The Raffles Collection

by E. W. Hornung

  "Well," said Raffles, "there's no harm in our hearing what sort of property it is, and where you think it's to be found."

  The usurer leant forward in his chair; he had long been sitting in the one which at first he had seemed inclined to wield as a defensive weapon. We all drew together into a smaller triangle. And I found our visitor looking specially hard at me for the first time.

  "I've seen you, too, before to-day," said he. "I thought I had, after you'd gone this morning, and when we met in the afternoon I made sure. It was at the Savoy when me and my wife were dining there and you gentlemen were at the next table." There was a crafty twinkle in his eye, but the natural allusion to the necklace was not made. "I suppose," he continued, "you are partners in—amusement? Otherwise I should insist on speaking to Mr. Raffles alone."

  "Bunny and I are one," said Raffles airily.

  "Though two to one—numerically speaking," remarked Levy, with a disparaging eye on me. "However, if you're both in the job, so much the more chance of bringing it off, I daresay. But you'll never 'ave to 'andle a lighter swag, gentlemen!"

  "More jewellery?" inquired Raffles, as one thoroughly enjoying the joke.

  "No—lighter than that—a letter!"

  "One little letter?"

  "That's all."

  "Of your own writing, Mr. Levy?"

  "No, sir!" thundered the money-lender, just when I could have sworn his lips were framing an affirmative.

  "I see; it was written to you, not by you."

  "Wrong again, Raffles!"

  "Then how can the letter be your property, my dear Mr. Levy?"

  There was a pause. The money-lender was at visible grips with some new difficulty. I watched his heavy but not unhandsome face, and timed the moment of mastery by the sudden light in his crafty eyes.

  "They think it was written by me," said he. "It's a forgery, written on my office paper; if that isn't my property, I should like to know what is?"

  "It certainly ought to be," returned Raffles, sympathetically. "Of course you're speaking of the crucial letter in your case against Fact?"

  "I am," said Levy, rather startled; "but 'ow did you know I was?"

  "I am naturally interested in the case."

  "And you've read about it in the papers; they've had a fat sight too much to say about it, with the whole case still sub judice."

  "I read the original articles in Fact" said Raffles.

  "And the letters I'm supposed to have written?"

  "Yes; there was only one of them that struck me as being slap in the wind's eye."

  "That's the one I want."

  "If it's genuine, Mr. Levy, it might easily form the basis of a more serious sort of case."

  "But it isn't genuine."

  "Nor would you be the first plaintiff in the High Court of Justice," pursued Raffles, blowing soft grey rings into the upper air, "who has been rather rudely transformed into the defendant at the Old Bailey."

  "But it isn't genuine, I'm telling you!" cried Dan Levy with a curse.

  "Then what in the world do you want with the letter? Let the prosecution love and cherish it, and trump it up in court for all it's worth; the less it is worth, the more certain to explode and blow their case to bits. A palpable forgery in the hands of Mr. Attorney!" cried Raffles, with a wink at me. "It'll be the best fun of its kind since the late lamented Mr. Pigott; my dear Bunny, we must both be there."

  Mr. Levy's uneasiness was a sight for timid eyes. He had presented his case to us naked and unashamed; already he was in our hands more surely than Raffles was in his. But Raffles was the last person to betray his sense of an advantage a second too soon: he merely gave me another wink. The usurer was frowning at the carpet. Suddenly he sprang up and burst out in a bitter tirade upon the popular and even the judicial prejudice against his own beneficent calling. No money-lender would ever get justice in a British court of law; easier for the camel to thread the needle's eye. That flagrant forgery would be accepted at sight by our vaunted British jury. The only chance was to abstract it before the case came on.

  "But if it can be proved to be a forgery," urged Raffles, "nothing could possibly turn the tables on the other side with such complete and instantaneous effect."

  "I've told you what I reckon my only chance," said Levy fiercely. "Let me remind you that it's yours as well!"

  "If you talk like that," said Raffles, "I shan't consider it."

  "You won't in any case, I should hope," said I.

  "Oh, yes, I might; but not if he talks like that."

