he found."
"Duplicate boxes? I cried, perhaps a thought too promptly.
"Duplicate boxes!" murmured Raffles, as profoundly impressed as a
second Mr. Pickwick.
"Duplicate boxes!" echoed the triumphant clerk. "Artful beggars,
these Americans, sir! You've got to crawss the 'Erring Pond to
learn a trick worth one o' that?"
"I suppose so," assented the grave gentleman wit the silver hair.
"Unless," he added, as if suddenly inspired, "unless it was that
man Raffles."
"It couldn't 've bin," jerked the clerk from his conning-tower of
a collar. "He'd gone to Davy Jones long before."
"Are you sure?" asked Raffles. "Was his body ever found?"
"Found and buried," replied our imaginative friend. "Malter, I
think it was; or it may have been Giberaltar. I forget which."
"Besides," I put in, rather annoyed at all. this wilful work, yet
not indisposed to make a late contribution - "besides, Raffles
would never have smoked those cigarettes. There was only one
brand for him. It was - let me see - "
"Sullivans? cried the clerk, right for once. "It's all. a matter
of 'abit," he went on, as he replaced the twenty-five tin box with
the vulgar wrapper.
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