"Then it's more than you can expect us to risk."
"You are in earnest?"
"God wot!"
"Say three thousand if you succeed!"
"Four is our figure, Mr. Addenbrooke."
"Then I think it should be nothing if you fail."
"Doubles or quits?" cried Raffles. "Well, that's sporting.
Done!"
Addenbrooke opened his lips, half rose, then sat back in his
chair, and looked long and shrewdly at Raffles--never once at me.
"I know your bowling," said he reflectively. "I go up to Lord's
whenever I want an hour's real rest, and I've seen you bowl again
and again--yes, and take the best wickets in England on a plumb
pitch. I don't forget the last Gentleman and Players; I was
there. You're up to every trick--every one . . . I'm inclined
to think that if anybody could bowl out this old Australian . . .
Damme, I believe you're my very man!"
The bargain was clinched at the Cafe Royal, where Bennett
Addenbrooke insisted on playing host at an extravagant luncheon.
I remember that he took his whack of champagne with the nervous
freedom of a man at high pressure, and have no doubt I kept him
in countenance by an equal indulgence; but Raffles, ever an
exemplar in such matters, was more abstemious even than his wont,
and very poor company to boot. I can see him now, his eyes in
his plate--thinking--thinking.
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