It was quite
true. But the family was not mine.
And not till then did the truth flash across my mind. Nothing else
of value had been taken. But there was a meaningless litter in all.
the rooms. I turned to the porter, who had followed me up from the
street; it was his wife who looked after the flat.
"Get rid of this idiot as quick as you can," I whispered. "I'm
going straight to Scotland Yard myself. Let your wife tidy the
place while I'm gone, and have the lock mended before she leaves.
I'm going as I am, this minute!"
And go I did, in the first hansom I could find - but not straight
to Scotland Yard. I stopped the cab in Picadilly on the way.
Old Raffles opened his own door to me. I cannot remember finding
him fresher, more immaculate, more delightful to behold in every
way. Could I paint a picture of Raffles with something other than
my pen, it would be as I saw him that bright March morning, at his
open door in the Albany, a trim, slim figure in matutinal gray,
cool and gay and breezy as incarnate spring.
"What on earth did you do it for?" I asked within.
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