  Levy stopped talking quite like that.

  "Will you do it, Mr. Raffles, or will you not?"

  "Abstract the—forgery?"

  "Yes."

  "Where from?"

  "Wherever it may be; their solicitors' safe, I suppose."

  "Who are the solicitors to Fact?"

  "Burroughs and Burroughs."

  "Of Gray's Inn Square?"

  "That's right."

  "The strongest firm in England for a criminal case," said Raffles, with a grimace at me. "Their strong-room is probably the strongest strong-room!"

  "I said it was a tricky job," rejoined the moneylender.

  Raffles looked more than dubious.

  "Big game for a first shoot, eh, Bunny?"

  "Too big by half."

  "And you merely wish to have their letter—withdrawn, Mr. Levy?"

  "That's the way to put it."

  And the diamond stud sparkled again as it heaved upon the billows of an intestine chuckle.

  "Withdrawn—and nothing more?"

  "That'll be good enough for me, Mr. Raffles."

  "Even though they miss it the very next morning?"

  "Let them miss it."

  Raffles joined his finger-tips judicially, and shook his head in serene dissent.

  "It would do you more harm than good, Mr. Levy. I should be inclined to go one better—if I went into the thing at all," he added, with so much point that I was thankful to think he was beginning to decide against it.

  "What improvement do you suggest?" inquired Dan Levy, who had evidently no such premonition.

  "I should take a sheet of your paper with me, and forge the forgery!" said Raffles, a light in his eye and a gusto in his voice that I knew only too well. "But I shouldn't do my work as perfectly as—the other cove—did his. My effort would look the same as yours—his—until Mr. Attorney fixed it with his eyeglass in open court. And then the bottom would be out of the defence in five minutes!"

  Dan Levy came straight over to Raffles—quivering like a jelly—beaming at every pore.

  "Shake!" he cried. "I always knew you were a man after my own heart, but I didn't know you were a man of genius until this minute."

  "It's no use my shaking," replied Raffles, the tips of his sensitive fingers still together, "until I make up my mind to take on the job. And I'm a very long way from doing that yet, Mr. Levy."

  I breathed again.

  "But you must, my dear friend, you simply must!" said Levy, in a new tone of pure persuasion. I was sorry he forgot to threaten instead. Perhaps it was not forgetfulness; perhaps he was beginning to know his Raffles as I knew mine; if so, I was sorrier still.

  "It's a case of quid pro quo," said Raffles calmly. "You can't expect me to break out into downright crime—however technical the actual offence—unless you make it worth my while."

  Levy became the man I wanted him to be again. "I fancy it's worth your while not to hear anything more about Carlsbad," said he, though still with less of the old manner than I could have wished.

  "What!" cried Raffles, "when you own yourself that you've no evidence against me there?"

  "Evidence is to be got that may mean five years to you; don't you make any mistake about that."

  "Whereas the evidence of this particular letter against yourself has, on your own showing, already been obtained! It's as you like, of course," added Raffles, getting up with a shrug. "But if the Old Bailey sees us both, Mr. Levy, I'll bac
k my chance against yours—and your sentence against mine!"

  Raffles helped himself to a drink, after a quizzical look at his guest, decanter in hand; the usurer snatched it from him and splashed out half a tumbler. Certainly he was beginning to know his Raffles perilously well.

  "There, damn you!" said he, blinking into an empty glass. "I trust you further than I'd trust any other young blood of your kidney; name your price, and you shall earn it if you can."

  "You may think it a rather long one, Mr. Levy."

  "Never mind; you say what you want."

  "Leave that money of yours on the mortgage with Mr. Garland; forgive him his other debt as you hope to be forgiven; and either that letter shall be in your hands, or I'll be in the hands of the police, before a week is up!"

  Spoken from man to man with equal austerity and resolution, yet in a voice persuasive and conciliatory rather than arbitrary or dictatorial, the mere form and manner of this quixotic undertaking thrilled all my fibres in defiance of its sense. It was like the blare of bugles in a dubious cause; one's blood responded before one's brain; and but for Raffles, little as his friends were to me, and much as I repudiated his sacrifices on their behalf, that very minute I might have led the first assault on their oppressor. In a sudden fury the savage had hurled his empty tumbler into the fireplace, and followed the crash with such a volley of abuse as I have seldom heard from human brute.

