The Raffles Megapack

by E. W. Hornung

  “’Appy to meet you, sir. I hope you’re well?” said Mr. Levy, dropping one aspirate but putting in the next with care. “Take a seat, sir, please.”

  But I kept my legs, though I felt them near to trembling, and, diving a hand into a breast pocket, I began working the contents out of the envelope that Raffles had given me, while I spoke out in a tone sufficiently rehearsed at the Albany overnight.

  “I’m not so sure about the happiness,” said I. “I mean about its lasting, Mr. Levy. I come from my friend, Mr. Edward Garland.”

  “I thought you came to borrow money!” interposed Raffles with much indignation. The moneylender was watching me with bright eyes and lips I could no longer see.

  “I never said so,” I rapped out at Raffles; and I thought I saw approval and encouragement behind his stare like truth at the bottom of the well.

  “Who is the little biter?” the money-lender inquired of him with delightful insolence.

  “An old friend of mine,” replied Raffles, in an injured tone that made a convincing end of the old friendship. “I thought he was hard up, or I never should have brought him in to introduce to you.”

  “I didn’t ask you for your introduction, Raffles,” said I offensively. “I simply met you coming out as I was coming in. I thought you damned officious, if you ask me!”

  Whereupon, with an Anglo-Saxon threat of subsequent violence to my person, Raffles flung open the door to leave us to our interview. This was exactly as it had been rehearsed. But Dan Levy called Raffles back. And that was exactly as we had hoped.

  “Gentlemen, gentlemen!” said the Jew. “Please don’t make a cockpit of my office, gentlemen; and pray, Mr. Raffles, don’t leave me to the mercies of your very dangerous friend.”

  “You can be two to one if you like,” I gasped valiantly. “I don’t care.”

  And my chest heaved in accordance with my stage instructions, as also with a realism to which it was a relief to give full play.

  “Come now,” said Levy. “What did Mr. Garland send you about?”

  “You know well enough,” said I: “his debt to you.”

  “Don’t be rude about it,” said Levy. “What about the debt?”

  “It’s a damned disgrace!” said I.

  “I quite agree,” he chuckled. “It ought to ’ave been settled months ago.”

  “Months ago?” I echoed. “It’s only twelve months since he borrowed three hundred pounds from you, and now you’re sticking him for seven!”

  “I am,” said Levy, opening uncompromising lips that entirely disappeared again next instant.

  “He borrows three hundred for a year at the outside, and you blackmail him for eight hundred when the year’s up.”

  “You said ‘seven’ just now,” interrupted Raffles, but in the voice of a man who was getting a fright.

  “You also said ‘blackmailing,’” added Dan Levy portentously. “Do you want to be thrown downstairs?”

  “Do you deny the figures?” I retorted.

  “No, I don’t; have you got his repayment cards?”

  “Yes, here in my hands, and they shan’t leave them. You see, you’re not aware,” I added severely, as I turned to Raffles, “that this young fellow has already paid up one hundred in instalments; that’s what makes the eight; and all this is what’ll happen to you if you’ve been fool enough to get into the same boat.”

  The money-lender had borne with me longer than either of us had expected that he would; but now he wheeled back his chair and stood up, a pillar of peril and a mouthful of oaths.

  “Is that all you’ve come to say?” he thundered. “If so, you young devil, out you go!”

  “No, it isn’t,” said I, spreading out a document attached to the cards of receipt which Raffles had obtained from Teddy Garland; these I had managed to extract without anything else from the inner pocket in which I had been trying to empty out Raffles’s envelope. “Here,” I continued, “is a letter, written only yesterday, by you to Mr. Garland, in which you say, among other very insolent things: ‘This is final, and absolutely no excuses of any kind will be tolerated or accepted. You have given ten times more trouble than your custom is worth, and I shall be glad to get rid of you. So you had better pay up before twelve o’clock tomorrow, as you may depend that the above threats will be carried out to the very letter, and steps will be taken to carry them into effect at that hour. This is your dead and last chance, and the last time I will write you on the subject.’”

