all. But I'd chuck up cricket to-morrow,

Bunny, if it wasn't for the glorious protection it affords a person of

my proclivities."

"How so?" said I. "It brings you before the public, I should have

thought, far more than is either safe or wise."

"My dear Bunny, that's exactly where you make a mistake. To follow

Crime with reasonable impunity you simply MUST have a parallel,

ostensible career--the more public the better. The principle is

obvious. Mr. Peace, of pious memory, disarmed suspicion by acquiring a

local reputation for playing the fiddle and taming animals, and it's my

profound conviction that Jack the Ripper was a really eminent public

man, whose speeches were very likely reported alongside his atrocities.

Fill the bill in some prominent part, and you'll never be suspected of

doubling it with another of equal prominence. That's why I want you to

cultivate journalism, my boy, and sign all you can. And it's the one

and only reason why I don't burn my bats for firewood."

Nevertheless, when he did play there was no keener performer on the

field, nor one more anxious to do well for his side. I remember how he

went to the nets, before the first match of the season, with his pocket

full of sovereigns, which he put on the stumps instead of bails. It

was a sight to see the professionals bowling like demons for the hard

cash, for whenever a stump was hit a pound was tossed to the bowler and

another balanced in its stead, while one man took £3 with a ball that

spreadeagled the wicket. Raffles's practice cost him either eight or

nine sovereigns; but he had absolutely first-class bowling all the

time; and he made fifty-seven runs next day.

It became my pleasure to accompany him to all his matches, to watch

every ball he bowled, or played, or fielded, and to sit chatting with

him in the pavilion when he was doing none of these three things. You

might have seen us there, side by side, during the greater part of the

Gentlemen's first innings against the Players (who had lost the toss)

on the second Monday in July. We were to be seen, but not heard, for

Raffles had failed to score, and was uncommonly cross for a player who

cared so little for the game. Merely taciturn with me, he was

positively rude to more than one member who wanted to know how it had

happened, or who ventured to commiserate him on his luck; there he sat,

with a straw hat tilted over his nose and a cigarette stuck between

lips that curled disagreeably at every advance. I was therefore much

surprised when a young fellow of the exquisite type came and squeezed

himself in between us, and met with a perfectly civil reception despite

the liberty. I did not know the boy by sight, nor did Raffles

introduce us; but their conversation proclaimed at once a slightness of

acquaintanceship and a license on the lad's part which combined to

puzzle me. Mystification reached its height when Raffles was informed

that the other's father was anxious to meet him, and he instantly

consented to gratify that whim.

"He's in the Ladies' Enclosure. Will you come round now?"

"With pleasure," says Raffles. "Keep a place for me, Bunny."

And they were gone.

"Young Crowley," said some voice further back. "Last year's Harrow

Eleven."

"I remember him. Worst man in the team."

"Keen cricketer, however. Stopped till he was twenty to get his

colors. Governor made him. Keen breed. Oh, pretty, sir! Very

pretty!"

The game was boring me. I only came to see old Raffles perform. Soon

I was looking wistfully for his return, and at length I saw him

beckoning me from the palings to the right.

"Want to introduce you to old Amersteth," he whispered, when I joined

him. "They've a cricket week next month, when this boy Crowley comes

of age, and we've both got to go down and play."

"Both!" I echoed. "But I'm no cricketer!"

"Shut up," says Raffles. "Leave that to me. I've been lying for all

I'm worth," he added sepulchrally as we reached the bottom of the

steps. "I trust to you not to give the show away."

There was a gleam in his eye that I knew well enough elsewhere, but was

unprepared for in those healthy, sane surroundings; and it was with

very definite misgivings and surmises that I followed the Zingari

blazer through the vast flower-bed of hats and bonnets that bloomed

beneath the ladies' awning.

Lord Amersteth was a fine-looking man with a short mustache and a

double chin. He received me with much dry courtesy, through which,

however, it was not difficult to read a less flattering tale. I was

accepted as the inevitable appendage of the invaluable Raffles, with

whom I felt deeply incensed as I made my bow.

