Guilty
conscience never declared itself in plainer terms. For a moment
his small eyes bulged like currants in the suet of his face; the
next, he had pocketed his pistols on a professional instinct, and
was upon us with his fists.
"Out o' the light--out o' the light!" yelled Rosenthall in a
frenzy.
He was too late. No sooner had the burly pugilist obstructed his
fire than Raffles was through the window at a bound; while I, for
standing still and saying nothing, was scientifically felled to
the floor.
I cannot have been many moments without my senses. When I
recovered them there was a great to-do in the garden, but I had
the drawing-room to myself. I sat up. Rosenthall and Purvis
were rushing about outside, cursing the Kaffirs and nagging at
each other.
"Over THAT wall, I tell yer!"
"I tell you it was this one. Can't you whistle for the police?"
"Police be damned! I've had enough of the blessed police."
"Then we'd better get back and make sure of the other rotter."
"Oh, make sure o' yer skin. That's what you'd better do. Jala,
you black hog, if I catch YOU skulkin'. . . ."
I never heard the threat. I was creeping from the drawing-room
on my hands and knees, my own revolver swinging by its steel ring
from my teeth.
For an instant I thought that the hall also was deserted.
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