The Best of Sisters, Part Two
Next morning, when I woke, Raffles was at the window again, observing the street below from such a position as precluded his being seen himself.
“Oh, my head!” I moaned. “Still- last night was worth the pain. -Any sign of your mysterious visitor, Raffles?”
“Not sure,” he replied briefly. “If we’re being watched, it’s by someone who knows his business. -Let’s go out for breakfast, Bunny. It’s easier to know for certain if one is followed, than if one is merely watched at a distance.”
“I don’t think I want any breakfast,” I began. Then, seeing Raffles’ brow contract, I added hastily, “But doubtless I shall feel better after I’ve had a wash. -I can borrow a clean shirt from you, I hope?”
Breakfast was a dispirited affair. I could hardly eat for the throb in my temples, and, though I saw nothing out of the ordinary, it was obvious that Raffles was becoming more convinced than ever that we were being closely observed.
Several times during our otherwise silent meal, I heard him mutter, “Something that he didn’t find. . . What would someone expect to find in my room, but not find?” But when, after the second or third time he repeated this, I asked for explication, he snapped at me in a way that made me know, thereafter, to hold my tongue.
Then he said, gloomily, “Let’s go back. If we’re quick enough, we may take them unawares.”
But at the Albany, there was no one in Raffles’ rooms, nor any sign that anyone had visited in our absence- as Raffles himself was forced to admit.
If I hoped this circumstance might reassure him, I was disappointed. Instead, lighting a cigarette, Raffles began restlessly to pace.
“Not silver, nor jewels,” I heard him murmur. “Not books; not money. . .” He had earlier unlocked his cash-box, and pronounced its contents unmolested. “What, then? What?”
Another few puffs of his Sullivan, another turn of the room; and then suddenly Raffles flung himself into his chair, where he withdrew the albino’s wallet from an inner pocket.
I hadn’t known until that moment that he had it with him. Indeed, I had imagined that Raffles would surreptitiously have disposed of it already. It was Raffles’ stated policy never to keep anything not unquestionably his own about his person, lest through mischance he be discovered in possession of it.
But in this case, Raffles had evidently violated his own principle; for now, as I watched, he took from the wallet the papers it contained, carefully unfolded each, and smoothed it over his knee.
Fearful of annoying him, and yet not able quite to contain my curiosity, I ventured nearer. “Have you found- something interesting?” I asked hesitantly.
For a moment, Raffles didn’t answer, but continued, with creased forehead, to look the documents over one by one. I edged to a place from where I could see them for myself.
The paper was ordinary foolscap, a half-dozen sheets of it; each closely written over with what appeared to be chemical formulae and arcane mathematical computations, interspersed at intervals with disjointed phrases, an occasional question mark (pencilled in red), arrows pointing from here to there and back again, and, at the bottom of one, a row of exclamation points. -All quite impenetrable.
“What a gibberish!” I exclaimed. “Anyway, it can’t be that the albino was here. We’d certainly have noticed if he were anywhere around.”
“Not the albino himself,” Raffles agreed, putting the tips of his fingers together and frowning thoughtfully. “But someone acting on his behalf- ? It’s. . . possible.”
I looked more closely at the papers. “What’s the name there?” I asked, pointing. “Griffin? Is that the albino’s name, then, do you suppose?”
“I assume so,” Raffles said.
“And is Mr. Griffin a- a chemist?” I wondered.
After looking the papers over for some little time in silence, Raffles sighed and shook his head. “To tell you the truth, Bunny,” my friend admitted, re-folding the documents and replacing them carefully in the wallet, “I’ve no idea what this Mr. Griffin may be. But I think you may be right about one thing, old man: The albino is the only one to whom these papers are likely to have value, and if he suspected that we had it, he’d confront us directly, or send a constable to make inquiries. Why shouldn’t he? It’s undeniably his property. The wallet, therefore, must not be the item sought.”
“And nothing here that might be an item,” I said, “has been disturbed. -Still think we’re being watched?” I asked archly.
I anticipated a (sheepish) demurrer. Instead, Raffles replied briskly, “By at least two men. One is rather tall, and well-dressed; and the other’s a shorter fellow, impersonating a navvy, or a carter, or something of that nature.”
Rising, he continued, “It’s a clever system: One or the other will blend right in no matter where in London we might lead them. -They’re disciplined, too, or they wouldn’t have been able to resist helping themselves to the cash I have on hand, at the very least. What do you suppose the two men - or whoever controls them - really wants?”
