A Thief in the Night - E. W. Hornung (phonics reader .TXT) 📗

“No, Bunny. I was just able to make that for myself. I am playing at Robinson Crusoe, not The Swiss Family Robinson. And now, my dear Friday, if you will kindly take off those boots, we can explore the island before we turn in for the night.”

The stairs were very steep and narrow, and they creaked alarmingly as Raffles led the way up, with the single candle in the crown of the colonel’s hat. He blew it out before we reached the half-landing, where a naked window stared upon the backs of the houses in the next road, but lit it again at the drawing-room door. I just peeped in upon a semi-grand swathed in white and a row of water colors mounted in gold. An excellent bathroom broke our journey to the second floor.

“I’ll have one tonight,” said I, taking heart of a luxury unknown in my last sordid sanctuary.

“You’ll do no such thing,” snapped Raffles. “Have the goodness to remember that our island is one of a group inhabited by hostile tribes. You can fill the bath quietly if you try, but it empties under the study window, and makes the very devil of a noise about it. No, Bunny, I bale out every drop and pour it away through the scullery sink, so you will kindly consult me before you turn a tap. Here’s your room; hold the light outside while I draw the curtains; it’s the old chap’s dressing-room. Now you can bring the glim. How’s that for a jolly wardrobe? And look at his coats on their cross-trees inside: dapper old dog, shouldn’t you say? Mark the boots on the shelf above, and the little brass rail for his ties! Didn’t I tell you he was particular? And wouldn’t he simply love to catch us at his kit?”

“Let’s only hope it would give him an apoplexy,” said I shuddering.

“I shouldn’t build on it,” replied Raffles. “That’s a big man’s trouble, and neither you nor I could get into the old chap’s clothes. But come into the best bedroom, Bunny. You won’t think me selfish if I don’t give it up to you? Look at this, my boy, look at this! It’s the only one I use in all the house.”

I had followed him into a good room, with ample windows closely curtained, and he had switched on the light in a hanging lamp at the bedside. The rays fell from a thick green funnel in a plateful of strong light upon a table deep in books. I noticed several volumes of the Invasion of the Crimea.

“That’s where I rest the body and exercise the brain,” said Raffles. “I have long wanted to read my Kinglake from A to Z, and I manage about a volume a night. There’s a style for you, Bunny! I love the punctilious thoroughness of the whole thing; one can understand its appeal to our careful colonel. His name, did you say? Crutchley, Bunny⁠—Colonel Crutchley, R.E., V.C.”

“We’d put his valor to the test!” said I, feeling more valiant myself after our tour of inspection.

“Not so loud on the stairs,” whispered Raffles. “There’s only one door between us and⁠—”

Raffles stood still at my feet, and well he might! A deafening double knock had resounded through the empty house; and to add to the utter horror of the moment, Raffles instantly blew out the light. I heard my heart pounding. Neither of us breathed. We were on our way down to the first landing, and for a moment we stood like mice; then Raffles heaved a deep sigh, and in the depths I heard the gate swing home.

“Only the postman, Bunny! He will come now and again, though they have obviously left instructions at the post-office. I hope the old colonel will let them have it when he gets back. I confess it gave me a turn.”

“Turn!” I gasped. “I must have a drink, if I die for it.”

“My dear Bunny, that’s no part of my Rest Cure.”

“Then goodbye! I can’t stand it; feel my forehead; listen to my heart! Crusoe found a footprint, but he never heard a double-knock at the street door!”

“ ‘Better live in the midst of alarms,’ ” quoted Raffles, “ ‘than dwell in this horrible place.’ I must confess we get it both ways, Bunny. Yet I’ve nothing but tea in the house.”

“And where do you make that? Aren’t you afraid of smoke?”

“There’s a gas-stove in the dining-room.”

“But surely to goodness,” I cried, “there’s a cellar lower down!”

“My dear, good Bunny,” said Raffles, “I’ve told you already that I didn’t come in here on business. I came in for the Cure. Not a penny will these people be the worse, except for their washing and their electric light, and I mean to leave enough to cover both items.”

“Then,” said I, “since Brutus is such a very honorable man, we will borrow a bottle from the cellar, and replace it before we go.”

Raffles slapped me softly on the back, and I knew that I had gained my point. It was often the case when I had the presence of heart and mind to stand up to him. But never was little victory of mine quite so grateful as this. Certainly it was a very small cellar, indeed a mere cupboard under the kitchen stairs, with a most ridiculous lock. Nor was this cupboard overstocked with wine. But I made out a jar of whiskey, a shelf of Zeltinger, another of claret, and a short one at the top which presented a little battery of golden-leafed necks and corks. Raffles set his hand no lower. He examined the labels while I held folded hat and naked light.

“Mumm, ’84!” he whispered. “G. H. Mumm, and AD 1884! I am no wine-bibber, Bunny, as you know, but I hope you appreciate the specifications as I do. It looks to me like the only bottle, the last of its case, and