Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 48, No. 1, January 2003

A. J. Raffles: Ice Cold by John Hall

“Cold as Christmas, Bunny,” said A. J. Raffles with a shiver, turning away from the window of his flat in the Albany. He lit a cigarette, grimaced, and threw it into the fire, for it was very definitely not a Sullivan.

I passed him my cigarette case, which contained my last three specimens of the only brand. “Things are bound to get better,” I urged him, though truth to tell I had little enough confidence in my own words.

This was in those halcyon days before Raffles’s disgrace and my own imprisonment. Halcyon days? Well, we were at liberty, and under no suspicion so far as we knew, but when you had said that you had said everything. The last few months had been a succession of dull days, enlivened by the occasional disaster. My attempts at writing were selling but fitfully, and Raffles, thanks to my timidity, had not “worked” at his alternative profession for almost half a year. In summer, of course, things had been different; there had been invitations, in which I was included, and life had been relatively easy. In winter, with no cricket, and consequently no invitations — well, matters were getting desperate, and I feared that Raffles would be embroiling me in one of his schemes before too long.

“Did you contact the detective story editor you were chasing?” he asked me. “The man at Criminal Days, or whatever it’s called?”

“Oh, him! He did a bunk. Must have taken his stories too much to heart. Owed his tailor thousands, and his wine merchant even more, so there seems little prospect of my getting my miserable five guineas.”

“I see.” Raffles looked sidelong at me. “Look here, my Bunny, it is an axiom that desperate times call for desperate measures.”

“Raffles—”

“Meet me here tomorrow and we’ll have lunch and talk things over.” And with that he ushered me out, deaf to all my bleats of protest.

What could I do? Raffles was right, of course, desperate action was called for, and that meant only one thing, but for all that I cursed Raffles bitterly in my mind as I walked home through the damp, foggy streets. It was a week before Christmas, but there was little enough prospect of any cheer or goodwill for us, unless we returned to our lawless ways. I had not even the wherewithal to buy a decent Christmas lunch for myself, let alone a present for Raffles.

I was at the Albany the following day, and Raffles greeted me with a rueful look on his face. “I tried to ring you, but your telephone isn’t working,” said he.

“Cut off by the Exchange,” I answered shortly.

“I see. Can I break our appointment?” were his next words.

“Oh, by all means. But why?”

For answer, he waved a note at me. “I have been asked to lunch, Bunny, and I’m afraid the invitation does not include you this time.”

“One can hardly expect every invitation to include me, Raffles. Anyone I know, though?” I added, curious.

“You’ll know the name, if not the man. H. H. B. Morgan.”

“Good Lord!” I did indeed know the name. H. H. B., or Henry Harrington Barrington Morgan, to give him his full and splendid title, was no relation to the American financial dynasty of the same name, although in his early days he had never bothered to correct the frequently made assumption that he was, an assumption which doubtless did him no harm. There were those who thought that his name was assumed, deliberately chosen to have echoes of that other Henry Morgan who made himself rather a nuisance on the Spanish Main. Certainly H. H. B. had a piratical reputation in financial circles. No one quite knew how he had arrived on the London stage, or where his money came from in the early days — gold and diamonds had been hinted at, though the traders in South African shares denied any knowledge of him — but everyone knew that he now had a controlling interest in the Megalithic Investment Trust Company. He had been the darling of the city a couple of years ago, although his star was now shining a little less brightly than it had once shone. His reputation for adroitness had become a reputation for ruthlessness, and in fact there were one or two rumours circulating which came under the heading “libellous.” A friend of mine with some connections in the Square Mile had shown me the last annual report from the Megalithic earlier that year and shook his head over it. “It looks to be doing well, and the dividend is up again, but half the investments are unquoted,” said he, “and I believe that there is a good proportion of the capital which simply isn’t listed here at all. Don’t tell anyone I said as much, of course,” he added somewhat hastily, “but although the shares are up, personally I wouldn’t touch it with a barge-pole.” I assured him that I would not — a promise I could keep without the least difficulty, as my investment portfolio at the time had consisted of five shillings in the post office, a sheet of twopenny stamps, and a sovereign on a 33-1 long shot in the Gold Cup.

Such, then, was the man who had invited Raffles to lunch! “I wonder why?” I mused aloud.

Raffles laughed. “You don’t think he could love me for myself, then, Bunny? Perhaps you are right. Possibly he wants me on the board of the Megalithic, to add a little lustre?”

“There are tales—” I began.

“I have heard them. You may be sure I shall walk carefully, Bunny. But he should give me a decent lunch, if nothing else, and there may well be something else. I’m only sorry you can’t come as well.”

“I’m not! There’s sure to be something else, as you put it, and I suspect it will not be entirely to your advantage, Raffles.”

He laughed at this and assured me again that he would be careful. Then, as it was near the hour of his appointment, he left me, with a promise to meet me at teatime to tell me how things had gone.

I took my own modest luncheon at an ABC teashop and passed a couple of hours looking at the bright displays in the big department stores. As the last of the daylight faded, and the Christmas lights were switched on, I returned to the Albany to find Raffles seated at his ease smoking a fat cigar.

