Raffles was on board. Thank
heaven--he was! But where? The man did not know, was plainly on
some other errand, and a-hunting I must go. But there was no
sign of him on the promenade deck, and none below in the saloon;
the smoking-room was empty but for a little German with a red
moustache twisted into his eyes; nor was Raffles in his own
cabin, whither I inquired my way in desperation, but where the
sight of his own name on the baggage was certainly a further
reassurance. Why he himself kept in the background, however, I
could not conceive, and only sinister reasons would suggest
themselves in explanation.
"So there you are! I've been looking for you all over the ship!"
Despite the graven prohibition, I had tried the bridge as a last
resort; and there, indeed, was A. J. Raffles, seated on a
skylight, and leaning over one of the officers' long chairs, in
which reclined a girl in a white drill coat and skirt--a slip of
a girl with a pale skin, dark hair, and rather remarkable eyes.
So much I noted as he rose and quickly turned; thereupon I could
think of nothing but the swift grimace which preceded a start of
well-feigned astonishment.
"Why--BUNNY?" cried Raffles. "Where have YOU sprung from?"
I stammered something as he pinched my hand.
"And are you coming in this ship? And to Naples, too? Well,
upon my word! Miss Werner, may I introduce him?"
And he did so without a blush, describing me as an old
schoolfellow whom he had not seen for months, with wilful
circumstance and gratuitous detail that filled me at once with
confusion, suspicion, and revolt.
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