trooped down-stairs, leaving the police in possession of the
theatre of crime. Lord Thornaby linked arms with Raffles as he led
the way. His step was lighter, his gayety no longer sardonic; his
very looks had improved. And I divined the load that had been lifted
from the hospitable heart of our host.
"I only wish," said he, "that this brought us any nearer to the
identity of the gentleman we were discussing at dinner, for, of
course, we owe it to all. our instincts to assume that it was he."
"I wonder!" said old Raffles, with a foolhardy glance at me.
"But I'm sure of it, my dear sir," cried my lord. "The audacity is
his and his alone. I look no further than the fact of his honoring
me on the one night of the year when I endeavor to entertain my
brother Criminologists. That's no coincidence, sir, but a
deliberate irony, which would have occurred to no other criminal
mind in England."
"You may be right," Raffles had the sense to say this time, though
I flattered myself it was my face that made him.
"What is still more certain," resumed our host, "is that no other
criminal in the world would have crowned so delicious a conception
with so perfect an achievement.
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