  “So it is,” said Levy with an oath. “This is a very bad case, Mr. Raffles.”

  “I agree,” said I. “And may I ask if you propose to ‘get rid’ of Mr. Garland by making him ‘pay up’ in full?”

  “Before twelve o’clock today,” said Dan Levy, with a snap of his prize-fighting jaws.

  “Eight hundred, first and last, for the three hundred he borrowed a year ago?”

  “That’s it.”

  “Surely that’s very hard on the boy,” I said, reaching the conciliatory stage by degrees on which Raffles paid me many compliments later; but at the time he remarked, “I should say it was his own fault.”

  “Of course it is, Mr. Raffles,” cried the moneylender, taking a more conciliatory tone himself. “It was my money; it was my three ’undred golden sovereigns; and you can sell what’s yours for what it’ll fetch, can’t you?”

  “Obviously,” said Raffles.

  “Very well, then, money’s like anything else; if you haven’t got it, and can’t beg or earn it, you’ve got to buy it at a price. I sell my money, that’s all. And I’ve a right to sell it at a fancy price if I can get a fancy price for it. A man may be a fool to pay my figure; that depends ’ow much he wants the money at the time, and it’s his affair, not mine. Your gay young friend was all right if he hadn’t defaulted, but a defaulter deserves to pay through the nose, and be damned to him. It wasn’t me let your friend in; he let in himself, with his eyes open. Mr. Garland knew very well what I was charging him, and what I shouldn’t ’esitate to charge over and above if he gave me half a chance. Why should I? Wasn’t it in the bond? What do you all think I run my show for? It’s business, Mr. Raffles, not robbery, my dear sir. All business is robbery, if you come to that. But you’ll find mine is all above-board and in the bond.”

  “A very admirable exposition,” said Raffles weightily.

  “Not that it applies to you, Mr. Raffles,” the other was adroit enough to add. “Mr. Garland was no friend of mine, and he was a fool, whereas I hope I may say that you’re the one and not the other.”

  “Then it comes to this,” said I, “that you mean him to pay up in full this morning?”

  “By noon, and it’s just gone ten.”

  “The whole seven hundred pounds?”

  “Sterling,” said Mr. Levy “No cheques entertained.”

  “Then,” said I, with an air of final defeat, “there’s nothing for it but to follow my instructions and pay you now on the nail!”

  I did not look at Levy, but I heard the sudden intake of his breath at the sight of my bank-notes, and I felt its baleful exhalation on my forehead as I stooped and began counting them out upon his desk. I had made some progress before he addressed me in terms of protest. There was almost a tremor in his voice. I had no call to be so hasty; it looked as though I had been playing a game with him. Why couldn’t I tell him I had the money with me all the time? The question was asked with a sudden oath, because I had gone on counting it out regardless of his overtures. I took as little notice of his anger.

  “And now, Mr. Levy,” I concluded, “may I ask you to return me Mr. Garland’s promissory note?”

  “Yes, you may ask and you shall receive!” he snarled, and opened his safe so violently that the keys fell out. Raffles replaced them with exemplary promptitude while the note of hand was being found.

  The evil little document was in my possession at last. Levy roared down the tube, and the young man of the imperfect diction duly appeared.

  “Take th
at young biter,” cried Levy, “and throw him into the street. Call up Moses to lend you a ’and.”

  But the first murderer stood nonplussed, looking from Raffles to me, and finally inquiring which biter his master meant.

  “That one!” bellowed the money-lender, shaking a lethal fist at me. “Mr. Raffles is a friend o’ mine.”

  “But ’e’th a friend of ’ith too,” lisped the young man. “Thimeon Markth come acroth the thtreet to tell me tho. He thaw them thake handth outthide our plathe, after he’d theen ’em arm-in-arm in Piccadilly, ’an he come in to thay tho in cathe—”

  But the youth of limited articulation was not allowed to finish his explanation; he was grasped by the scruff of the neck and kicked and shaken out of the room, and his collar flung after him. I heard him blubbering on the stairs as Levy locked the door and put the key in his pocket. But I did not hear Raffles slip into the swivel chair behind the desk, or know that he had done so until the usurer and I turned round together.

