But we were both rather silent on our way. I, for my part, was
wondering what Raffles would do about the studio in Chelsea,
whither, at all events, he had been successfully dogged. To me
the point seemed one of immediate importance, but when I
mentioned it he said there was time enough to think about that.
His one other remark was made after we had nodded (in Bond
Street) to a young blood of our acquaintance who happened to be
getting himself a bad name.
"Poor Jack Rutter!" said Raffles, with a sigh. "Nothing's sadder
than to see a fellow going to the bad like that. He's about mad
with drink and debt, poor devil! Did you see his eye? Odd that
we should have met him to-night, by the way; it's old Baird who's
said to have skinned him. By God, but I'd like to skin old
Baird!"
And his tone took a sudden low fury, made the more noticeable by
another long silence, which lasted, indeed, throughout an
admirable dinner at the club, and for some time after we had
settled down in a quiet corner of the smoking-room with our
coffee and cigars. Then at last I saw Raffles looking at me with
his lazy smile, and I knew that the morose fit was at an end.
"I daresay you wonder what I've been thinking about all this
time?" said he. "I've been thinking what rot it is to go doing
things by halves!"
"Well," said I, returning his smile, "that's not a charge that
you can bring against yourself, is it?"
"I'm not so sure," said Raffles, blowing a meditative puff; "as a
matter of fact, I was thinking less of myself than of that poor
devil of a Jack Rutter.
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