“Courtesy of my host,” he told me, passing me another Havana. “Or perhaps I should say our host, Bunny?”

“Oh? And why that?”

“Because we are invited, you and I both, to pass the Christmas week at Morgan’s house in Oxfordshire.”

“Oh,” was all that I could manage at first. Then, “Why?”

“Ah, there we must enter the realms of speculative philosophy, Bunny. It was, as you may imagine, my own question. His answer? ‘Famous cricketer and his friend lend distinction and perhaps even an air of excitement to the house party,’ and so on and so forth. All very flattering.”

“But specious?”

Raffles frowned. “I should be inclined to think so. I have no illusions, Bunny. We are not invited for ourselves, as a rule, but for our cricket, and there is none at this time of year. The offer may be genuine; he may wish to impress his other guests. Still—” and Raffles shrugged his shoulders, and remained indifferent to any further suggestions on my part. “It should prove interesting, whatever the source of the interest. And he certainly spares no expense when he entertains,” was all he would say.

Despite my reservations, I had no intention of refusing Morgan’s invitation, for I knew I should not get another of the kind — or indeed of any kind! A few days later, then, I met Raffles at the station and we travelled together to Oxfordshire.

Whatever the motive for Morgan’s invitation, I thought, he did us very well. His carriage was there to meet us, and our rooms were everything that one could wish.

I suppose I have to say that dinner was an interesting enough occasion, though we were not a large party. The other guests were an elderly widow, one Lady Whitechurch, with her niece and companion, Cynthia. There was the editor of a large and conservative newspaper and his wife and a local magistrate and his wife. Cynthia was an attractive girl; I judged that she had the potential to be lively in the right company, but she was very much overshadowed by her aunt. Lady Whitechurch and the rest of the guests, by contrast, were anything but lively. Indeed, I have never encountered a duller crowd of people; I could half believe that Morgan might have wanted Raffles and myself to add a little sparkle to the proceedings. I determined to earn my corn, then, and attempted to engage my neighbours in conversation, only to be rebuffed at every overture. Lady Whitechurch was particularly offhand with me.

In a somewhat sulky silence, I ate my dinner, which was excellent, and covertly observed the company with a more professional eye. Our host wore a large and ostentatious diamond pin, and another large diamond glittered on his finger. The other men had no jewellery, and I turned to the ladies. Cynthia wore a string of pearls, not very valuable but they suited her complexion; the wives of the newspaper man and the JP both had diamonds, nice enough but nothing special; and Lady Whitechurch had some old emeralds not unworthy of the attention of the lawless individual. But it was Mrs. Morgan’s necklace which caught my attention and held it all through the meal. I do not know the correct technical term — the word scapular comes to mind, but I cannot remember if it means a style of jewellery or a bone in the human body — in any event, it was a cross between a necklace and a breastplate, some six inches at its deepest, the whole thing being a sort of crescent shape, white gold with the largest and finest diamonds I ever saw, and so many of them, too! I saw Raffles give it a casual glance, then avoid looking again, but he caught my eye and nodded, just slightly.

There was some desultory conversation after dinner, and I managed to get Raffles on one side. “You saw it?” I asked without preamble.

“One could hardly miss it!” he said, laughing.

“Well?”

“Tempting, I allow. But tell me, what d’you say to our fellow guests?”

“The drabbest crowd of bores I ever met. Cynthia excepted, of course.”

“Dull, but worthy?”

“I suppose so.” I regarded him suspiciously. “And — oh! Excellent witnesses, you mean?”

“You surpass yourself, Bunny. Certainly they were not asked for their brilliant conversation. But witnesses to what, I wonder?”

We soon found out. The rest of them very soon excused themselves and went to bed, exactly as one might have predicted. As Raffles and I were about to do the same, Morgan, the only one left in the room apart from ourselves, said, “Mr. Raffles, I should be grateful for a word with you, and—” with a contemptuous look at me “—your friend.”

“Ah. I was rather expecting that,” said Raffles.

Morgan raised an eyebrow at this, but said nothing as he led us to his private study and closed the door. “You noticed my wife’s diamonds?” he asked, without even offering us a drink or a cigarette.

“I thought them rather fine,” agreed Raffles.

“I want you to steal them. Tomorrow will do.”

I think I must have leapt out of my chair, but Raffles never turned a hair. He lit a Sullivan, and said, “I do not think I heard you correctly, sir.”

“Oh, you heard me all right!” Morgan opened a drawer of his desk, and produced a sheet of paper. “I’ve watched your career with some interest, Mr. Raffles, and I don’t mean your cricket. It is rather odd that many of the house parties you have attended have been blighted with burglaries, is it not?”

Raffles shrugged a shoulder. “Scotland Yard have thought the same, as I understand it. But they have not thus far insulted me with a direct accusation.”

“Oh, I don’t deny that you’ve been clever,” Morgan conceded. “I might well have done the same as Scotland Yard and dismissed it as some monstrous coincidence. But, you see, I have something which Scotland Yard does not have.” And he waved the sheet of paper at us.

“Indeed?”

“Indeed, Mr. Raffles. Tell me, does the name — mean anything to you?”

