Raffles ducked and pulled me down in great excitement.
"The ladies are going with them," he whispered. "This is great!"
"That's better still."
"The Gardenia!" the millionaire had bawled.
"And that's best of all," said Raffles, standing upright as hoofs
and wheels crunched through the gates and rattled off at a fine
speed.
"Now what?" I whispered, trembling with excitement.
"They'll be clearing away. Yes, here come their shadows. The
drawing-room windows open on the lawn. Bunny, it's the
psychological moment. Where's that mask?"
I produced it with a hand whose trembling I tried in vain to
still, and could have died for Raffles when he made no comment on
what he could not fail to notice. His own hands were firm and
cool as he adjusted my mask for me, and then his own.
"By Jove, old boy," he whispered cheerily, "you look about the
greatest ruffian I ever saw! These masks alone will down a
nigger, if we meet one. But I'm glad I remembered to tell you
not to shave. You'll pass for Whitechapel if the worst comes to
the worst and you don't forget to talk the lingo. Better sulk
like a mule if you're not sure of it, and leave the dialogue to
me; but, please our stars, there will be no need. Now, are you
ready?"
"Quite."
"Got your gag?"
"Yes."
"Shooter?"
"Yes."
"Then follow me.
Pages:
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67