I said I thought I might, whereupon another question followed, in
still lower and more thrilling accents:
"Are you afraid of burglars?"
Burglars! I was roused at last. The word stabbed me. I
repeated it in horrified query.
"So I've found something to interest you at last!" said Miss
Melhuish, in naive triumph. "Yes--burglars! But don't speak so
loud. It's supposed to be kept a great secret. I really
oughtn't to tell you at all!"
"But what is there to tell?" I whispered with satisfactory
impatience.
"You promise not to speak of it?"
"Of course!"
"Well, then, there are burglars in the neighborhood."
"Have they committed any robberies?"
"Not yet."
"Then how do you know?"
"They've been seen. In the district. Two well-known London
thieves!"
Two! I looked at Raffles. I had done so often during the
evening, envying him his high spirits, his iron nerve, his
buoyant wit, his perfect ease and self-possession. But now I
pitied him; through all my own terror and consternation, I pitied
him as he sat eating and drinking, and laughing and talking,
without a cloud of fear or of embarrassment on his handsome,
taking, daredevil face. I caught up my champagne and emptied the
glass.
"Who has seen them?" I then asked calmly.
"A detective. They were traced down from town a few days ago.
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