Raffles pinched my arm.
"Yes, it ended splendidly, but for you," said he. "But what about
this escape of the leader of the gang, that fellow Crawshay?
What do you think of that, eh?"
"I havena the parteeculars," replied the Scot.
"Good!" cried Raffles. "I was only afraid you might be on his
tracks once more!"
Mackenzie shook his head with a dry smile, and wished us good
evening as an invisible window was thrown up, and a whistle blown
softly through the fog.
"We must see this out," whispered Raffles. "Nothing more natural
than a little curiosity on our part. After him, quick!"
And we followed the detective into another entrance on the same
side as that from which we had emerged, the left-hand side on
one's way to Piccadilly; quite openly we followed him, and at the
foot of the stairs met one of the porters of the place. Raffles
asked him what was wrong.
"Nothing, sir," said the fellow glibly.
"Rot!" said Raffles. "That was Mackenzie, the detective. I've
just been speaking to him. What's he here for? Come on, my good
fellow; we won't give you away, if you've instructions not to
tell."
The man looked quaintly wistful, the temptation of an audience
hot upon him; a door shut upstairs, and he fell.
"It's like this," he whispered. "This afternoon a gen'leman
comes arfter rooms, and I sent him to the orfice; one of the
clurks, 'e goes round with 'im an' shows 'im the empties, an' the
gen'leman's partic'ly struck on the set the coppers is up in now.
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