I started again, for the name he mentioned was that of a fence, a receiver of stolen goods, with whom Raffles had had dealings in the past.

Morgan nodded at me. “Your friend could do with some of your self-control, Mr. Raffles,” he said offensively. “I think we can drop the pretence.”

“Well, and suppose the name does mean anything? What does this mysterious person say?”

“Everything, Mr. Raffles, everything. Descriptions of the goods you sold him, dates and times, and prices.”

“Let me see if I interpret you correctly,” said Raffles calmly. “You propose to keep this information to yourself, provided I steal your wife’s diamonds?”

Morgan nodded affably. “Correct in every particular. If you don’t, of course, then this — or not this, for this is merely a copy, the original is in that safe—” he nodded to a portrait on the wall “—and I don’t think even you will open that, Mr. Raffles — the original, signed, sealed and notarized, will be with the police in a matter of days. In fact, you can keep this copy,” and he threw the sheet of paper to Raffles, who caught it, glanced at it, put a match to it, and flung it, alight, into the large glass ashtray on Morgan’s desk.

“But why do you want anyone to steal your wife’s necklace?” I asked, puzzled.

It was Raffles who answered. “Because he’s broke,” he said quietly. “As broke as you or I, Bunny! Broker, if that’s the right word. Those nasty rumours in the city are true, then. But he dare not admit it, even to his wife.”

“But why theft?” I persisted. “Why make a fuss that is sure to involve the police? If I were in your position, I’d have a copy made and swap the two of them without—” I broke off, for Morgan had given a guilty start.

“You have such a copy?” asked Raffles.

Morgan started to speak, then got up, moved the picture and fiddled with the safe — making sure we could not see him as he did so — and threw a leather case on the desk. Raffles picked it up and opened it, whistled, and showed me the contents.

“They look real!” was all I could stammer.

“You—!” said Morgan with considerable contempt. “They ought to, since they cost a small fortune, for all that they’re fakes. This is a new process, never been marketed, and it won’t be, for I bought up the patents from the — fool who invented it. Only a jeweller, and a good one, could tell the difference.”

“Then why steal the originals?” I persisted. “Why not just swap them? A lot less fuss and bother, you know.”

Morgan gave a gasp, and looked away in disgust.

“He wants the insurance money, Bunny!” Raffles explained. “He wants to be paid twice, once by the insurance company, once by the fence to whom he will sell the stones. I shouldn’t use—, though,” he told Morgan quite seriously, “for he will cheat you. And then betray you,” he added, steel in his voice. “Yes, Bunny. An ingenious enough scheme, if it does smack of greed and avarice. I had better take this,” he said, hefting the fake necklace casually in his hand.

“No, you won’t, you—!” and Morgan produced a wicked-looking little revolver, apparently from thin air.

“Consider!” said Raffles earnestly. “I steal the real necklace — for I assure you that Bunny here is pure as the snow now driving against your window — and what will happen? The police will want to search everyone in the house, the innocent and the guilty. They will ask you to open the safe, and lo! The necklace — this necklace, that is, real to all outward appearances — is in there. They will immediately suspect an insurance fraud, and arrest you. You will, I give you my word, be far safer letting me take the fake as well as the real thing.”

Morgan jerked the barrel of the revolver in a menacing fashion. “Hand it over!” Raffles reluctantly did so, and Morgan went on, “All very clever, Mr. Raffles, but the police won’t search anyone in the house, not even you — for the simple reason that you will make it look as if the thieves came from outside. There have been one or two burglaries in the area just lately — real ones, sheer coincidence, nothing to do with me — and the police will assume that it is the same gang, an assumption which your fellow guests — excellent folk, all — will confirm is correct. Take your time, examine the house tomorrow, and do the job tomorrow night — I suggest when everyone’s in bed, my wife is a heavy sleeper, and I won’t disturb you if I hear you — but I’ll leave the time to your discretion. And I’ll leave the other little details, footprints in the snow, jemmied windows, and the rest of it, to you as well. I’m sure you know more about these things than I do,” he added offensively, putting the fake necklace back in the safe. “And for good measure, if there is any doubt in the minds of the local constabulary, I have the receipts and so on for the copy, and any decent jeweller will confirm that it is a copy. Call me sentimental if you will, but the fake did cost a good deal, and I don’t want to part with it.”

“Particularly as it looks so very real?” said Raffles quietly. “After all, why settle for two payments if you can get three? The average fence wouldn’t realize that that’s a fake, or not until it’s too late.”

Morgan laughed in his face. “I knew you were the boy! A man after my own heart! A great pity we didn’t meet sooner, for we might have worked together.”

Raffles shuddered at the thought. “Very well, I agree, since I have no choice. You’ll give me the run of the house tomorrow to weigh things up?”

“Of course, as long as you’re discreet.”

“And when the job is done, you’ll hand over that statement?”

“Ah, I do not promise that, not just yet. I do promise that I won’t send it to the police, though. You see, it’s not altogether out of the question that I may need your specialist services again in the future, and as you observed, I’m a man who believes in insurance. I promise you one thing, though, Mr. Raffles. Double-cross me and the police will get that document!” He nodded at the door in silent and contemptuous dismissal.