"I have been bold enough," said Lord Amersteth, "to ask one of the

Gentlemen of England to come down and play some rustic cricket for us

next month. He is kind enough to say that he would have liked nothing

better, but for this little fishing expedition of yours, Mr.-----,

Mr.-----," and Lord Amersteth succeeded in remembering my name.

It was, of course, the first I had ever heard of that fishing

expedition, but I made haste to say that it could easily, and should

certainly, be put off. Raffles gleamed approval through his eyelashes.

Lord Amersteth bowed and shrugged.

"You're very good, I'm sure," said he. "But I understand you're a

cricketer yourself?"

"He was one at school," said Raffles, with infamous readiness.

"Not a real cricketer," I was stammering meanwhile.

"In the eleven?" said Lord Amersteth.

"I'm afraid not," said I.

"But only just out of it," declared Raffles, to my horror.

"Well, well, we can't all play for the Gentlemen," said Lord Amersteth

slyly. "My son Crowley only just scraped into the eleven at Harrow,

and HE'S going to play. I may even come in myself at a pinch; so you

won't be the only duffer, if you are one, and I shall be very glad if

you will come down and help us too. You shall flog a stream before

breakfast and after dinner, if you like."

"I should be very proud," I was beginning, as the mere prelude to

resolute excuses; but the eye of Raffles opened wide upon me; and I

hesitated weakly, to be duly lost.

"Then that's settled," said Lord Amersteth, with the slightest

suspicion of grimness. "It's to be a little week, you know, when my

son comes of age. We play the Free Foresters, the Dorsetshire

Gentlemen, and probably some local lot as well. But Mr. Raffles will

tell you all about it, and Crowley shall write. Another wicket! By

Jove, they're all out! Then I rely on you both." And, with a little

nod, Lord Amersteth rose and sidled to the gangway.

Raffles rose also, but I caught the sleeve of his blazer.

"What are you thinking of?" I whispered savagely. "I was nowhere near

the eleven. I'm no sort of cricketer. I shall have to get out of

this!"

"Not you," he whispered back. "You needn't play, but come you must.

If you wait for me after half-past six I'll tell you why."

But I could guess the reason; and I am ashamed to say that it revolted

me much less than did the notion of making a public fool of myself on a

cricket-field. My gorge rose at this as it no longer rose at crime,

and it was in no tranquil humor that I strolled about the ground while

Raffles disappeared in the pavilion. Nor was my annoyance lessened by

a little meeting I witnessed between young Crowley and his father, who

shrugged as he stopped and stooped to convey some information which

made the young man look a little blank. It may have been pure

self-consciousness on my part, but I could have sworn that the trouble

was their inability to secure the great Raffles without his

insignificant friend.

Then the bell rang, and I climbed to the top of the pavilion to watch

Raffles bowl. No subtleties are lost up there; and if ever a bowler

was full of them, it was A. J. Raffles on this day, as, indeed, all the

cricket world remembers. One had not to be a cricketer oneself to

appreciate his perfect command of pitch and break, his beautifully easy

action, which never varied with the varying pace, his great ball on the

leg-stump--his dropping head-ball--in a word, the infinite ingenuity of

that versatile attack. It was no mere exhibition of athletic prowess,

it was an intellectual treat, and one with a special significance in my

eyes. I saw the "affinity between the two things," saw it in that

afternoon's tireless warfare against the flower of professional

cricket. It was not that Raffles took many wickets for few runs; he

was too fine a bowler to mind being hit; and time was short, and the

wicket good. What I admired, and what I remember, was the combination

of resource and cunning, of patience and precision, of head-work and

handiwork, which made every over an artistic whole. It was all so

characteristic of that other Raffles whom I alone knew!

"I felt like bowling this afternoon," he told me later in the hansom.

"With a pitch to help me, I'd have done something big; as it is, three

for forty-one, out of the four that fell, isn't so bad for a slow

bowler on a plumb wicket against those fellows. But I felt venomous!

