The Raffles Megapack

by E. W. Hornung

“All right! You get out of it and save your skin. I’d rather work alone than with a blessed funk!”

  The situation was identical with many a one in the past between Raffles and me. The poor brute in my part resented the charge against his courage as warmly as I had always done. He was merely for the better part of valour, and how right he was Raffles and I only knew. I hoped the lesson was not lost upon Raffles. Dialogue and action alike resembled one of our own performances far more than ordinary police methods as we knew them. We heard the squeeze of the leader’s clothes and the rattle of his buttons over the window ledge. “It’s like old times,” we heard him mutter; and before many moments the weakling was impulsively whispering down to know if he should follow.

  I felt for that fellow at every stage of his unwilling proceedings. I was to feel for him still more. Raffles had stepped down like a cat from behind our cover; grasping an angle of the stack with either hand, I put my head round after him. The wretched player of my old part was on his haunches at the window, stooping forward, more in than out. I saw Raffles grinning in the starlight, saw his foot poised and the other poor devil disappear. Then a dull bump, then a double crash and such a cursing as left no doubt that the second fellow had fallen plumb on top of the first. Also from his language I fancied he would survive the fall.

  But Raffles took no peep at his handiwork; hardly had the rope whipped out at my feet than he had untied the other end.

  “Like lamplighters, Bunny!”

  And back we went helter-skelter along the valleys of lead and over the hills of tile…. The noise in the kitchen died away as we put a roof or two between us and that of Burroughs and Burroughs.

  “This is where I came out,” I called to Raffles as he passed the place. “There’s a ladder here where I left it in the loft!”

  “No time for ladders!” cried Raffles over his shoulder, and not for some moments did he stop in his stride. Nor was it I who stopped him then; it was a sudden hubbub somewhere behind us, somewhere below; the blowing of a police whistle, and the sound of many footsteps in the square.

  “That’s for us!” I gasped. “The ladder! The ladder!”

  “Ladder be damned!” returned Raffles, roughly. “It isn’t for us at all; it’s my pal the V.C. who has come home and bottled the other blighters.”

  “Thinking they’re thieves?”

  “Thinking any rot you like! Our course is over the rest of the roofs on this side, over the whole lot at the top end, and, if possible, down the last staircase in the corner. Then we only have to show ourselves in the square for a tick before we’re out by way of Verulam Buildings.”

  “Is there another gate there?” I asked as he scampered on with me after him.

  “Yes; but it’s closed and the porter leaves at twelve, and it must be jolly near that now. Wait, Bunny! Some one or other is sure to be looking out of the top windows across the square; they’ll see us if we take our fences too freely!”

  We had come to one of the transverse tile-slopes, which hitherto we had run boldly up and down in our helpful and noiseless rubber soles; now, not to show ourselves against the stars, to a stray pair of eyes on some other high level, we crept up on all fours and rolled over at full length. It added considerably to our time over more than a whole side of the square. Meanwhile the police whistles had stopped, but the company in the square had swollen audibly.

  It seemed an age, but I suppose it was not many minutes, before we came to the last of the dormer windows, looking into the last vale of tiles in the north-east angle of the square. Something gleamed in the starlight, there was a sharp little sound of splitting wood, and Raffles led me on hands and knees into just such a loft as I had entered before by ladder. His electric torch discovered the trapdoor at a gleam. Raffles opened it and let down the rope, only to whisk it up again so smartly that it struck my face like a whiplash.

  A door had opened on the top landing. We listened over the open trap-door, and knew that another stood listening on the invisible threshold underneath; then we saw him running downstairs, and my heart leapt for he never once looked up. I can see him still, foreshortened by our bird’s-eye view into a Turkish fez and a fringe of white hair and red neck, a billow of dressing-gown, and bare heels peeping out of bedroom slippers at every step that we could follow; but no face all the way down, because he was a bent old boy who never looked like looking up.

