My friends had let their
house, furnished, as anybody but Raffles would have explained to me
in the beginning.
"All right," I said. "Shut the door."
And he not only shut it without a sound, but drew a bolt that might
have been sheathed in rubber.
In another minute we were at work upon the study-door, I with the
tiny lantern and the bottle of rock-oil, he with the brace and the
largest bit. The Yale lock he had given up at a glance. It was
placed high up in the door, feet above the handle, and the chain of
holes with which Raffles had soon surrounded it were bored on a
level with his eyes. Yet the clock in the hall chimed again, and
two ringing strokes resounded through the silent house before we
gained admittance to the room.
Raffle's next care was to muffle the bell on the shuttered window
(with a silk handkerchief from the hat-stand) and to prepare an
emergency exit by opening first the shutters and then the window
itself. Luckily it was a still night, and very little wind came
in to embarrass us. He then began operations on the safe, revealed
by me behind its folding screen of books, while I stood sentry on
the threshold.
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