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Hornung, E. W. (Ernest William), 1866-1921

"The Amateur Cracksman"

A new tangle of emotions tied my tongue. Raffles had
failed--Raffles had failed! Could I not succeed? Was it too
late? Was there no way?
"So long," he said, taking a last look at the canvas before he
rolled it up--"so long till we get to Brisbane."
The flutter I was in as he closed the case!
"For the last time," he went on, as his keys jingled back into
his pocket. "It goes straight into the strong-room on board."
For the last time! If I could but send him out to Australia with
only its legitimate contents in his precious map-case! If I
could but succeed where Raffles had failed!
We returned to the other room. I have no notion how long he
talked, or what about. Whiskey and soda-water became the order
of the hour. I scarcely touched it, but he drank copiously, and
before eleven I left him incoherent. And the last train for Esher
was the 11.50 out of Waterloo.
I took a hansom to my rooms. I was back at the hotel in thirteen
minutes. I walked upstairs. The corridor was empty; I stood an
instant on the sitting-room threshold, heard a snore within, and
admitted myself softly with my gentleman's own key, which it had
been a very simple matter to take away with me.
Craggs never moved; he was stretched on the sofa fast asleep.
But not fast enough for me. I saturated my handkerchief with the
chloroform I had brought, and laid it gently over his mouth.


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