I was about to reply when, looking past me, Raffles said more cheerfully, “Ah, is that the post already? I didn’t hear a knock.”
An edge of envelope protruded from under the door.
Retrieving it, I said, “No. This was hand-carried. -Nice paper, that. Is it a dinner invitation, do you think? Until we get that necklace, you’d better eat as often as you can at others’ expense.”
While slitting the envelope with a paper knife, Raffles replied knowingly, “Whether that’s worthwhile depends upon two things, Bunny: The company, and the cook. Better a crust in a garret, sometimes, than a- ” Abruptly, he broke off.
Turning from where I was helping myself to two fingers of the hair of the dog, I asked, “Better a crust than- what? Better a crust than eight good courses, with wines to match? I can’t agree with you there, I’m afraid.”
But Raffles wasn’t listening to me. His expression unreadable, he silently offered the letter he had just opened.
Taking it from him, I read:
“To avoid consequences likely to be highly unpleasant to yourselves, enter the wallet (its contents intact) at the ‘Lost Property’ office in Euston Station. Do this at once. This will be your only warning.”
The letter was signed with a single name: “Moriarty”.
“Egad!” I cried. “So the wallet is the target!”
“So it seems,” Raffles replied calmly.
“And- we are being watched!”
“As I told you.”
“-And threatened. For that is a threat, I take it?”
“‘Consequences likely to be highly unpleasant’.” Raffles quoted. “I take that for a threat, certainly.”
We stared for a moment at one another.
Begged I then, “But- why? And who the devil is this fellow ‘Moriarty’? The wallet properly belongs to a Mr. Griffin, does it not? Is Moriarty a friend of Griffin’s, do you think?”
“Trying, in this rather heavy-handed manner, to perform Mr. Griffin a service?” Raffles inquired. “I don’t know. -It’s clear now that Mr. Griffin must value his papers very highly, though. No one would resort to threats over the little money the wallet contained.”
After short consideration, I reached for my coat, saying grimly, “Give it to me. I’ll take it.”
“Take what?” Raffles demanded. “The wallet?”
“Of course the wallet,” I answered, exasperated that he should even ask. “No wallet is worth this amount of trouble. I’ll take it to Euston Station, as we’re commanded, and enter it at ‘Lost Property’. -I wish I could put back the money that was in it, but we spent most of that already, of course.”
But Raffles, I suddenly saw, had no intention of handing over Mr. Griffin’s wallet. Furthermore, he had begun, unaccountably, to smile.
“I think not, Bunny,” he said. “I think not. The wallet, we now perceive, is valuable. Why should we give up something for nothing? I’d as soon give up the necklace- if I had it.”
I eyed him suspiciously.
“What are we going to do with it, then?” I asked. “Hold it to ransom?”
I meant this as a sarcasm, but Raffles said, “Maybe. But to know how much ransom to ask, we need to have some idea of what Mr. Griffin - and Mr. Moriarty - are able to pay. No point in demanding a thousand pounds from a fellow who’s got all of ten quid in the world. I didn’t look closely, of course, but it wasn’t my impression, when I saw him yesterday, that the albino was a rich man. His shoes, as I recall, were quite down-at-heel. As for his friend Moriarty- well, we shall see. At the very least, we might be able to extort some small ‘reward’ from the two of them for the wallet’s return. Then, at least, this adventure wouldn’t be an entire loss.”
As he said this, Raffles was putting on his own coat.
“Where are you going?” I asked uneasily.
“To make inquiries,” he replied; adding, “-Have you your pistol?”
I started a bit at this. “Do you think I need it?” I wondered. “I do have it, yes. That is, you have it. It’s in that drawer there, I believe. You took it from me last Thursday.” This last I said rather resentfully, still smarting a bit from having been informed, on that occasion, that I had drunk far too much to be trusted with a firearm.
“Get it, then, and keep it handy,” advised Raffles. “-Just in case those papers are more valuable than either of us surmise!”
And off he then went- to all appearances, very blithe.
To this point, I firmly believed that Raffles was over-estimating (or at least, over-stating) the lengths to which the albino might be prepared to go to regain his wallet. I had seen no one following us. Our Mr. Moriarty, I believed, was only someone who had observed Raffles in the act of picking the albino’s pocket, and imagined that, by means of dark threats, he could induce us to part with our prize in such a way as to make it possible for him to claim it himself. After all, hadn’t Raffles himself pointed out that, if he were to attempt to pick Mr. Industrialist’s pocket, some third party might see him?