“We’ll say good night, then,” said Raffles quietly, and he took my arm and led me out, telling me to be silent when I ventured to express some of what I felt about Mr. Morgan.

“What d’you think of our host now, Bunny?” he asked, his eyes sparkling, when we were safely in his room.

I told him. At some length, I fear.

“I tend to concur,” said Raffles when I had stopped from sheer exhaustion. “Not a very nice man, as my old nurse would say.”

“And mine usually added, ‘Come away!’ ” I said. “But we can’t very well, can we?”

“Not just at the moment.” Raffles lit a cigarette. “You know, Bunny, those diamonds are the finest I’ve ever seen! And I mean to have them!”

“Well, then, take Lady Whitechurch’s emeralds as well, could you?” I said sceptically. “I could use some cash myself.”

“You know, I think I might. After all, no self-respecting burglar would take just one item, would he?”

It was said with such assurance that my scepticism vanished. But my awareness of the magnitude of the task did not. “And the other business? The document?”

“Ah, yes, the document. That does present a problem. But don’t you see, Bunny, that the problem of the document is quite different from the problem of the diamonds? In the first place, I’m by no means convinced that Morgan won’t send the document to Scotland Yard, even if I do steal his precious necklace, because quite frankly he strikes me as a double-dealing, back-biting yellow cur of the worst sort. And even if he doesn’t send it now and give us away, he won’t hand it over to us, so what’s to stop him calling on our ‘services’ at any time in the future? For his fortunes are sure to decline again, once the cash from this particular swindle is spent. And I for one don’t relish the thought of being a sort of hired crook, an unpaid one at that. We’re sure to run up against something that we can’t and won’t do, and then the document will land at Scotland Yard anyway, so it’s simply a matter of deferring the inevitable. And then there’s the question of the diamonds, Bunny — if we hand them over to Morgan, he’ll keep the proceeds without any thought of sharing with us, and we still have our own bills to pay!” He smoked in silence for a moment or two, then went on, “Bunny, you’re a good fellow, but I need to think this out by myself. Cut along to bed and get a decent night’s sleep. And if you could, keep Morgan away as much as possible tomorrow, would you?”

“Away from what?” I asked.

“From me, of course! I’ll need to think and observe, and I can’t do that with him nearby.”

I did as he suggested and went to bed, but I fear I did not get a decent night’s sleep, or anything like it. I felt that we were damned if we did and damned if we didn’t, and I could not honestly see even Raffles coming out of this with any honour, much less any profit.

I saw him only briefly at breakfast, and as I passed him he lowered his voice and said, “Remember!” The trouble was I did remember, I remembered that that was the last word Charles I said on the scaffold! A bad omen, I thought. In the event I did not have to keep Morgan occupied, for he kept out of the way pretty much all day, I rather suspected in order to avoid any suggestion that he had been seen with Raffles and myself if anything went wrong. I feared more and more as the day drew slowly and agonizingly to its close that something would go wrong. I tried to get Cynthia on her own, purely to break the monotony, but her wretched aunt insisted on playing gooseberry.

In the afternoon I excused myself from the game of cards that had been set up in the drawing room — “For fun only, strictly no gambling,” and wouldn’t you just know it, in that company? — and set off for a brisk walk to clear my head.

I went over the lawn and through the park, looking for Raffles but not seeing him anywhere, until I found a little wood with some farmland beyond. I was delighted to spot a hare, obviously as bored as I was myself, gambolling about in the snow, all on his own, perhaps getting into training for the boxing matches he would have with his rivals in love in a few weeks’ time. I stood there entranced for a quarter of an hour and was startled when Raffles’s voice whispered in my ear, “All bunnies together, eh?”

“A hare, Raffles, not a rabbit. And where the devil have you been, anyway?”

“Oh,” he said vaguely, “getting the feel of the place, the lie of the land.”

“And have you formed any plan, then?”

“An outline, my Bunny, an outline. It will need courage, though, and not a little luck. Has Morgan been obtrusive today?”

“Rather the reverse. I think he’s avoiding us, in case — you know.”

“I do indeed. Look here, can you try to keep him away from me this evening, if necessary?”

“Naturally. And is that all?”

He nodded. “You had best not appear in this at all, Bunny. Just in case.”

“I hardly think so!”

He gripped my arm. “Bunny, your courage is not, and never has been, in question. Don’t you see I need a man on the outside in case of emergency? Your main task is to keep Morgan out of my hair, but also to be ready to use your initiative.”

“Put like that, of course—”

“Good man! And now it is almost time for tea.”

We returned to the house, but as soon as we entered, Raffles excused himself and vanished. I realized almost at once that he was starting his “plan,” and in answer to a question from one of the others as to where he was, I made some noncommittal reply. He came into the room ten minutes after tea had been served, full of apologies for his lateness, and telling a charming story of having stopped longer than he had intended to watch a hare playing in the snow!

After tea Raffles pleaded a headache and vanished once more. There was no general movement to follow him upstairs, for it was that curious time that you get only in winter when tea is over but it is too early to think of changing for dinner, and all you want to do is sit in your armchair and gaze at the ever-darkening sky.

