Imagine a thin but extremely wiry man, past middle age, brown and
bloodless as any crabapple, but as coolly truculent and as casually
alert as Raffles at his worst. It was, it could only be, the
fire-eating and prison-inspecting colonel himself! He was ready for
me, a revolver in his hand, taken, as I could see, from one of those
locked drawers in the pedestal desk with which Raffles had refused
to tamper; the drawer was open, and a bunch of keys depended from
the lock. A grim smile crumpled up the parchment face, so that one
eye was puckered out of sight; the other was propped open by an
eyeglass, which, however, dangled on its string when I appeared.
"A woman, begad!" the warrior exclaimed. "And where's the man, you
scarlet hussy?"
Not a word could I utter. But, in my horror and my amazement, I
have no sort of doubt that I acted the part I had assumed in a manner
I never should have approached in happier circumstances.
"Come, come, my lass," cried the old oak veteran, "I'm not going to
put a bullet through you, you know! You tell me all. about it, and
it'll do you more good than harm.
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