I must own, however, that it possessed fewer
terrors before my glass was empty. Meanwhile Raffles rejoined
me, with a covert coat over his blazer, and a soft felt hat set
carelessly on the curly head he shook with a smile as I passed
him the decanter.
"When we come back," said he. "Work first, play afterward. Do
you see what day it is?" he added, tearing a leaflet from a
Shakespearian calendar, as I drained my glass. "March 15th.
'The Ides of March, the Ides of March, remember.' Eh, Bunny, my
boy? You won't forget them, will you?"
And, with a laugh, he threw some coals on the fire before turning
down the gas like a careful householder. So we went out together
as the clock on the chimney-piece was striking two.
II
Piccadilly was a trench of raw white fog, rimmed with blurred
street-lamps, and lined with a thin coating of adhesive mud. We
met no other wayfarers on the deserted flagstones, and were
ourselves favored with a very hard stare from the constable of
the beat, who, however, touched his helmet on recognizing my
companion.
"You see, I'm known to the police," laughed Raffles as we passed
on. "Poor devils, they've got to keep their weather eye open on
a night like this! A fog may be a bore to you and me, Bunny, but
it's a perfect godsend to the criminal classes, especially so
late in their season.
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