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Hornung, E. W. (Ernest William), 1866-1921

"The Amateur Cracksman"

Nor will you ask
me to do either when you've heard what I have to say."
"Really?" said he, lighting his own cigarette with one clear blue
eye upon me. "How do you know?"
"Because you'll probably show me the door," I cried bitterly;
"and you will be justified in doing it! But it's no use beating
about the bush. You know I dropped over two hundred just now?"
He nodded.
"I hadn't the money in my pocket."
"I remember."
"But I had my check-book, and I wrote each of you a check at that
desk."
"Well?"
"Not one of them was worth the paper it was written on, Raffles.
I am overdrawn already at my bank!"
"Surely only for the moment?"
"No. I have spent everything."
"But somebody told me you were so well off. I heard you had come
in for money?"
"So I did. Three years ago. It has been my curse; now it's all
gone--every penny! Yes, I've been a fool; there never was nor
will be such a fool as I've been. . . . Isn't this enough for
you? Why don't you turn me out?" He was walking up and down
with a very long face instead.
"Couldn't your people do anything?" he asked at length.
"Thank God," I cried, "I have no people! I was an only child. I
came in for everything there was. My one comfort is that they're
gone, and will never know."
I cast myself into a chair and hid my face.


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