  “Out of that!” blustered Levy.

  But Raffles tilted the chair back on its spring and laughed softly in his face.

  “Not if I know it,” said he. “If you don’t open the door in about one minute I shall require this telephone of yours to ring up the police.”

  “The police, eh?” said Levy, with a sinister recovery of self-control. “You’d better leave that to me, you precious pair of swindlers!”

  “Besides,” continued Raffles, “of course you keep an argumentum ad hominem in one of these drawers. Ah, here it is, and just as well in my hands as in yours!”

  He had opened the top drawer in the right-hand pedestal, and taken therefrom a big bulldog revolver; it was the work of few moments to empty its five chambers, and hand the pistol by its barrel to the owner.

  “Curse you!” hissed the latter, hurling it into the fender with a fearful clatter. “But you’ll pay for this, my fine gentlemen; this isn’t sharp practice, but criminal fraud.”

  “The burden of proof,” said Raffles, “lies with you. Meanwhile, will you be good enough to open that door instead of looking as sick as a cold mud-poultice?”

  The money-lender had, indeed, turned as grey as his hair; and his eyebrows, which were black and looked dyed, stood out like smears of ink. Nevertheless, the simile which Raffles had employed with his own unfortunate facility was more picturesque than discreet. I saw it set Mr. Shylock thinking. Luckily, the evil of the day was sufficient for it and him; but so far from complying, he set his back to the locked door and swore a sweet oath never to budge.

  “Oh, very well!” resumed Raffles, and the receiver was at his ear without more ado. “Is that the Exchange? Give me nine-two-double-three Gerrard, will you?”

  “It’s fraud,” reiterated Levy. “And you know it.”

  “It’s nothing of the sort, and you know it,” murmured Raffles, with the proper pre-occupation of the man at the telephone.

  “You lent the money,” I added. “That’s your business. It’s nothing to do with you what he chooses to do with it.”

  “He’s a cursed swindler,” hissed Levy. “And you’re his damned decoy!”

  I was not sorry to see Raffles’s face light up across the desk.

  “Is that Howson, Anstruther and Martin?—they’re only my solicitors, Mr. Levy…. Put me through to Mr. Martin, please…. That you, Charlie? … You might come in a cab to Jermyn Street—I forget the number—Dan Levy’s, the money-lender’s—thanks, old chap! … Wait a bit, Charlie—a constable….”

  But Dan Levy had unlocked his door and flung it open.

  “There you are, you scoundrels! But we’ll meet again, my fine swell-mobsmen!”

  Raffles was frowning at the telephone.

  “I’ve been cut off,” said he. “Wait a bit! Clear call for you, Mr. Levy, I believe!”

  And they changed places, without exchanging another word until Raffles and I were on the stairs.

  “Why, the ’phone’s not even through!” yelled the money-lender, rushing out.

  “But we are, Mr. Levy!” cried Raffles. And down we ran into the street.

  CHAPTER V

  Thin Air

  Raffles hailed a passing hansom, and had bundled me in before I realised that he was not coming with me.

  “Drive down to the club for Teddy’s cricket-bag,” said he; “we’ll make him get straight into flannels to save time. Order breakfast for three in half-an-hour precisely, and I’ll tell him everything before you’re back.”

  His eyes were shining with the prospect as I drove away, not sorry to escape the scene of that young man’s awakening to better fortune than he deserved. For in my heart I could not quite forgive the act in which Raffles and I had caught him overnight. Raffles might make as light of it as he pleased; it was impossible for another to take his affectionately lenient view, not of the moral question involved, but of the breach of faith between friend and friend. My own feeling in the matter, however, if a little jaundiced, was not so strong as to prevent me from gloating over the victory in which I had just assisted. I thought of the notorious extortioner who had fallen to our unscrupulous but not indictable wiles; and my heart tinkled with the hansom bell. I thought of the good that we had done for once, of the undoubted wrong we had contrived to right by a species of justifiable chicanery. And I forgot all about the youth whose battle we had fought and won, until I found myself ordering his breakfast, and having his cricket-bag taken out to my cab.