Nothing riles me more than being asked about for my cricket as though I

were a pro. myself."

"Then why on earth go?"

"To punish them, and--because we shall be jolly hard up, Bunny, before

the season's over!"

"Ah!" said I. "I thought it was that."

"Of course, it was! It seems they're going to have the very devil of a

week of it--balls--dinner parties--swagger house party--general

junketings--and obviously a houseful of diamonds as well. Diamonds

galore! As a general rule nothing would induce me to abuse my position

as a guest. I've never done it, Bunny. But in this case we're engaged

like the waiters and the band, and by heaven we'll take our toll!

Let's have a quiet dinner somewhere and talk it over."

"It seems rather a vulgar sort of theft," I could not help saying; and

to this, my single protest, Raffles instantly assented.

"It _is_ a vulgar sort," said he; "but I can't help that. We're getting

vulgarly hard up again, and there's an end on 't. Besides, these

people deserve it, and can afford it. And don't you run away with the

idea that all will be plain sailing; nothing will be easier than

getting some stuff, and nothing harder than avoiding all suspicion, as,

of course, we must. We may come away with no more than a good working

plan of the premises. Who knows? In any case there's weeks of

thinking in it for you and me."

But with those weeks I will not weary you further than by remarking

that the "thinking," was done entirely by Raffles, who did not always

trouble to communicate his thoughts to me. His reticence, however, was

no longer an irritant. I began to accept it as a necessary convention

of these little enterprises. And, after our last adventure of the

kind, more especially after its denouement, my trust in Raffles was

much too solid to be shaken by a want of trust in me, which I still

believe to have been more the instinct of the criminal than the

judgment of the man.

It was on Monday, the tenth of August, that we were due at Milchester

Abbey, Dorset; and the beginning of the month found us cruising about

that very county, with fly-rods actually in our hands. The idea was

that we should acquire at once a local reputation as decent fishermen,

and some knowledge of the countryside, with a view to further and more

deliberate operations in the event of an unprofitable week. There was

another idea which Raffles kept to himself until he had got me down

there. Then one day he produced a cricket-ball in a meadow we were

crossing, and threw me catches for an hour together. More hours he

spent in bowling to me on the nearest green; and, if I was never a

cricketer, at least I came nearer to being one, by the end of that

week, than ever before or since.

Incident began early on the Monday. We had sallied forth from a

desolate little junction within quite a few miles of Milchester, had

been caught in a shower, had run for shelter to a wayside inn. A

florid, overdressed man was drinking in the parlor, and I could have

sworn it was at the sight of him that Raffles recoiled on the

threshold, and afterwards insisted on returning to the station through

the rain. He assured me, however, that the odor of stale ale had

almost knocked him down. And I had to make what I could of his

speculative, downcast eyes and knitted brows.

Milchester Abbey is a gray, quadrangular pile, deep-set in rich woody

country, and twinkling with triple rows of quaint windows, every one of

which seemed alight as we drove up just in time to dress for dinner.

The carriage had whirled us under I know not how many triumphal arches

in process of construction, and past the tents and flag-poles of a

juicy-looking cricket-field, on which Raffles undertook to bowl up to

his reputation. But the chief signs of festival were within, where we

found an enormous house-party assembled, including more persons of

pomp, majesty, and dominion than I had ever encountered in one room

before. I confess I felt overpowered. Our errand and my own presences

combined to rob me of an address upon which I have sometimes plumed

myself; and I have a grim recollection of my nervous relief when dinner

was at last announced. I little knew what an ordeal it was to prove.

I had taken in a much less formidable young lady than might have fallen

to my lot. Indeed I began by blessing my good fortune in this respect.

Miss Melhuish was merely the rector's daughter, and she had only been

asked to make an even number. She informed me of both facts before the

soup reached us, and her subsequent conversation was characterized by

the same engaging candor. It exposed what was little short of a mania

for imparting information. I had simply to listen, to nod, and to be

thankful.

