The Amateur Cracksman - E. W. Hornung (best ebook reader for pc txt) 📗

of the escape, with just the addition which puts the thing on a higher level. ‘The fugitive has been traced to Totnes, where he appears to have committed a peculiarly daring outrage in the early hours of this morning. He is reported to have entered the lodgings of the Rev. A. H. Ellingworth, curate of the parish, who missed his clothes on rising at the usual hour; later in the morning those of the convict were discovered neatly folded at the bottom of a drawer. Meanwhile Crawshay had made good his second escape, though it is believed that so distinctive a guise will lead to his recapture during the day.’ What do you think of that, Bunny?”

“He is certainly a sportsman,” said I, reaching for the paper.

“He’s more,” said Raffles, “he’s an artist, and I envy him. The curate, of all men! Beautiful⁠—beautiful! But that’s not all. I saw just now on the board at the club that there’s been an outrage on the line near Dawlish. Parson found insensible in the six-foot way. Our friend again! The telegram doesn’t say so, but it’s obvious; he’s simply knocked some other fellow out, changed clothes again, and come on gayly to town. Isn’t it great? I do believe it’s the best thing of the kind that’s ever been done!”

“But why should he come to town?”

In an instant the enthusiasm faded from Raffles’s face; clearly I had reminded him of some prime anxiety, forgotten in his impersonal joy over the exploit of a fellow-criminal. He looked over his shoulder towards the lobby before replying.

“I believe,” said he, “that the beggar’s on my tracks!”

And as he spoke he was himself again⁠—quietly amused⁠—cynically unperturbed⁠—characteristically enjoying the situation and my surprise.

“But look here, what do you mean?” said I. “What does Crawshay know about you?”

“Not much; but he suspects.”

“Why should he?”

“Because, in his way he’s very nearly as good a man as I am; because, my dear Bunny, with eyes in his head and brains behind them, he couldn’t help suspecting. He saw me once in town with old Baird. He must have seen me that day in the pub on the way to Milchester, as well as afterwards on the cricket-field. As a matter of fact, I know he did, for he wrote and told me so before his trial.”

“He wrote to you! And you never told me!”

The old shrug answered the old grievance.

“What was the good, my dear fellow? It would only have worried you.”

“Well, what did he say?”

“That he was sorry he had been run in before getting back to town, as he had proposed doing himself the honor of paying me a call; however, he trusted it was only a pleasure deferred, and he begged me not to go and get lagged myself before he came out. Of course he knew the Melrose necklace was gone, though he hadn’t got it; and he said that the man who could take that and leave the rest was a man after his own heart. And so on, with certain little proposals for the far future, which I fear may be the very near future indeed! I’m only surprised he hasn’t turned up yet.”

He looked again towards the lobby, which he had left in darkness, with the inner door shut as carefully as the outer one. I asked him what he meant to do.

“Let him knock⁠—if he gets so far. The porter is to say I’m out of town; it will be true, too, in another hour or so.”

“You’re going off tonight?”

“By the 7:15 from Liverpool Street. I don’t say much about my people, Bunny, but I have the best of sisters married to a country parson in the eastern counties. They always make me welcome, and let me read the lessons for the sake of getting me to church. I’m sorry you won’t be there to hear me on Sunday, Bunny. I’ve figured out some of my best schemes in that parish, and I know of no better port in a storm. But I must pack. I thought I’d just let you know where I was going, and why, in case you cared to follow my example.”

He flung the stump of his cigarette into the fire, stretched himself as he rose, and remained so long in the inelegant attitude that my eyes mounted from his body to his face; a second later they had followed his eyes across the room, and I also was on my legs. On the threshold of the folding doors that divided bedroom and sitting-room, a well-built man stood in ill-fitting broadcloth, and bowed to us until his bullet head presented an unbroken disk of short red hair.

Brief as was my survey of this astounding apparition, the interval was long enough for Raffles to recover his composure; his hands were in his pockets, and a smile upon his face, when my eyes flew back to him.

“Let me introduce you, Bunny,” said he, “to our distinguished colleague, Mr. Reginald Crawshay.”

The bullet head bobbed up, and there was a wrinkled brow above the coarse, shaven face, crimson also, I remember, from the grip of a collar several sizes too small. But I noted nothing consciously at the time. I had jumped to my own conclusion, and I turned on Raffles with an oath.

“It’s a trick!” I cried. “It’s another of your cursed tricks! You got him here, and then you got me. You want me to join you, I suppose? I’ll see you damned!”

So cold was the stare which met this outburst that I became ashamed of my words while they were yet upon my lips.

“Really, Bunny!” said Raffles, and turned his shoulder with a shrug.

“Lord love yer,” cried Crawshay, “ ’e knew nothin’. ’E didn’t expect me; ’e’s all right. And you’re the cool canary, you are,” he went on to Raffles. “I knoo you were, but, do me proud, you’re one after my own kidney!” And he thrust out a shaggy hand.

“After that,” said Raffles, taking it, “what