Without thinking what I was doing, I walked to the window and idly lifted the shade. In a moment, I knew, I would see Raffles pass.
As I looked for him, my eye happened to fall upon a tall, well-dressed fellow, casually lounging on the other side of Piccadilly, apparently reading his newspaper. Below me, as Raffles stepped into view, this man raised his head - rather sharply - and then glanced quickly over his shoulder. Following his eye with my own, I saw that he looked to where a smaller man, dressed like a carter, sat upon a barrel, arms folded across his chest, and idly swinging one leg.
A look passed between them; a look of meaning, I thought. Folding his newspaper and tucking it under his arm, the taller man then started away; unhurriedly at first, but with increasing speed, walking in the same direction as Raffles had just gone.
Thereupon the carter (if carter he was) looked up- straight at me, standing foolishly in the window. For a moment our eyes locked; and then (too late!), I backed hastily out of his sight.
Raffles was right. We were being watched.
Thinking quickly, I recalled that while the “carter” was watching one side of the Albany, he could not also watch the other. Hastily, therefore, I seized my hat and Raffles’ long raincoat, and dashed downstairs, drawing on the coat and turning the collar up about my ears as I went. I said to myself that I would go straight to the hotel in which the albino was staying, since it was sure to be Raffles’ first stop in his quest for information. Once there I would reunite with my friend; we would find a way to reach unseen my own rooms on Mount Street; and once there we could decide together what further steps to take in the matter of ransoming the stolen wallet.
But as I stepped into Burlington Gardens, my attention was caught by some little movement in a window across the way. I looked- and found myself gazing straight into the eyes of a man who - though I had never seen him in my life before - I somehow knew instantly had placed himself where he was for the sole purpose of watching the Albany’s door.
Dumbfounded, I stopped short. From the smirk that curled the fellow’s lip then, I saw that he cared not a whit that I had seen and understood him. He knew that, under the circumstances, Raffles and I could not have recourse to the forces of the law no matter what he did. The hairs of my neck involuntarily rose, and I backed slowly through the door of the Albany again.
Upstairs, after double-locking the door, I stood for a moment with my back against it, trying to plan my next step.
Said I to myself, “There are two men in the street outside who unquestionably do not wish me well.” After briefly turning this unpalatable fact over in my mind, I bolted across the room to Raffles’ desk, from which, with a hand perhaps not entirely steady, I retrieved my gun. Creeping to a window, I peered cautiously from behind the curtain.
The “carter” had gone.
Near where he had sat, two other men now loitered, talking together. They didn’t seem to be watching the Albany- but I couldn’t tell for certain at the distance. A beggar then came into view, accosting passers-by in the usual cringing manner of his kind. But was he, in fact, a beggar? I recalled that Raffles had at least once conducted a surveillance in that guise. When a constable came along and ordered the beggar away, I recalled that Raffles had been known to impersonate a constable, too. Wasn’t that woman lingering an improbably long time at that shop-window? Who was the fellow, dressed like an American, who stared so at the Albany as he passed? Was it my heated imagination, or did his eye really linger on the very window from which I was peeking?
-And surely there were not usually so many footfalls in the passage outside Raffles’ door . . . ?
Hours went by, during which I never stopped feeling that something dreadful was about to befall me. Several times I had recourse to the decanter. It was the only sort of refreshment available to me, and breakfast was now long past. Finally, growing weary of slinking from window to window to look out, I moved an armchair into a corner from where I could observe the whole room at a glance, and sat down (my back to the wall) to keep watch from that position.
I may have fallen asleep.
At any rate, some time in the mid-afternoon, without the least warning (it seemed to me), someone suddenly burst into the room. My heart in my throat, I leapt to my feet. Unluckily, I had earlier put my pistol into my pocket, and now surprise made me clumsy, I suppose: I could hardly manage to get it out. But when finally I had my weapon firmly in my hand, I pointed it in the intruder’s direction and cried out, “Stop where you are, or I’ll shoot!”
Strangely, while I had been fumbling, my target had somehow disappeared.
“Put it down, Bunny,” a familiar voice dryly begged.
“Raffles?” I queried uncertainly.
From behind the chair where, at first sight of the pistol, he had dropped to the floor, my friend slowly rose.
