"Scotch he is," said Raffles, "and photographer he may be. He is
also Inspector Mackenzie of Scotland Yard--the very man I sent
the message to that night last April. And you couldn't spot who
he was in a whole hour! O Bunny, Bunny, you were never built for
crime!"
"But," said I, "if that was Mackenzie, who was the fellow you
bolted from at Warbeck?"
"The man he's watching."
"But he's watching us!"
Raffles looked at me with a pitying eye, and shook his head again
before handing me his open cigarette-case.
"I don't know whether smoking's forbidden in one's bedroom, but
you'd better take one of these and stand tight, Bunny, because
I'm going to say something offensive."
I helped myself with a laugh.
"Say what you like, my dear fellow, if it really isn't you and I
that Mackenzie's after."
"Well, then, it isn't, and it couldn't be, and nobody but a born
Bunny would suppose for a moment that it was! Do you seriously
think he would sit there and knowingly watch his man playing pool
under his nose? Well, he might; he's a cool hand, Mackenzie; but
I'm not cool enough to win a pool under such conditions. At
least I don't think I am; it would be interesting to see. The
situation wasn't free from strain as it was, though I knew he
wasn't thinking of us. Crowley told me all about it after
dinner, you see, and then I'd seen one of the men for myself this
afternoon.
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