Once an officious constable held up
the traffic at our approach, and for a moment I put a blood-curdling
construction upon the simple ceremony. Low boys shouted after us
- or if it was not after us, I thought it was - and that their cry
was "Stop thief!" Enough said of one of the most unpleasant
cab-drives I ever had in my life. Horresco referens.
At the bank, however, thanks to the foresight and liberality of
Raffles, all was smooth water. I paid my cabman handsomely, gave
a florin to the stout fellow in livery whom he helped with the
chest, and could have pressed gold upon the genial clerk who laughed
like a gentleman at my jokes about the Liverpool winners and the
latest betting on the Family Plate. I was only disconcerted when
he informed me that the bank gave no receipts for deposits of this
nature. I am now aware that few London banks do. But it is
pleasing to believe that at the time I looked - what I felt - as
though all I valued upon earth were in jeopardy.
I should have got through the rest of that day happily enough, such
was the load off my mind and hands, but for an extraordinary and
most disconcerting note received late at night from Raffles himself.
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