When I confessed to knowing very few of those present, even by sight,

my entertaining companion proceeded to tell me who everybody was,

beginning on my left and working conscientiously round to her right.

This lasted quite a long time, and really interested me; but a great

deal that followed did not, and, obviously to recapture my unworthy

attention, Miss Melhuish suddenly asked me, in a sensational whisper,

whether I could keep a secret.

I said I thought I might, whereupon another question followed, in still

lower and more thrilling accents:

"Are you afraid of burglars?"

Burglars! I was roused at last. The word stabbed me. I repeated it

in horrified query.

"So I've found something to interest you at last!" said Miss Melhuish,

in naive triumph. "Yes--burglars! But don't speak so loud. It's

supposed to be kept a great secret. I really oughtn't to tell you at

all!"

"But what is there to tell?" I whispered with satisfactory impatience.

"You promise not to speak of it?"

"Of course!"

"Well, then, there are burglars in the neighborhood."

"Have they committed any robberies?"

"Not yet."

"Then how do you know?"

"They've been seen. In the district. Two well-known London thieves!"

Two! I looked at Raffles. I had done so often during the evening,

envying him his high spirits, his iron nerve, his buoyant wit, his

perfect ease and self-possession. But now I pitied him; through all my

own terror and consternation, I pitied him as he sat eating and

drinking, and laughing and talking, without a cloud of fear or of

embarrassment on his handsome, taking, daredevil face. I caught up my

champagne and emptied the glass.

"Who has seen them?" I then asked calmly.

"A detective. They were traced down from town a few days ago. They

are believed to have designs on the Abbey!"

"But why aren't they run in?"

"Exactly what I asked papa on the way here this evening; he says there

is no warrant out against the men at present, and all that can be done

is to watch their movements."

"Oh! so they are being watched?"

"Yes, by a detective who is down here on purpose. And I heard Lord

Amersteth tell papa that they had been seen this afternoon at Warbeck

Junction!"

The very place where Raffles and I had been caught in the rain! Our

stampede from the inn was now explained; on the other hand, I was no

longer to be taken by surprise by anything that my companion might have

to tell me; and I succeeded in looking her in the face with a smile.

"This is really quite exciting, Miss Melhuish," said I. "May I ask how

you come to know so much about it?"

"It's papa," was the confidential reply. "Lord Amersteth consulted

him, and he consulted me. But for goodness' sake don't let it get

about! I can't think WHAT tempted me to tell you!"

"You may trust me, Miss Melhuish. But--aren't you frightened?"

Miss Melhuish giggled.

"Not a bit! They won't come to the rectory. There's nothing for them

there. But look round the table: look at the diamonds: look at old

Lady Melrose's necklace alone!"

The Dowager Marchioness of Melrose was one of the few persons whom it

had been unnecessary to point out to me. She sat on Lord Amersteth's

right, flourishing her ear-trumpet, and drinking champagne with her

usual notorious freedom, as dissipated and kindly a dame as the world

has ever seen. It was a necklace of diamonds and sapphires that rose

and fell about her ample neck.

"They say it's worth five thousand pounds at least," continued my

companion. "Lady Margaret told me so this morning (that's Lady

Margaret next your Mr. Raffles, you know); and the old dear WILL wear

them every night. Think what a haul they would be! No; we don't feel

in immediate danger at the rectory."

When the ladies rose, Miss Melhuish bound me to fresh vows of secrecy;

and left me, I should think, with some remorse for her indiscretion,

but more satisfaction at the importance which it had undoubtedly given

her in my eyes. The opinion may smack of vanity, though, in reality,

the very springs of conversation reside in that same human, universal

itch to thrill the auditor. The peculiarity of Miss Melhuish was that

she must be thrilling at all costs. And thrilling she had surely been.

