The Penguin Book of Gaslight Crime - Michael Sims [35]
I removed the handkerchief; I extracted the keys from his pocket. In less than five minutes I put them back, after winding the picture about my body beneath my Inverness cape. I took some whisky and soda-water before I went.
The train was easily caught—so easily that I trembled for ten minutes in my first-class smoking carriage, in terror of every footstep on the platform, in unreasonable terror till the end. Then at last I sat back and lit a cigarette, and the lights of Waterloo reeled out behind.
Some men were returning from the theatre. I can recall their conversation even now. They were disappointed with the piece they had seen. It was one of the late Savoy operas, and they spoke wistfully of the days of Pinafore and Patience. One of them hummed a stave, and there was an argument as to whether the air was out of Patience or the Mikado. They all got out at Surbiton, and I was alone with my triumph for a few intoxicating minutes. To think that I had succeeded where Raffles had failed! Of all our adventures, this was the first in which I had played a commanding part; and, of them all, this was infinitely the least discreditable. It left me without a conscientious qualm; I had but robbed a robber, when all was said. And I had done it myself, single-handed—ipse egomet!
I pictured Raffles, his surprise, his delight. He would think a little more of me in future. And that future, it should be different. We had two thousand pounds apiece—surely enough to start afresh as honest men—and all through me!
In a glow I sprang out at Esher, and took the one belated cab that was waiting under the bridge. In a perfect fever I beheld Broom Hall, with the lower storey still lit up, and saw the front door open as I climbed the steps.
“Thought it was you,” said Raffles cheerily. “It’s all right. There’s a bed for you. Sir Bernard’s sitting up to shake your hand.”
His good spirits disappointed me. But I knew the man—he was one of those who wear their brightest smile in the blackest hour. I knew him too well by this time to be deceived.
“I’ve got it!” I cried in his ear—“I’ve got it!”
“Got what?” he asked me, stepping back.
“The picture!”
“What?”
“The picture. He showed it me. You had to go without it; I saw that. So I determined to have it. And here it is.”
“Let’s see,” said Raffles grimly.
I threw off my cape and unwound the canvas from about my body. While I was doing so an untidy old gentleman made his appearance in the hall, and stood looking on with raised eyebrows.
“Looks pretty fresh for an Old Master, doesn’t it?” said Raffles.
His tone was strange. I could only suppose that he was jealous of my success.
“So Craggs said. I hardly looked at it myself.”
“Well, look now—look closely. By Jove, I must have faked it better than I thought!”
“It’s a copy!” I cried.
“It’s the copy,” he answered. It’s the copy I’ve been tearing all over the country to procure. It’s the copy I faked back and front, so that, on your own showing, it imposed upon Craggs, and might have made him happy for life. And you go and rob him of that!”
I could not speak.
“How did you manage it?” inquired Sir Bernard Debenham.
“Have you killed him?” asked Raffles sardonically.
I did not look at him; I turned to Sir Bernard Debenham, and to him I told my story, hoarsely, excitedly, for it was all that I could do to keep from breaking down. But as I spoke I became calmer, and I finished in mere bitterness, with the remark that another time Raffles might tell me what he meant to do.
“Another time!” he cried instantly. “My dear Bunny, you speak as though we were going to turn burglars for a living!”
“I trust you won’t,” said Sir Bernard, smiling, “for you are certainly two very daring young men. Let us hope our friend from Queensland will do as he said, and not open the case till he gets back there. He will find my cheque awaiting