E. W. Hornung_A J Raffles 02 Read Online Free

would
be invidious to single out any one dish; but the Jambon de
Westphalie au Champagne tempts me sorely. And then the champagne
that we drank, not the quantity but the quality! Well, it was
Pol Roger, '84, and quite good enough for me; but even so it was
not more dry, nor did it sparkle more, than the merry rascal
who had dragged me thus far to the devil, but should lead me
dancing the rest of the way. I was beginning to tell him so. I
had done my honest best since my reappearance in the world; but
the world had done its worst by me. A further antithesis and my
final intention were both upon my tongue when the waiter with
the Chateau Margaux cut me short; for he was the bearer of more
than that great wine; bringing also a card upon a silver tray.
    "Show him up," said Raffles, laconically.
    "And who is this?" I cried when the man was gone. Raffles
reached across the table and gripped my arm in a vice. His eyes
were steel points fixed on mine.
    "Bunny, stand by me," said he in the old irresistible voice, a
voice both stern and winning. "Stand by me, Bunny—if there's a
row!"
    And there was time for nothing more, the door flying open, and a
dapper person entering with a bow; a frock-coat on his back,
gold pince-nez on his nose; a shiny hat in one hand, and a black
bag in the other.
    "Good-evening, gentlemen," said he, at home and smiling.
    "Sit down," drawled Raffles in casual response. "Say, let me
introduce you to Mr. Ezra B. Martin, of Shicawgo. Mr. Martin is
my future brother-in-law. This is Mr. Robinson, Ezra, manager to
Sparks & Company, the cellerbrated joolers on Re-gent Street."
    I pricked up my ears, but contented myself with a nod. I
altogether distrusted my ability to live up to my new name and
address.
    "I figured on Miss Martin bein' right here, too," continued
Raffles, "but I regret to say she's not feelin' so good. We
light out for Parrus on the 9 A. M. train to-morrer mornin', and
she guessed she'd be too dead. Sorry to disappoint you, Mr.
Robinson; but you'll see I'm advertisin' your wares."
    Raffles held his right hand under the electric light, and a
diamond ring flashed upon his little finger. I could have sworn
it was not there five minutes before.
    The tradesman had a disappointed face, but for a moment it
brightened as he expatiated on the value of that ring and on the
price his people had accepted for it. I was invited to guess the
figure, but I shook a discreet head. I have seldom been more
taciturn in my life.
    "Forty-five pounds," cried the jeweller; "and it would be cheap
at fifty guineas."
    "That's right," assented Raffles. "That'd be dead cheap, I
allow. But then, my boy, you gotten ready cash, and don't you
forget it."
    I do not dwell upon my own mystification in all this. I merely
pause to state that I was keenly enjoying that very element.
Nothing could have been more typical of Raffles and the past.
It was only my own attitude that was changed.
    It appeared that the mythical lady, my sister, had just become
engaged to Raffles, who seemed all anxiety to pin her down with
gifts of price. I could not quite gather whose gift to whom was
the diamond ring; but it had evidently been paid for; and I
voyaged to the moon, wondering when and how. I was recalled to
this planet by a deluge of gems from the jeweller's bag. They
lay alight in their cases like the electric lamps above. We all
three put our heads together over them, myself without the
slightest clew as to what was coming, but not unprepared for
violent crime. One does not do eighteen months for nothing.
    "Right away," Raffles was saying. "We'll choose for her, and
you'll change anything she don't like. Is that the idea?"
    "That was my suggestion, sir."
    "Then come on, Ezra. I guess you know Sadie's taste. You help
me choose."
    And we chose—lord! What did we not choose? There was her ring,
a diamond half-hoop. It cost £95, and there was no attempt to
get it for £90. Then there was a diamond necklet—two hundred
guineas, but pounds