  Raffles threw his rope aside, gave me his hand instead, and dropped me on the landing like a feather, dropping after me without a moment’s pause. In fact, the old fellow with the fez could hardly have completed his descent of the stairs when we began ours. Yet through the landing window we saw him charging diagonally across the square, shouting and gesticulating in his flight to the gathering crowd near the far corner.

  “He spotted us, Bunny!” exclaimed Raffles, after listening an instant in the entrance. “Stick to me like my shadow, and do every blessed thing I do.”

  Out he dived, I after him, and round to the left with the speed of lightning, but apparently not without the lightning’s attribute of attracting attention to itself. There was a hullabaloo across the square behind us, and I looked round to see the crowd there breaking in our direction, as I rushed after Raffles under an arch and up the alley in front of Verulam Buildings.

  It was striking midnight as we made our sprint along this alley, and at the far end the porter was preparing to depart, but he waited to let us through the gate into Gray’s Inn Road, and not until he had done so can the hounds have entered the straight. We did not hear them till the gate had clanged behind us, nor had it opened again before we were high and dry in a hansom.

  “King’s Cross!” roared Raffles for all the street to hear; but before we reached Clerkenwell Road he said he meant Waterloo, and round we went to the right along the tram-lines. I was too breathless to ask questions, and Raffles offered no explanations until he had lit a Sullivan. “That little bit of wrong way may lose us our train,” he said as he puffed the first cloud. “But it’ll shoot the whole field to King’s Cross as sure as scent is scent; and if we do catch our train, Bunny, we shall have it to ourselves as far as this pack is concerned. Hurrah! Blackfriar’s Bridge and a good five minutes to go!”

  “You’re going straight down to Levy’s with the letter?”

  “Yes; that’s why I wanted you to meet me under the clock at twelve.”

  “But why in tennis-shoes?” I asked, recalling the injunctions in his note, and the meaning that I had naturally read into them.

  “I thought we might possibly finish the night on the river,” replied Raffles, darkly. “I think so still.”

  “And I thought you meant me to lend you a hand in Gray’s Inn!”

  Raffles laughed.

  “The less you think, my dear old Bunny, the better it always is! Tonight, for example, you have performed prodigies on my account; your unselfish audacity has only been equalled by your resource; but, my dear fellow, it was a sadly unnecessary effort.”

  “Unnecessary to tell you those brutes were waiting for you down below?”

  “Quite, Bunny. I saw one of them and let him see me. I knew he’d send off for his pal.”

  “Then I don’t understand your tactics or theirs.”

  “Mine were to walk out the very way we did, you and I. They would never have seen me from the opposite corner of the square, or dreamt of going in after me if they hadn’t spotted your getting in before them to put me on my guard. The place would have been left exactly as I found it, and those two numskulls as much in the lurch as I left them last week outside the Albany.”

  “Perhaps they were beginning to fear that,” said I, “and meant ferreting for you in any case if you didn’t show up.”

  “Not they,” said Raffles. “One of them was against it as it was; it wasn’t their job at all.”

  “Not to take you in the act if they could?”

  “No; their job was to take the letter from me as soon as I got back to earth. That was all. I happen to kno
w. Those were their instructions from old Levy.”

  “Levy!”

  “Did it never occur to you that I was being dogged by his creatures?”

  “His creatures, Raffles?”

  “He set them to shadow me from the hour of our interview on Saturday morning. Their instructions were to bag the letter from me as soon as I got it, but to let me go free to the devil!”

  “How can you know, A.J.?”

  “My dear Bunny, where do you suppose I’ve been spending the week-end? Did you think I’d go in with a sly dog like old Shylock without watching him and finding out his real game? I should have thought it hardly necessary to tell you I’ve been down the river all the time; down the river,” added Raffles, chuckling, “in a Canadian canoe and a torpedo beard! I was cruising near the foot of the old brute’s garden on Friday evening when one of the precious pair came down to tell him they had let me slip already. I landed and heard the whole thing through the window of the room where we shall find him tonight. It was Levy who set them to watch the crib since they’d lost the cracksman; he was good enough to reiterate all his orders for my benefit. You will hear me take him through them when we get down there, so it’s no use going over the same ground twice.”