I spare you my feelings of the next two hours. I tried hard to get a

word with Raffles, but again and again I failed. In the dining-room he

and Crowley lit their cigarettes with the same match, and had their

heads together all the time. In the drawing-room I had the

mortification of hearing him talk interminable nonsense into the

ear-trumpet of Lady Melrose, whom he knew in town. Lastly, in the

billiard-room, they had a great and lengthy pool, while I sat aloof and

chafed more than ever in the company of a very serious Scotchman, who

had arrived since dinner, and who would talk of nothing but the recent

improvements in instantaneous photography. He had not come to play in

the matches (he told me), but to obtain for Lord Amersteth such a

series of cricket photographs as had never been taken before; whether

as an amateur or a professional photographer I was unable to determine.

I remember, however, seeking distraction in little bursts of resolute

attention to the conversation of this bore. And so at last the long

ordeal ended; glasses were emptied, men said good-night, and I followed

Raffles to his room.

"It's all up!" I gasped, as he turned up the gas and I shut the door.

"We're being watched. We've been followed down from town. There's a

detective here on the spot!"

"How do YOU know?" asked Raffles, turning upon me quite sharply, but

without the least dismay. And I told him how I knew.

"Of course," I added, "it was the fellow we saw in the inn this

afternoon."

"The detective?" said Raffles. "Do you mean to say you don't know a

detective when you see one, Bunny?"

"If that wasn't the fellow, which is?"

Raffles shook his head.

"To think that you've been talking to him for the last hour in the

billiard-room and couldn't spot what he was!"

"The Scotch photographer--"

I paused aghast.

"Scotch he is," said Raffles, "and photographer he may be. He is also

Inspector Mackenzie of Scotland Yard--the very man I sent the message

to that night last April. And you couldn't spot who he was in a whole

hour! O Bunny, Bunny, you were never built for crime!"

"But," said I, "if that was Mackenzie, who was the fellow you bolted

from at Warbeck?"

"The man he's watching."

"But he's watching us!"

Raffles looked at me with a pitying eye, and shook his head again

before handing me his open cigarette-case.

"I don't know whether smoking's forbidden in one's bedroom, but you'd

better take one of these and stand tight, Bunny, because I'm going to

say something offensive."

I helped myself with a laugh.

"Say what you like, my dear fellow, if it really isn't you and I that

Mackenzie's after."

"Well, then, it isn't, and it couldn't be, and nobody but a born Bunny

would suppose for a moment that it was! Do you seriously think he

would sit there and knowingly watch his man playing pool under his

nose? Well, he might; he's a cool hand, Mackenzie; but I'm not cool

enough to win a pool under such conditions. At least I don't think I

am; it would be interesting to see. The situation wasn't free from

strain as it was, though I knew he wasn't thinking of us. Crowley told

me all about it after dinner, you see, and then I'd seen one of the men

for myself this afternoon. You thought it was a detective who made me

turn tail at that inn. I really don't know why I didn't tell you at

the time, but it was just the opposite. That loud, red-faced brute is

one of the cleverest thieves in London, and I once had a drink with him

and our mutual fence. I was an Eastender from tongue to toe at the

moment, but you will understand that I don't run unnecessary risks of

recognition by a brute like that."

"He's not alone, I hear."

"By no means; there's at least one other man with him; and it's

suggested that there may be an accomplice here in the house."

"Did Lord Crowley tell you so?"

"Crowley and the champagne between them. In confidence, of course,

just as your girl told you; but even in confidence he never let on

about Mackenzie. He told me there was a detective in the background,

but that was all. Putting him up as a guest is evidently their big

secret, to be kept from the other guests because it might offend them,

but more particularly from the servants whom he's here to watch.

That's my reading of the situation, Bunny, and you will agree with me

that it's infinitely more interesting than we could have imagined it

would prove."

"But infinitely more difficult for us," said I, with a sigh of

pusillanimous relief. "Our hands are tied for this week, at all

events."