It was fully dark, and people were starting to light lamps here and there, and there was a shuffling as we thought of dinner and the attendant preparations, before Raffles turned up again. “Hello!” I said. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, thanks. I had fallen asleep, but I fancied I heard—” Raffles was standing by the door, having just come in. The rest of us had turned to look at him, as you do when someone enters the room, but as he broke off his sentence and stared down the room at the french window, we all turned back again to follow his gaze and were astounded to see the window standing open and just inside it two large men, both wearing black masks over their faces and both holding revolvers.

I cannot remember who said what. Someone said, “Damn!” and one of the ladies let out a little scream, but mostly we just stood or sat where we were, too surprised to do anything.

One of the men said, “Stay where you are and you won’t get hurt,” which was hardly original, but I suppose there is a set form for these things, and we stayed where we were accordingly, which is what he wanted. The speaker, evidently the leading light in the team, told his mate, “Keep ’em covered while I get the stuff,” and made his way out past Raffles, obviously making for the bedrooms.

“This is deuced awkward,” said Raffles, half to himself.

I stared at him, wondering if he had somehow arranged the whole thing himself. Was this part of his plan? I had not seen him all day, he could easily have gone into the village a mile away and sent a telegram or something. Only his face, a comical mixture of disbelief and chagrin, gave me pause. He caught me looking at him, shrugged, and laughed, much to the amazement of everyone else in the room.

After a very short while, as it seemed to me, there were heavy footsteps outside. The door flew open, and the burglar who had gone upstairs started into the room, pretty clearly in a bad temper. His way was blocked by Raffles, who spoke to him in a low voice. I was nearest to them, and fancied I heard Raffles say some such phrase as “something to your advantage,” but I could not be certain. I am certain that the burglar hesitated a moment, then motioned with his revolver to Raffles to step out into the corridor. The two of them were out there no more than a minute, then they returned, Raffles first, the burglar, his good humour obviously restored, following.

“Anyone who steps outside in the next ten minutes will be shot,” the burglar informed us, and then he and his still silent confederate made their way out through the french window.

“Telephone the police at once!” shouted Morgan to anyone who would listen.

“I think they will have cut the wires,” said Raffles calmly, and this proved to be the truth.

Morgan’s next suggestion was that someone — Raffles, me, the JP, the editor, the butler — should follow, for, as he said, “The — s won’t be out there! They’ve made good their escape by now! It was an empty threat! There’s not the slightest danger!”

“In that case,” said the editor, speaking for the first time in my presence since I had been introduced to him, “in that case, why don’t you go out there?”

Morgan subsided at that. But only for a moment, and then he demanded angrily of Raffles, “What the devil did you say to that chap?”

“Oh,” said Raffles easily, “I merely said that since he had Mrs. Morgan’s diamonds — that was what they came for, of course — there was no need to bother with things like our cuff links and signet rings. It would waste some considerable time, and they are really worth so little.” Morgan snorted angrily at this, but Raffles went on just as calmly as ever, “And I persuaded him to leave Miss Cynthia’s pearls with me,” and he produced the string from his pocket and handed it to her.

“Thank you, Mr. Raffles! They’re not valuable, I know, but they were my mother’s.” And she put them round her lovely neck.

“And now,” said Raffles cheerfully, “I think the rest of you should check your belongings. They have the diamonds, and I strongly suspect they have Lady Whitechurch’s emeralds — catch her, someone!” he added, as the lady fainted on hearing this “but I couldn’t say what else they might have taken.”

Morgan made a gurgling noise and rushed out, returning a moment later to gasp, “The — s have rifled the safe!”

“Only to be expected,” said Raffles, adding casually, “Anything valuable gone?”

Morgan choked and turned purple.

After ten minutes — and ten minutes seems an awfully long time under those circumstances — we did go outside, and of course the crooks were long gone. Then the butler had to go into the village for the local constable, who had to telephone the sergeant, who had to call Scotland Yard. I think there is no need to describe the comings and goings, the questions and answers. The police seemed convinced that the two men were that gang that had committed the other robberies round about, and none of us seemed disposed to contradict that view.

It was not until the early hours of the morning that anyone managed to think about bed. I pushed Raffles into his room and shut the door firmly. “What did go on between you and that burglar chap?” I asked him. “Was he part of your plan?”

“Do you suspect that I lied, then?”

I looked for a weapon, but found only Raffles’s silver-backed hairbrush. “I could mark you with this, though,” I told him.

He laughed and lit a cigarette. “Well, then. No, he and his mate were most definitely not part of my plan. In fact, I was never more startled in my life than when they walked through that French window! As for what I said, I simply told him that I knew he had not found Mrs. Morgan’s diamonds.”

“Oh? And—”

“I knew that,” he said patiently, “because of course I had taken them myself, about ten minutes earlier.”

“Oh!”

“I confessed my crime, but said that rather than face exposure and social ruin I would surrender my spoils.”

“And you did?”

“Oh, yes. But I really did ask him to leave Miss Cynthia’s pearls, and he agreed. Said he’d only taken them because there was nothing else remotely of value upstairs or in the safe.”

