"I tried them once, and I didn't like 'em
myself. It's all. a question of taste. Now, if you want a good
smoke, and cheaper, give me a Golden Gem at quarter of the price."
"What we really do want," remarked Raffles mildly, "is to see
something else as clever as that last."
"Then come this way," said the clerk, and led us into a recess
almost monopolized by the iron-clamped chest of thrilling memory,
now a mere platform for the collection of mysterious objects under
a dust-sheet on the lid. "These," he continued, unveiling them
with an air, are the Raffles Relics, taken from his rooms in the
Albany after his death and burial, and the most complete set
we've got. That's his centre-bit, and this is the bottle of
rock-oil he's supposed to have kept dipping it in to prevent
making a noise. Here's the revawlver he used when he shot at a
gentleman on the roof down Horsham way; it was afterward taken
from him on the P. & 0. boat before he jumped overboard."
I could not help saying I understood that Raffles had never shot at
anybody. I was standing with my back to the nearest window, my hat
jammed over my brows and my overcoat collar up to my ears.
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