"Not necessarily, my dear Bunny, though I admit that the chances are

against us. Yet I'm not so sure of that either. There are all sorts

of possibilities in these three-cornered combinations. Set A to watch

B, and he won't have an eye left for C. That's the obvious theory, but

then Mackenzie's a very big A. I should be sorry to have any boodle

about me with that man in the house. Yet it would be great to nip in

between A and B and score off them both at once! It would be worth a

risk, Bunny, to do that; it would be worth risking something merely to

take on old hands like B and his men at their own old game! Eh, Bunny?

That would be something like a match. Gentlemen and Players at single

wicket, by Jove!"

His eyes were brighter than I had known them for many a day. They

shone with the perverted enthusiasm which was roused in him only by the

contemplation of some new audacity. He kicked off his shoes and began

pacing his room with noiseless rapidity; not since the night of the Old

Bohemian dinner to Reuben Rosenthall had Raffles exhibited such

excitement in my presence; and I was not sorry at the moment to be

reminded of the fiasco to which that banquet had been the prelude.

"My dear A. J.," said I in his very own tone, "you're far too fond of

the uphill game; you will eventually fall a victim to the sporting

spirit and nothing else. Take a lesson from our last escape, and fly

lower as you value our skins. Study the house as much as you like, but

do--not--go and shove your head into Mackenzie's mouth!"

My wealth of metaphor brought him to a stand-still, with his cigarette

between his fingers and a grin beneath his shining eyes.

"You're quite right, Bunny. I won't. I really won't. Yet--you saw

old Lady Melrose's necklace? I've been wanting it for years! But I'm

not going to play the fool; honor bright, I'm not; yet--by Jove!--to

get to windward of the professors and Mackenzie too! It would be a

great game, Bunny, it would be a great game!"

"Well, you mustn't play it this week."

"No, no, I won't. But I wonder how the professors think of going to

work? That's what one wants to know. I wonder if they've really got

an accomplice in the house? How I wish I knew their game! But it's

all right, Bunny; don't you be jealous; it shall be as you wish."

And with that assurance I went off to my own room, and so to bed with

an incredibly light heart. I had still enough of the honest man in me

to welcome the postponement of our actual felonies, to dread their

performance, to deplore their necessity: which is merely another way of

stating the too patent fact that I was an incomparably weaker man than

Raffles, while every whit as wicked. I had, however, one rather strong

point. I possessed the gift of dismissing unpleasant considerations,

not intimately connected with the passing moment, entirely from my mind.

Through the exercise of this faculty I had lately been living my

frivolous life in town with as much ignoble enjoyment as I had derived

from it the year before; and similarly, here at Milchester, in the

long-dreaded cricket-week, I had after all a quite excellent time.

It is true that there were other factors in this pleasing

disappointment. In the first place, mirabile dictu, there were one or

two even greater duffers than I on the Abbey cricket-field. Indeed,

quite early in the week, when it was of most value to me, I gained

considerable kudos for a lucky catch; a ball, of which I had merely

heard the hum, stuck fast in my hand, which Lord Amersteth himself

grasped in public congratulation. This happy accident was not to be

undone even by me, and, as nothing succeeds like success, and the

constant encouragement of the one great cricketer on the field was in

itself an immense stimulus, I actually made a run or two in my very

next innings. Miss Melhuish said pretty things to me that night at the

great ball in honor of Viscount Crowley's majority; she also told me

that was the night on which the robbers would assuredly make their

raid, and was full of arch tremors when we sat out in the garden,

though the entire premises were illuminated all night long. Meanwhile

the quiet Scotchman took countless photographs by day, which he

developed by night in a dark room admirably situated in the servants'

part of the house; and it is my firm belief that only two of his

fellow-guests knew Mr. Clephane of Dundee for Inspector Mackenzie of

Scotland Yard.

The week was to end with a trumpery match on the Saturday, which two or

three of us intended abandoning early in order to return to town that

night. The match, however, was never played. In the small hours of

the Saturday morning a tragedy took place at Milchester Abbey.