  Raffles was waiting for me in the Albany courtyard. I thought he was frowning at the sky, which was not what it had been earlier in the morning, until I remembered how little time there was to lose.

  “Haven’t you seen anything of him?” he cried as I jumped out.

  “Of whom, Raffles?”

  “Teddy, of course!”

  “Teddy Garland? Has he gone out?”

  “Before I got in,” said Raffles, grimly. “I wonder where the devil he is!”

  He had paid the cabman and taken down the bag himself. I followed him up to his rooms.

  “But what’s the meaning of it, Raffles?”

  “That’s what I want to know.”

  “Could he have gone out for a paper?”

  “They were all here before I went. I left them on his bed.”

  “Or for a shave?”

  “That’s more likely; but he’s been out nearly an hour.”

  “But you can’t have been gone much longer yourself, Raffles, and I understood you left him fast asleep?”

  “That’s the worst of it, Bunny. He must have been shamming. Barraclough saw him go out ten minutes after me.”

  “Could you have disturbed him when you went?”

  Raffles shook his head.

  “I never shut a door more carefully in my life. I made row enough when I came back, Bunny, on purpose to wake him up, and I can tell you it gave me a turn when there wasn’t a sound from in there! He’d shut all the doors after him; it was a second or two before I had the pluck to open them. I thought something horrible had happened!”

  “You don’t think so still?”

  “I don’t know what to think,” said Raffles, gloomily; “nothing has panned out as I thought it would. You must remember that we have given ourselves away to Dan Levy, whatever else we have done, and without doubt set up the enemy of our lives in the very next street. It’s close quarters, Bunny; we shall have an expert eye upon us for some time to come. But I should rather enjoy that than otherwise, if only Teddy hadn’t bolted in this rotten way.”

  Never had I known Raffles in so pessimistic a mood. I did not share his sombre view of either matter, though I confined my remarks to the one that seemed to weigh most heavily on his mind.

  “A guinea to a gooseberry,” I wagered, “that you find your man safe and sound at Lord’s.”

  “I rang them up ten minutes ago,” said Raffles. “They hadn’t heard of him then; besides, here’s his cricket-bag.”

  “He may have been at the club when I fetched it aw
ay—I never asked.”

  “I did, Bunny. I rang them up as well, just after you had left.”

  “Then what about his father’s house?”

  “That’s our one chance,” said Raffles. “They’re not on the telephone, but now that you’re here I’ve a good mind to drive out and see if Teddy’s there. You know what a state he was in last night, and you know how a thing can seem worse when you wake and remember it than it did at the time it happened. I begin to hope he’s gone straight to old Garland with the whole story; in that case he’s bound to come back for his kit; and by Jove, Bunny, there’s a step upon the stairs!”

  We had left the doors open behind us, and a step it was, ascending hastily enough to our floor. But it was not the step of a very young man, and Raffles was the first to recognise the fact; his face fell as we looked at each other for a single moment of suspense; in another he was out of the room, and I heard him greeting Mr. Garland on the landing.

  “Then you haven’t brought Teddy with you?” I heard Raffles add.

  “Do you mean to say he isn’t here?” replied so pleasant a voice—in accents of such acute dismay—that Mr. Garland had my sympathy before we met.

  “He has been,” said Raffles, “and I’m expecting him back every minute. Won’t you come in and wait, Mr. Garland?”

  The pleasant voice made an exclamation of premature relief; the pair entered, and I was introduced to the last person I should have suspected of being a retired brewer at all, much less of squandering his money in retirement as suggested by his son. I was prepared for a conventional embodiment of reckless prosperity, for a pseudo-military type in louder purple and finer linen than the real thing. I shook hands instead with a gentle, elderly man, whose kindly eyes beamed bravely amid careworn furrows, and whose slightly diffident yet wholly cordial address won my heart outright.