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

"The Amateur Cracksman"

But I must pack. I
thought I'd just let you know where I was going, and why, in case
you cared to follow my example."
He flung the stump of his cigarette into the fire, stretched
himself as he rose, and remained so long in the inelegant
attitude that my eyes mounted from his body to his face; a second
later they had followed his eyes across the room, and I also was
on my legs. On the threshold of the folding doors that divided
bedroom and sitting-room, a well-built man stood in ill-fitting
broadcloth, and bowed to us until his bullet head presented an
unbroken disk of short red hair.
Brief as was my survey of this astounding apparition, the
interval was long enough for Raffles to recover his composure;
his hands were in his pockets, and a smile upon his face, when my
eyes flew back to him.
"Let me introduce you, Bunny," said he, "to our distinguished
colleague, Mr. Reginald Crawshay."
The bullet head bobbed up, and there was a wrinkled brow above
the coarse, shaven face, crimson also, I remember, from the grip
of a collar several sizes too small. But I noted nothing
consciously at the time. I had jumped to my own conclusion, and
I turned on Raffles with an oath.
"It's a trick!" I cried. "It's another of your cursed tricks!
You got him here, and then you got me. You want me to join you,
I suppose? I'll see you damned!"
So cold was the stare which met this outburst that I became
ashamed of my words while they were yet upon my lips.


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