Let me tell of the thing as I saw and heard it. My room opened upon

the central gallery, and was not even on the same floor as that on

which Raffles--and I think all the other men--were quartered. I had

been put, in fact, into the dressing-room of one of the grand suites,

and my too near neighbors were old Lady Melrose and my host and

hostess. Now, by the Friday evening the actual festivities were at an

end, and, for the first time that week, I must have been sound asleep

since midnight, when all at once I found myself sitting up breathless.

A heavy thud had come against my door, and now I heard hard breathing

and the dull stamp of muffled feet.

"I've got ye," muttered a voice. "It's no use struggling."

It was the Scotch detective, and a new fear turned me cold. There was

no reply, but the hard breathing grew harder still, and the muffled

feet beat the floor to a quicker measure. In sudden panic I sprang out

of bed and flung open my door. A light burnt low on the landing, and by

it I could see Mackenzie swaying and staggering in a silent tussle with

some powerful adversary.

"Hold this man!" he cried, as I appeared. "Hold the rascal!"

But I stood like a fool until the pair of them backed into me, when,

with a deep breath I flung myself on the fellow, whose face I had seen

at last. He was one of the footmen who waited at table; and no sooner

had I pinned him than the detective loosed his hold.

"Hang on to him," he cried. "There's more of 'em below."

And he went leaping down the stairs, as other doors opened and Lord

Amersteth and his son appeared simultaneously in their pyjamas. At

that my man ceased struggling; but I was still holding him when Crowley

turned up the gas.

"What the devil's all this?" asked Lord Amersteth, blinking. "Who was

that ran downstairs?"

"Mac--Clephane!" said I hastily.

"Aha!" said he, turning to the footman. "So you're the scoundrel, are

you? Well done! Well done! Where was he caught?"

I had no idea.

"Here's Lady Melrose's door open," said Crowley. "Lady Melrose! Lady

Melrose!"

"You forget she's deaf," said Lord Amersteth. "Ah! that'll be her maid."

An inner door had opened; next instant there was a little shriek, and a

white figure gesticulated on the threshold.

"Où donc est l'ecrin de Madame la Marquise? La fenetre est ouverte.

Il a disparu!"

"Window open and jewel-case gone, by Jove!" exclaimed Lord Amersteth.

"Mais comment est Madame la Marquise? Est elle bien?"

"Oui, milor. Elle dort."

"Sleeps through it all," said my lord. "She's the only one, then!"

"What made Mackenzie--Clephane--bolt?" young Crowley asked me.

"Said there were more of them below."

"Why the devil couldn't you tell us so before?" he cried, and went

leaping downstairs in his turn.

He was followed by nearly all the cricketers, who now burst upon the

scene in a body, only to desert it for the chase. Raffles was one of

them, and I would gladly have been another, had not the footman chosen

this moment to hurl me from him, and to make a dash in the direction

from which they had come. Lord Amersteth had him in an instant; but

the fellow fought desperately, and it took the two of us to drag him

downstairs, amid a terrified chorus from half-open doors. Eventually

we handed him over to two other footmen who appeared with their

nightshirts tucked into their trousers, and my host was good enough to

compliment me as he led the way outside.

"I thought I heard a shot," he added. "Didn't you?"

"I thought I heard three."

And out we dashed into the darkness.

I remember how the gravel pricked my feet, how the wet grass numbed

them as we made for the sound of voices on an outlying lawn. So dark

was the night that we were in the cricketers' midst before we saw the

shimmer of their pyjamas; and then Lord Amersteth almost trod on

Mackenzie as he lay prostrate in the dew.

"Who's this?" he cried. "What on earth's happened?"

"It's Clephane," said a man who knelt over him. "He's got a bullet in

him somewhere."

"Is he alive?"

"Barely."

"Good God! Where's Crowley?"

"Here I am," called a breathless voice. "It's no good, you fellows.

There's nothing to show which way they've gone. Here's Raffles; he's

chucked it, too." And they ran up panting.

"Well, we've got one of them, at all events," muttered Lord Amersteth.