  “Funny orders for a couple of Scotland Yard detectives!” was my puzzled comment as Raffles produced an inordinate cab-fare.

  “Scotland Yard?” said he. “My good Bunny, those were no limbs of the law; they’re old thieves set to catch a thief, and they’ve been caught themselves for their pains!”

  Of course they were! Every detail of their appearance and their behaviour confirmed the statement in the flash that brought them all before my mind! And I had never thought of it, never but dreamt that we were doing battle with the archenemies of our class. But there was no time for further reflection, nor had I recovered breath enough for another word, when the hansom clattered up the cobbles into Waterloo Station. And our last sprint of that athletic night ended in a simultaneous leap into separate carriages as the platform slid away from the 12:10 train.

  CHAPTER XIII

  Knocked Out

  But it was hardly likely to be the last excitement of the night, as I saw for myself before Raffles joined me at Vauxhall. An arch-traitor like Daniel Levy might at least be trusted to play the game out with loaded dice; no single sportsman could compete against his callous machinations; and that was obviously where I was coming in. I only wished I had not come in before! I saw now the harm that I had done by my rash proceedings in Gray’s Inn, the extra risk entailed already and a worse one still impending. If the wretches who had shadowed him were really Levy’s mercenaries, and if they really had been taken in their own trap, their first measure of self-defence would be the denunciation of Raffles to the real police. Such at least was my idea, and Raffles himself made light enough of it; he thought they could not expose him without dragging in Levy, who had probably made it worth their while not to do that on any consideration. His magnanimity in the matter, which he flatly refused to take as seriously as I did, made it difficult for me to press old Raffles, as I otherwise might have done, for an outline of those further plans in which I hoped to atone for my blunders by being of some use to him after all. His nonchalant manner convinced me that they were cut-and-dried; but I was left perhaps deservedly in the dark as to the details. I merely gathered that he had brought down some document for Levy to sign in execution of the verbal agreement made between them in town; not until that agreement was completed by his signature was the harpy to receive the precious epistle he pretended never to have written. Raffles, in fine, had the air of a man who has the game in his hands, who is none the less prepared for foul play on the other side, and by no means perturbed at the prospect.

  We left the train at a sweet-smelling platform, on which the lights were being extinguished as we turned into a quiet road where bats flew over our heads between the lamp-posts, and a policeman was passing a disc of light over a jerry-built abuse of the name of Queen Anne. Our way led through quieter roads of larger houses standing further back, until at last we came to the enemy’s gates. They were wooden gates without a lodge, yet the house set well beyond them, on the river’s brim, was a mansion of considerable size and still greater peculiarity. It was really two houses, large and small, connected by a spine of white posts and joists and glimmering glass. In the more substantial building no lights were to be seen from the gates, but in the annex a large French window made a lighted square at right angles with the river and the road. We had set foot in the gravel drive; with a long line of poplars down one side, and on the other a wide lawn dotted with cedars and small shrubs, when Raffles strode among these with a smothered exclamation, and a wild figure started from the ground.

  “What are you doing here?” demanded Raffles, with all the righteous austerity of a law-abiding citizen.

  “Nutting, sare!” replied an alien tongue, a gleam of good teeth in the shadow of his great soft hat. “I been see Mistare Le-vie in ze ’ouse, on ze beezness, shentlemen.”

  “Seen him, have you? Then if I were you I should make a decent departure,” said Raffles, “by the gate—” to which he pointed with increased severity of tone and bearing.

  The weird figure uncovered a shaggy head of hair, made us a grotesque bow with his right hand melodramatically buried in the folds of a voluminous cape, and stalked off in the starlight with much dignity. But we heard him running in the road before the gate had clicked behind him.

  “Isn’t that the fellow we saw in Jermyn Street last Thursday?” I asked Raffles in a whisper.

  “That’s the chap,” he whispered back. “I wonder if he spotted us, Bunny? Levy’s treated him scandalously, of course; it all came out in a torrent the other morning. I only hope he hasn’t been serving Dan Levy as Jack Rutter served old Baird! I could swear that was a weapon of sorts he’d got under his cloak.”