“So he did crack the safe? I thought that might have been you! He must have recognized the fake for what it was, which is logical, I suppose, him being an expert as it were.” I caught Raffles’s cynical eye upon me as I burbled on, and asked, “Wait, though — what about the emeralds? Did he not take those?”

“I took those at the same time as I took the diamonds, of course. Be sensible, Bunny!”

“And you still have the emeralds?”

“Oh, yes. The burglars didn’t know about those, you see, it was the Morgan diamonds they were after.”

“Well, we have something out of it,” I said grudgingly. “A pity you had to hand the diamonds over!”

“Bunny, my Bunny! I did not hand the diamonds over, as you so engagingly put it.”

“No? But—”

“I handed over the fakes, which I had taken from the safe even earlier today. Morgan rather overrated the difficulty of opening the safe, by the way.”

I was still puzzled. “But I thought you said the crooks had opened the safe?”

“They did, the second time. And found it empty, as I had already taken the fakes.”

“And the incriminating document?”

“If you examine my grate,” said Raffles, nodding at the fire, “you may find traces of its ashes, though I doubt it.”

“I confess I am not entirely with you, Raffles. Just what was your plan?”

He sighed. “I had made some preparations during the day. I borrowed some boots from the hall cupboard and made some very convincing tracks in the snow. I then jemmied a side window, which the police did not notice, since of course they knew the thieves had come and gone through the french window. Just before tea, I opened the safe and took the fake necklace and the document from it, leaving the empty jewel case.”

“Yes. Why? I mean, I can see why you took the document, but why the fake diamonds?”

“To give to Morgan, of course. Don’t interrupt. When I had finished my tea, I said I had a headache. I went upstairs and took the real diamonds, and Lady Whitechurch’s emeralds. Now, I had intended to place the real stones in the safe—”

“Good Lord!”

“Well, can you think of a safer place? No pun intended. You see, Bunny, I did not share Morgan’s touching faith in the police being fooled by the scheme he had concocted. I fully expected the police to search everyone here, and thoroughly at that. The police would perhaps not examine the safe, but if they did do so, and the real stones — not to speak of the Whitechurch emeralds — were in the safe, then it would be Morgan whom the police arrested, not us. If, as I thought likely, the police did not check the safe, then all would be well. I intended to give the fake necklace — which I planned to put in a temporary hiding place when people went upstairs — to Morgan, and I imagined that he would put it straight in the safe.”

“Wouldn’t he see the real stones?”

“The theft would be detected about the time I handed the fakes to Morgan, and there would be the devil of a fuss, so I did not think he would examine them too closely. But then I had also planned to put the real diamonds in the empty jewel case. The safe was full of papers, and I planned to bury the emeralds under those. Of course, if he went through the safe he would be sure to see them, but they would not be obvious to a casual glance, and I could not believe that Morgan would stand there going through the safe with us in the room, even if the theft were not discovered! He might look at the supposed fakes when I handed them over, and even compare them with the supposed real diamonds, but what of that? He would see minor differences, if he saw any, but that would only make him more convinced of the quality of the fakes! After all, he would expect to see two sets of diamonds in the safe, and that is what he would see. But as I read it, he would lock the safe immediately once the fakes were back inside it and try not to mention its very existence to the police, try to forget he had a safe, until the fuss had died down, for he dared not risk its being searched by the police. And that was all I wanted. All I needed was for the stones to be undetected for a few hours, as long as the police were in the house, in fact.”

“But I still don’t see the point! All you would have done was to ensure that the fake diamonds, the real diamonds, and the emeralds were all together in the safe, instead of just the fake diamonds!”

“Ah, but I never intended to leave them in there! I planned to return at my leisure, when the police had left, having searched the place — and us — and proved us guiltless. I confess that when I took the real diamonds I toyed with the notion of leaving Mrs. M. the fakes in their place, but I dismissed the idea. With the document gone, Morgan would know that I had been into his safe anyway. And then I did not want him to have even the consolation of selling the fakes for what he could get! And for good measure, I had an idea the fakes might prove useful in the future. A pity I had to hand them over to that burglar chap, but it really could not be helped, Bunny.”

“I begin to see your plan. And Morgan could hardly complain that the jewels — real or fake — had gone, not when the theft had already been investigated and he had claimed the insurance money!”

“You read my mind, Bunny. And with that incriminating document gone, we were safe. Of course, my plan was but half complete. I went downstairs with the real diamonds, the fake diamonds, and the emeralds, all variously disposed about my person. I planned to put in an appearance, then when people went up to change for dinner, I would put the real stones in the safe and the fakes somewhere else. But it was then that things went awry, or seemed to, because it was then that those crooks — and I swear they were nothing to do with me — appeared. As I say, I foisted them off with the fakes.”

“But the real stones? You had not put them in the safe, you say? Incidentally, Raffles, I think I might have improved upon your plan! I should have taken the real stones first and made only one visit to the safe instead of two!”

