E. W. Hornung_A J Raffles 01 (7 page)

"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.