  And as we stood together under the stars, listening to the last of the runaway footfalls, I recalled the killing of another and a less notorious usurer by a man we both knew, and had even helped to shield from the consequences of his crime. Yet the memory of our terrible discovery on that occasion had not the effect of making me shrink from such another now; nor could I echo the hope of Raffles in my heart of hearts. If Dan Levy also had come to a bad end—well, it was no more than he deserved, if only for his treachery to Raffles, and, at any rate, it would put a stop to our plunging from bad to worse in an adventure of which the sequel might well be worst of all. I do not say that I was wicked enough absolutely to desire the death of this sinner for our benefit; but I saw the benefit at least as plainly as the awful possibility, and it was not with unalloyed relief that I beheld a great figure stride through the lighted windows at our nearer approach.

  Though his back was to the light before I saw his face, and the whole man might have been hacked out of ebony, it was every inch the living Levy who stood peering in our direction, one hand hollowed at an ear, the other shading both eyes.

  “Is that you, boys?” he croaked in sepulchral salute.

  “It depends which boys you mean,” replied Raffles, marching into the zone of light. “There are so many of us about tonight!”

  Levy’s arms dropped at his sides, and I heard him mutter “Raffles!” with a malediction. Next moment he was inquiring whether we had come down alone, yet peering past us into the velvet night for his answer.

  “I brought our friend Bunny,” said Raffles, “but that’s all.”

  “Then what do you mean by saying there are so many of you about?”

  “I was thinking of the gentleman who was here just before us.”

  “Here just before you? Why, I haven’t seen a soul since my ’ousehold went to bed.”

  “But we met the fellow just this minute within your gates: a little foreign devil with a head like a mop and the cloak of an operatic conspirator.”

  “That beggar!” cried Levy, flying into a high state of excitement on the spot. “That blessed little beg
gar on my tracks down here! I’ve ’ad him thrown out of the office in Jermyn Street; he’s threatened me by letter and telegram; so now he thinks he’ll come and try it on in person down ’ere. Seen me, eh? I wish I’d seen ’im! I’m ready for biters like that, gentlemen. I’m not to be caught on the ’op down here!”

  And a plated revolver twinkled and flashed in the electric light as Levy drew it from his hip pocket and flourished it in our faces; he would have gone prowling through the grounds with it if Raffles had not assured him that the foreign foe had fled on our arrival. As it was the pistol was not put back in his pocket when Levy at length conducted us indoors; he placed it on an occasional table beside the glass that he drained on entering; and forthwith set his back to a fire which seemed in keeping with the advanced hour, and doubly welcome in an apartment so vast that the billiard table was a mere item at one end, and sundry trophies of travel and the chase a far more striking and unforeseen feature.

  “Why, that’s a better grisly than the one at Lord’s!” exclaimed Raffles, pausing to admire a glorious fellow near the door, while I mixed myself the drink he had declined.

  “Yes,” said Levy, “the man that shot all this lot used to go about saying he’d shoot me at one time; but I need ’ardly tell you he gave it up as a bad job, and went an’ did what some folks call a worse instead. He didn’t get much show ’ere, I can tell you; that little foreign snipe won’t either, nor yet any other carrion that think they want my blood. I’d empty this shooter o’ mine into their in’ards as soon as look at ’em, I don’t give a curse who they are! Just as well I wasn’t brought up to your profession, eh, Raffles?”

  “I don’t quite follow you, Mr. Levy.”

  “Oh yes you do!” said the money-lender, with his gastric chuckle. “How’ve you got on with that little bit o’ burgling?”

  And I saw him screw up his bright eyes, and glance through the open windows into the outer darkness, as though there was still a hope in his mind that we had not come down alone. I formed the impression that Levy had returned by a fairly late train himself, for he was in morning dress, in dusty boots, and there was an abundant supply of sandwiches on the table with the drinks. But he seemed to have confined his own attentions to the bottle, and I liked to think that the sandwiches had been cut for the two emissaries for whom he was welcome to look out for all night.