Raffles laughed. “You give me more credit — and less — than I deserve! I was making the ‘plan’ up more or less as I went along, you see. It was largely a matter of timing. I could not go upstairs for the real jewels until everyone came down for tea — but I could open the safe. And the main thing, the vital thing, was that damned document! Jewels or no jewels, I had to have that document, Bunny! As I said, I toyed with the idea of leaving the fakes, and only settled on leaving the real stones in the safe at the last minute. There was simply no time. I still had the stones, the fake and the real, in my pockets. And come to that, excepting the fakes, I still have!” And with that, he drew diamonds from his left pocket and emeralds from his right.

I put a hand to my forehead. “Suppose the police had searched us?”

Raffles laughed. “And why should they, when everyone had seen the crooks make off through the french windows? For all that, Bunny, I am happy that it was not our old friend Inspector Mackenzie whom Scotland Yard sent. He would have insisted on searching us, I fancy! And that would have been the end. Still, all’s well that ends well, Bunny.”

Not for the first time during our short stay I slept badly, and Inspector Mackenzie, our old adversary, found his flatfooted way into my dreams. I was pleased when the hour of our departure came. The other guests had left a little before, but Raffles seemed in no great hurry. In vain I urged haste, but he merely smiled and said “All in good time.”

And then, just as we were about to leave the house, Morgan came in, that damned little revolver pointed at us again!

“Oh, really!” said Raffles with a sigh.

“If you would?” Morgan gestured with the barrel, and we moved into the billiard room to be greeted by none other than Mackenzie himself and a couple of his associates!

“You’re not leaving without being searched,” Morgan told us.

“I have no objection to Inspector Mackenzie searching me,” said Raffles in a bored tone, “but I refuse to have you present.”

Morgan blustered, but Mackenzie backed Raffles, somewhat to my surprise, and our erstwhile host had to leave.

I confess I was trembling, though Raffles, as always, was serene and untroubled. How could he be so calm, I asked myself, with the diamonds and emeralds concealed about him? Mackenzie did search us, and downright thoroughly, but without success. It was the turn of our luggage next, and I trembled anew, and with increased vigour. The stones must be found now! Still, at least the personal search was over, and I had been able to put my trousers back on before we were arrested!

But Mackenzie found nothing. He emptied our bags, searched our meagre belongings, examined the linings of the bags, even emptied Raffles’s tobacco pouch, all to no avail.

“Well,” said Mackenzie, obviously as baffled as I was myself, “I’m very sorry, gentlemen, but Mr. — ” he emphasized the word “—Mr. Morgan insisted, and my superiors listen to him.”

“For the moment?” suggested Raffles quietly.

“Ah, we have our eye on him, I’ll not deny it. There are stories, you know. Just a little bit of proof, that would be enough for me. But getting that bit of proof, that’s another matter.”

Mackenzie and his merry men escorted us to the station — “Just for the look of it,” as Mackenzie said — and we all travelled back to London together, Mackenzie growing philosophical as he smoked some of Raffles’s tobacco, and telling us that it was very likely the same gang that had committed the other robberies in the neighbourhood.

“I daresay you’re right,” said Raffles. “Look here, Mr. Mackenzie, you and I have had our differences, I’ll not deny it, but if you had a Bible about you, I’d swear here and now that I have nothing to do with those burglars. No one in that room was more startled than I when they appeared.”

“I’ll testify to that!” I said without thinking.

Mackenzie laughed. “I don’t dispute it,” said he, and we parted the best of friends.

I returned to the Albany with Raffles in no very happy mood, despite our having evaded Mackenzie’s grasp. “I don’t know how you knew we’d be searched, though!” I said, when we were alone.

“Oh, I told you that I mistrusted Morgan. I did not expect Mackenzie, though, I’ll grant you that. However, I did fully expect Morgan to hold us up and search us, for I knew that he thought the burglary a put-up job, and so I got rid of the stones.”

“A pity, Raffles! It will be a miserable Christmas now! Still, we had a decent dinner, though the company wasn’t very congenial. Better than porridge in a police cell! And it was a good breakfast.”

“Yes, I noticed you stoking up on the kippers, Bunny. Perhaps just a light lunch?”

“It’ll be all light lunches, and dinners too, unless any of my editors are feeling generous!”

“My treat,” said Raffles. “But nothing to drink, mind.”

“Oh?”

“We need clear heads for tonight, and our return to Oxfordshire.”

I stared at him.

“Bunny, Bunny! I know you are not the quickest of men, but you are inordinately slow just now. I mean to burgle Morgan’s safe, of course.”

“But — oh! That’s where you hid the jewels?”

“Last night, when all the little rabbits — and snakes — were asleep. As I say, I did not trust Morgan an inch.”

“But suppose he checks the safe?”

“I do not think he will, for he knows, or thinks, rather, that there is nothing of value left in it. But suppose he does? I hardly think that he will inform his wife, and Lady Whitechurch, and his insurers, that all is well, do you? No, he will be puzzled, no doubt of that, but delighted, too. And I fancy his delight, and his greed, will far outweigh his puzzlement. He will leave the stones where they are. Oh, he may think it as well to move them as soon as possible, lest we — or our business rivals — return, but it is the holiday season, and besides, he dare not take them openly to the bank. No, he will leave them where they are, in the unlikely event that he discovers them. In any case, I don’t think he will expect us to return so soon!”