  "I'm surprised at you, Mr. Levy," said Raffles, contemptuously; "if we copied your tactics we should throw you through that open window!"

  And I stood by for my share in the deed.

  "Yes! I know it'd pay you to break my neck," retorted Levy. "You'd rather swing than do time, wouldn't you?"

  "And you prefer the other alternative," said Raffles, "to loosing your grip upon a man who's done you no harm whatever! In interest alone he's almost repaid all you lent him in the first instance; you've first-class security for the rest; yet you must ruin him to revenge yourself upon us. On us, mark you! It's against us you've got your grievance, not against old Garland or his son. You've lost sight of that fact. That little trick this morning was our doing entirely. Why don't you take it out of us? Why refuse a fair offer to spite people who have done you no harm?"

  "It's not a fair offer," growled Levy. "I made you the fair offer."

  But his rage had moderated; he was beginning to listen to Raffles and to reason, with however ill a grace. It was the very moment which Raffles was the very man to improve.

  "Mr. Levy," said he, "do you suppose I care whether you hold your tongue or not on a matter of mere suspicion, which you can't support by a grain of evidence? You lose a piece of jewellery abroad; you recover it intact; and after many days you get the bright idea that I'm the culprit because I happen to have been staying in your hotel at the time. It never occurred to you there or then, though you interviewed the gentleman face to face, as you were constantly interviewing me. But as soon as I borrow some money from you, here in London in the ordinary way, you say I must be the man who borrowed Mrs. Levy's necklace in that extraordinary way at Carlsbad! I should say it to the marines, Mr. Levy, if I were you; they're the only force that are likely to listen to you."

  "I do say it, all the same; and what's more you don't deny it. If you weren't the man you wouldn't be so ready for another game like it now."

  "Ready for it?" cried Raffles, more than ready for an undeniable point. "I'm always your man for a new sensation, Mr. Levy, and for years I've taken an academic interest in the very fine art of burglary; isn't that so, Bunny?"

  "I've often heard you say so," I replied without mishap.

  "In these piping times," continued Raffles, "it's about the one exciting and romantic career open to us. If it were not so infernally dishonest I should have half a mind to follow it myself. And here you come and put up a crib for me to crack in the best interests of equity and justice; not to enrich the wicked cracksman, but to restore his rightful property to the honest financier; a sort of teetotal felony—the very ginger-ale of crime! Is that a beverage to refuse—a chance to miss—a temptation to resist? Yet the risks are just as great as if it were a fine old fruity felony; you can't expect me to run them for nothing, or even for their own exciting sake. You know my terms, Mr. Levy; if you don't accept them, it's already two in the morning, and I should like to get to bed before it's light."

  "And if I did accept them?" said Levy, after a considerable pause.

  "The letter to which you attach such importance would most probably be in your possession by the beginning of next week."

  "And I should have to take my hands off a nice little property that has tumbled into them?"

  "Only for a time," said Raffles. "On the other hand, you would be permanently out of danger of figuring in the dock on a charge of blackmail. And you know your profession isn't popular in the courts, Mr. Levy; it's in nearly as bad odour as the crime of blackmail!"

  A singular docility had descended like a mantle upon Daniel Levy: no uncommon reaction in the case of very passionate men, and yet in this case ominous, sinister, and completely unconvincing so far as I personally was concerned. I longed to tell Raffles what I thought, to put him on his guard against his obvious superior in low cunning. But Raffles would not even catch my eye. And already he looked insanely pleased with himself and his apparent advantage.

  "Will you give me until to-morrow morning?" said Levy, taking up his hat.

  "If you mean the morning; by eleven I must be at Lord's."

  "Say ten o'clock in Jermyn Street?"

  "It's a strange bargain, Mr. Levy. I should prefer to clinch it out of earshot of your clerks."

