"JACK--RUTTER?"
The words came thick and slow with horror, and in horror I heard
myself repeating them, while the cowering figure by the bathroom
window rose gradually erect.
"It's you!" he whispered, in amazement no less than our own;
"it's you two! What's it mean, Raffles? I saw you get over the
gate; a bell rang, the place is full of them. Then you broke in.
What's it all mean?"
"We may tell you that, when you tell us what in God's name you've
done, Rutter!"
"Done? What have I done?" The unhappy wretch came out into the
light with bloodshot, blinking eyes, and a bloody shirt-front.
"You know--you've seen--but I'll tell you if you like. I've
killed a robber; that's all. I've killed a robber, a usurer, a
jackal, a blackmailer, the cleverest and the cruellest villain
unhung. I'm ready to hang for him. I'd kill him again!"
And he looked us fiercely in the face, a fine defiance in his
dissipated eyes; his breast heaving, his jaw like a rock.
"Shall I tell you how it happened?" he went passionately on.
"He's made my life a hell these weeks and months past. You may
know that. A perfect hell! Well, to-night I met him in Bond
Street. Do you remember when I met you fellows? He wasn't
twenty yards behind you; he was on your tracks, Raffles; he saw
me nod to you, and stopped me and asked me who you were.
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