“Yes, it’s Raffles,” he agreed, brushing himself off. “Not quite the welcome I expected, but no harm done, at least.”
“Good God, Raffles!” I exclaimed, rushing to him. “I- I am so sorry! I thought you were one of them!”
Seeming not especially frightened by having just come near to being shot, Raffles said calmly, “No; they are in the street, Bunny- as you’ll see if you care to look. What put you so on edge? Did someone come up here?”
I was obliged to admit that no one had.
“But you were followed,” I breathlessly informed him, “by the tall man. I tried to leave myself, to meet you and tell you, but another man was watching in Burlington Gardens.”
“Oh, the tall man,” said Raffles, unconcerned. “Yes; I lost him round the second corner in the road, by jumping onto a passing omnibus, and then off the other side. I wonder how long he looked for me before giving up and coming back here? I saw him in Piccadilly as I turned in, and he appeared very annoyed.” Throwing himself into his usual seat and lighting a cigarette, Raffles added, “I gained a little intelligence, Bunny- though not so much as I’d hoped. Would you like to hear it? Draw that chair nearer, then: I don’t want to have to shout at you. Walls may have ears, as you know.”
When I was seated, Raffles told me what he had found out.
My rooms on Mount Street had been his first objective, he told me- until he saw that, like his own, they were being watched. So, too, was the albino’s hotel.
“I managed to get by the watchers at the hotel,” my friend explained, “by impersonating the baker’s boy, come to deliver bread. I got the real boy’s coat and cap for the purpose by offering half-a-crown and an affecting tale of my love for one of the kitchen-maids, from whose angelic presence I was cruelly being kept. Once inside, I went upstairs, and in the guise of a fellow guest, managed to speak for a moment to our Mr. Griffin himself.”
“You spoke to him!” I exclaimed. “About his wallet?”
“No. About the men watching in the street. I let on that I was worried they might be casing the hotel with an eye to robbing it, and asked his opinion of the matter.”
“And what did he say?”
“Oh, it was clear that he’d never noticed the men, and he made nothing of my anxieties. In fact, he informed me rather bitterly that he himself had nothing at all that any thieves would find worth taking.”
(I own I felt a prick of guilt at this.)
Continued Raffles, “Consequently, I doubt we can expect much in the way of either ransom or reward from Mr. Griffin. He’s a former medical student, he told me, presently engaged in private research. -There was something about him that rubbed me all the wrong way, but I have to say that he didn’t seem the type to write threatening letters.”
“And ‘Moriarty’?” I inquired apprehensively.
“Well,” said Raffles, “he’s no friend of Griffin’s bent on doing him a service, of that I’m certain; for why would anyone spy upon a friend? He must, therefore, be someone who wants the wallet for himself.”
“Why? And for that matter, who is he, really?” I asked. “Moriarty, I mean.”
Rubbing his face wearily, my friend sighed. “I’ve no idea, Bunny,” he replied. “When I left the hotel, I paid calls upon a dozen people I know, in high places and low, who are usually up on everyone. Not one recalled ever hearing the name before. The man is quite a mystery, it seems.”
Then, rising, Raffles said more briskly, “Apparently he has plenty of money, though. He must be paying all these watchers with something. The question now is how we can get some of that money for ourselves.”
“I know!” I offered eagerly. “First thing we do, we send a letter in return of his, stating our price. Then we- ”
With a rather pitying look, Raffles raised a hand to stop my flow of speech.
“Not at all,” he corrected me gently. “The first thing we do is to get away from those men in the street. Think about it, Bunny: Why should this Moriarty fellow pay us for what he’s in an excellent position to take from us for nothing the first time we let down our guard? But once he no longer knows where the wallet - or we - may be found, we’ll have the upper hand of him.”
“But- how will we get away? We’re being watched,” I reminded my friend.
“Oh, I’ve no doubt we can do it,” he answered. “-It may take some time to identify the right opportunity, of course.”
I felt my face fall at this. As for time, it was now past that of luncheon, and approaching the one for tea.
To the rumbling accompaniment of my stomach, I asked, “I don’t suppose- That is, you didn’t by any chance bring me anything to eat, did you?”
Raffles looked blankly for an instant.
“Oh, food,” he exclaimed then; as though, despite the hour, food was the very last thing on his mind. “Sorry, old chap; I never thought of it.”
Part One // Part Three / Part Four / Part Five