Lastly, in the billiard-room, they had a great
and lengthy pool, while I sat aloof and chafed more than ever in
the company of a very serious Scotchman, who had arrived since
dinner, and who would talk of nothing but the recent improvements
in instantaneous photography. He had not come to play in the
matches (he told me), but to obtain for Lord Amersteth such a
series of cricket photographs as had never been taken before;
whether as an amateur or a professional photographer I was unable
to determine. I remember, however, seeking distraction in little
bursts of resolute attention to the conversation of this bore.
And so at last the long ordeal ended; glasses were emptied, men
said good-night, and I followed Raffles to his room.
"It's all up!" I gasped, as he turned up the gas and I shut the
door. "We're being watched. We've been followed down from town.
There's a detective here on the spot!"
"How do YOU know?" asked Raffles, turning upon me quite sharply,
but without the least dismay. And I told him how I knew.
"Of course," I added, "it was the fellow we saw in the inn this
afternoon."
"The detective?" said Raffles. "Do you mean to say you don't
know a detective when you see one, Bunny?"
"If that wasn't the fellow, which is?"
Raffles shook his head.
"To think that you've been talking to him for the last hour in
the billiard-room and couldn't spot what he was!"
"The Scotch photographer--"
I paused aghast.
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