In the event, our return visit was something of an anticlimax. We lurked in the shrubbery until the last light had been extinguished, then broke in using the side window that Raffles had jemmied the previous evening — the butler had evidently not thought it worth bolting the stable door, so to speak — opened the safe, and took the stones, which were, Raffles whispered, quite undisturbed. We did ten miles in a little over two hours and caught a workman’s train at five in the morning at a little wayside halt.

After breakfast, Raffles vanished with the stones, to return after lunch with a satisfied smile on his face.

“All done?” I asked.

“In the bank, Bunny, metaphorically and literally. I’ll give you a cheque for your share in a moment.”

“I trust you didn’t use—?” I said laughing, naming the man who had betrayed us to Morgan.

Raffles frowned. “Certainly not. I had all but forgotten him. I wonder how best he should be handled? Perhaps—” He broke off and gazed at the door of his bedroom. Putting a finger to his lips, he stood up and started towards the door, only to stop in his tracks as it was opened.

Our old friend, the senior burglar, stepped into the room. He wore his mask, but there could be no mistaking either him or the small revolver he pointed at us.

“Another small but wicked-looking revolver, Bunny!” sighed Raffles. “Are people giving them as Christmas presents this year, I wonder?”

Our uninvited guest placed the revolver on a table. “To establish my good faith, gents,” he said, with an awkward little bow.

Raffles picked up the gun, glanced at it, and handed it back. “It is duly established,” he said.

The burglar put the gun in one pocket and took a chamois leather bag from another. “We were both done!” he said shortly, throwing the bag to Raffles.

Raffles took out the necklace — the fake, of course — and examined it closely before passing it to me. “Bunny?”

“Fakes?” I said, putting what surprise I could into the word. “They are very lifelike.”

“Too — true!” said our guest. “I was fooled, but my fence wasn’t. You can have that as a souvenir, if you like.” And he turned to go.

“One moment,” said Raffles. “I happen to know that the man from whom you — we — took these stones has claimed from his insurers as if they were genuine. Honest crooks I don’t mind, but fraud is another thing altogether.” He picked up pen and paper. “I happen to know the firm is the Northern Midland, and I think, yes — ‘The enclosed, the subject of a claim against you by H. H. B. Morgan, Esq., and which came recently into my hands, may interest you.’ That will suffice, I imagine, for insurers are astute men. A cardboard box, a little brown paper — so! I’ll post that tomorrow.”

“I’ll do it on my way home,” offered our guest. “There are such things as postmarks, you know.”

“That is very civil of you,” said Raffles. “And you really had no need to go to so much trouble. Perhaps this will compensate you somewhat—” and a rustle of banknotes completed the sentence.

“You’re a good ’un!” said our guest with admiration.

“Before you go, the fence who rejected the stones was not by any chance—, was it?” and he mentioned our betrayer.

“Not — likely! Only a — fool ’ud trust ’im!”

“I trusted him,” said Raffles quietly, “and he betrayed me to my enemy.”

“Did he, now?”

“I was not after those stones by accident, nor yet of my own accord. It was suggested to me that I steal them.”

“I see.”

“And where a man betrays once, he can easily do so again. It occurred to me that perhaps some of — ’s friends might care to have a word with him, show him the error of his ways?”

“Yes, I — his friends, I mean — might just do that small thing.” Our guest nodded and let himself out, presumably via the window through which he had entered.

“You were not quite honest, you know, Raffles,” I said. “You as much as suggested that — told you to steal the stones, not Morgan.”

“Did I give that impression? The two are well matched, Bunny, and they both deserve whatever is coming to them.”

“And another thing, Raffles — that burglar chap knows who we are! You, at any rate. How on earth did he know that? And aren’t you afraid he will use that knowledge against us at some time?”

Raffles shrugged. “As to who we are, he probably made enquiries of the butler, or somebody in the local pub. Assuming the butler was not in on the robbery, of course, and that wouldn’t surprise me in the least! Betray us? I hardly think so, Bunny. Didn’t you see his face when I mentioned — and his betrayal of us? Honour among thieves, Bunny, that’s the watchword.” And he lit another Sullivan and laughed at my expression.

The insurers were interested in the fake necklace, very interested indeed. They called in Scotland Yard, and Mackenzie himself arrested Morgan for insurance fraud. The day after the news of the arrest broke, the shares in the Megalithic Trust began to slide; when trading resumed after the holiday, dealings in the shares were suspended; ten days into the new year the firm went bust, and Mackenzie’s investigation was widened to include all Morgan’s business dealings. And at the spring assizes, Morgan was sentenced to ten years in the Dartmoor quarries.

The fence who had betrayed Raffles simply disappeared. I gather that the police view was that he had feared their attentions and had left the country to escape detection, but I rather fancy that the squalid alleys and rotting wharfs by the London river could tell a different tale.

All was not unrelieved gloom and despondency, though. Raffles and I — and the unknown burglar, too, I have no doubt — had a very merry Christmas, and a prosperous start to the New Year.