  "Then I will come here."

  "I shall be ready for you at ten."

  "And alone?"

  There was a sidelong glance at me with the proviso.

  "You shall search the premises yourself and seal up all the doors."

  "Meanwhile," said Levy, putting on his hat, "I shall think about it, but that's all. I haven't agreed yet, Mr. Raffles; don't you make too sure that I ever shall. I shall think about it—but don't you make too sure."

  He was gone like a lamb, this wild beast of five minutes back. Raffles showed him out, and down into the courtyard, and out again into Piccadilly. There was no question but that he was gone for good; back came Raffles, rubbing his hands for joy.

  "A fine night, Bunny! A finer day to follow! But a nice, slow, wicket-keeper's wicket if ever Teddy had one in his life!"

  I came to my point with all vehemence.

  "Confound Teddy!" I cried from my heart. "I should have thought you had run risks enough for his sake as it was!"

  "How do you know it's for his sake—or anybody's?" asked Raffles, quite hotly. "Do you suppose I want to be beaten by a brute like Levy, Garlands or no Garlands? Besides, there's far less risk in what I mean to do than in what I've been doing; at all events it's in my line."

  "It's not in your line," I retorted, "to strike a bargain with a swine who won't dream of keeping his side."

  "I shall make him," said Raffles. "If he won't do what I want he shan't have what he wants."

  "But how could you trust him to keep his word?"

  "His word!" cried Raffles, in ironical echo. "We shall have to carry matters far beyond his word, of course; deeds, not words, Bunny, and the deeds properly prepared by solicitors and executed by Dan Levy before he lays a finger on his own blackmailing letter. You remember old Mother Hubbard in our house at school? He's a little solicitor somewhere in the City; he'll throw the whole thing into legal shape for us, and ask no questions and tell no tales. You leave Mr. Shylock to me and Mother, and we'll bring him up to the scratch as he ought to go."

  There was no arguing with Raffles in such a mood; argue I did, but he paid no attention to what I said. He had unlocked a drawer in the bureau, and taken out a map that I had never seen before. I looked over his shoulder as he spread it out in the light of his reading-lamp. And it was a map of London capriciously sprinkled with wheels
and asterisks of red ink; there was a finished wheel in Bond Street, another in Half-Moon Street, one on the site of Thornaby House, Park Lane, and others as remote as St. John's Wood and Peter Street, Campden Hill; the asterisks were fewer, and I have less reason to remember their latitude and longitude.

  "What's this, A.J.?" I asked. "It looks exactly like a war-map."

  "It is one, Bunny," said he; "it's the map of one man's war against the ordered forces of society. The spokes are only the scenes of future operations, but each finished wheel marks the field of some past engagement, in which you have usually been the one man's one and only accomplice."

  And he stooped and drew the neatest of blood-red asterisks at the southern extremity of Gray's Inn Square.

  X. "My Raffles Right or Wrong"

  The historic sward had just been cleared for action when Raffles and I met at Lord's next day. I blush to own I had been knave and fool enough to suggest that he should smuggle me into the pavilion; but perhaps the only laws of man that Raffles really respected were those of the M.C.C., and it was in Block B. that he joined me a minute or so before eleven. The sun was as strong and the sky as blue as though the disastrous day before had been just such another. But its tropical shower-bath had left the London air as cleanly and as clear as crystal; the neutral tints of every day were splashes of vivid colour, the waiting umpires animated snow-men, the heap of sawdust at either end a pyramid of powdered gold upon an emerald ground. And in the expectant hush before the appearance of the fielding side, I still recall the Yorkshire accent of the Surrey Poet, hawking his latest lyric on some "Great Stand by Mr. Webbe and Mr. Stoddart," and incidentally assuring the crowd that Cambridge was going to win because everybody said Oxford would.

  "Just in time," said Raffles, as he sat down and the Cambridge men emerged from the pavilion, capped and sashed in varying shades of light blue. The captain's colours were bleached by service; but the wicket-keeper's were the newest and the bluest of the lot, and as a male historian I shrink from saying how well they suited him.