"The next thing is to get this poor fellow indoors. Take his

shoulders, somebody. Now his middle. Join hands under him. All

together, now; that's the way. Poor fellow! Poor fellow! His name

isn't Clephane at all. He's a Scotland Yard detective, down here for

these very villains!"

Raffles was the first to express surprise; but he had also been the

first to raise the wounded man. Nor had any of them a stronger or more

tender hand in the slow procession to the house.

In a little we had the senseless man stretched on a sofa in the

library. And there, with ice on his wound and brandy in his throat,

his eyes opened and his lips moved.

Lord Amersteth bent down to catch the words.

"Yes, yes," said he; "we've got one of them safe and sound. The brute

you collared upstairs." Lord Amersteth bent lower. "By Jove! Lowered

the jewel-case out of the window, did he? And they've got clean away

with it! Well, well! I only hope we'll be able to pull this good

fellow through. He's off again."

An hour passed: the sun was rising.

It found a dozen young fellows on the settees in the billiard-room,

drinking whiskey and soda-water in their overcoats and pyjamas, and

still talking excitedly in one breath. A time-table was being passed

from hand to hand: the doctor was still in the library. At last the

door opened, and Lord Amersteth put in his head.

"It isn't hopeless," said he, "but it's bad enough. There'll be no

cricket to-day."

Another hour, and most of us were on our way to catch the early train;

between us we filled a compartment almost to suffocation. And still we

talked all together of the night's event; and still I was a little hero

in my way, for having kept my hold of the one ruffian who had been

taken; and my gratification was subtle and intense. Raffles watched me

under lowered lids. Not a word had we had together; not a word did we

have until we had left the others at Paddington, and were skimming

through the streets in a hansom with noiseless tires and a tinkling

bell.

"Well, Bunny," said Raffles, "so the professors have it, eh?"

"Yes," said I. "And I'm jolly glad!"

"That poor Mackenzie has a ball in his chest?"

"That you and I have been on the decent side for once."

He shrugged his shoulders.

"You're hopeless, Bunny, quite hopeless! I take it you wouldn't have

refused your share if the boodle had fallen to us? Yet you positively

enjoy coming off second best--for the second time running! I confess,

however, that the professors' methods were full of interest to me. I,

for one, have probably gained as much in experience as I have lost in

other things. That lowering the jewel-case out of the window was a

very simple and effective expedient; two of them had been waiting below

for it for hours."

"How do you know?" I asked.

"I saw them from my own window, which was just above the dear old

lady's. I was fretting for that necklace in particular, when I went up

to turn in for our last night--and I happened to look out of my window.

In point of fact, I wanted to see whether the one below was open, and

whether there was the slightest chance of working the oracle with my

sheet for a rope. Of course I took the precaution of turning my light

off first, and it was a lucky thing I did. I saw the pros. right down

below, and they never saw me. I saw a little tiny luminous disk just

for an instant, and then again for an instant a few minutes later. Of

course I knew what it was, for I have my own watch-dial daubed with

luminous paint; it makes a lantern of sorts when you can get no better.

But these fellows were not using theirs as a lantern. They were under

the old lady's window. They were watching the time. The whole thing

was arranged with their accomplice inside. Set a thief to catch a

thief: in a minute I had guessed what the whole thing proved to be."

"And you did nothing!" I exclaimed.

"On the contrary, I went downstairs and straight into Lady Melrose's

room--"

"You did?"

"Without a moment's hesitation. To save her jewels. And I was

prepared to yell as much into her ear-trumpet for all the house to

hear. But the dear lady is too deaf and too fond of her dinner to wake

easily."

"Well?"

"She didn't stir."

"And yet you allowed the professors, as you call them, to take her

jewels, case and all!"

"All but this," said Raffles, thrusting his fist into my lap. "I would

have shown it you before, but really, old fellow, your face all day has

been worth a fortune to the firm!"

And he opened his fist, to shut it next instant on the bunch of

diamonds and of sapphires that I had last seen encircling the neck of

Lady Melrose.