The San Francisco Call. Newspaper, June 18, 1905, Page 2

THE SAN FRANCISCO SUNDAY CALL. This is the third of a series of thir- teen mew stories entitled “Raffles, the Amateur Cracksman.” Raffies is destined to achieve as widespread fame in his own peculiar line as did Sherlock Holmes in a to- tally different for Raffles and exact in view, sphere., Holmex opposites character ang career. While Sheriock Holmes exercised his wonderful powers toward the detection are of crime. Raflies is represented as a man of uousual intellect and of high birth and breeding who has sunk to nis undoubted genius to en- to live by his wits. employ in able bhim The fourth ndventure of Raffies— eWiliful Murder"—will appear mext week S s Scribner's inev- &l up hoping to hea e w ws were wide open; sc f adilly floated in at P red the last whee attled, the last brawler was broke the. quiet » - do you very well pay for mnothing but drink speuk, but I'm afraid mine were ehensive character. I had = hole, 1 ought to have tation: then we all wen Melbourne Cup, and I had didn't win, that's you can p et I wasn't t , Bunny; mjy self. But hard up I ow how was sho 1 tried Jews, b re extra fly ¢ hen I thought of a kins- f sorts, a second cousin of my fatheg o of us knew any- out, e he was sup- pose r of the col- If he was a rich man, well and good, 1 1 m; if not, there w o har ne. I tried to get c < as luck would have ght 1 had) at t when I happened to self. 1 was cut before the big h and couldn’t have they had played me. » who fixed me up hap- me if I was any relation of the Nationgl Bank, and luck of it almost took my A relation who was a in one of the banks, who ince me On my mere name— ing be better? I made up my mind that this Raffiles was the man I wanted and was awfully sold to find moment that be wasn't a high of- at all. Nor had the doctor so as met lum, but had merely read of him in connection with a small sen- sation at the suburban branch which mesake managed; an armed rob- ber hed been rather pluckily beaten off, with a bullet in him, by this Raf- fies; and tht sort of thing was so com- mon out there that this was the first 1 bad heard-of it! A suburban branch —my finencier had faded into some ex- cellent fellow with a billet to lose if he cglled his soul his own. Still a man- ager was a manager, and I said I would soon see whether this was the relative I was looking for, if he would be good enough to give, me the mame of that branch. “Tll do more,” says the doctor. s to m Just my n. n get you the name of the branch he's been promoted to, for I think I heard they’d moved him up one already.” And the next day he brought me the name of the township of Yea, some fifty miles north of Melbours>; but, with the vagueness which characterized all his information, he was unable to say whether leshould find my relative there or not “‘He's a single man, and his initials are W. F.’ sald the doctor, who was certaln enough of the immaterial points. ‘He left his old post several days ago, but it appears he’s not due at the new one till the New Year. No doubt he'll go before then to take things " settle in. You might find him b and you might not. If I were vou I should write.’ That’ll lose two days,’ said I, ‘and more if he isn't there’ for I'd grown quite keen on this up-country manager, and 1 felt that if I could get at him while the holidays were still on a lit- t ality might help matters con- said the doctor, ‘I should get You needn’t use en. t horse and ride. that hand.’ Can't I go by train? can and you can’t. You would ve to ride. I suppose you're a » 1 should certainly ride all It's a delightful road, through Whittlesea and over the/Plenty Ranges. It1l give you some idea of the bush, Mr. Raffles, and you'll see the sources of the water supply of this city, sir. You'll see where every drop of it comes from, the pu Yean. I wish I had t o ride ,with you. t whefe can I get horse? sctor thought for a moment. I've a mare of my own that's as fat as butter for want of work,' said He. ould be a charity to me to sit on ack for a hundred miles or so, sen 1 should know you'd have no to use thdt hand. 00d,’ 1 protested. he said. er there was a prettier t or a finer instance of even spitality I can only say, at I never heard of either.” his whisky, threw away of his cigarette and lit an- before continuing “Well, I managed to write a line to ¢ own hand, which, as you not very badly wound- this third finger that nts—and the next packed me off on a east that would have done for Half the team came up rt; the rest were rather sick with me for not stopping to see the match out, as if I could help them to watching them They little the game I'd got on my f, but did I know the game I was knew s an interesting ride enough, after passing the place called , a real wild township on the »pe of the ranges, where I rec- a deadly meal of hot mut- with the thermometer at the shade. The first r so was a good metal road, too good to go half around the world to ride on, but after Whittlesea it the ranges, a track I often couldn't sce and left en- tirely to the mare. Now it dipped into a gully ran through a creek, and all the time the local color was inches thick—gum trees galore and parrotsall colors of the rainbow. In ane place a forest of gums had+been ring- barked and were just as though they had been painted white, withouf a leaf or a living thing for miles. And the first living thing I did meet was the sort to give you the creeps; it was a rideriess horse coming full tilt through the bush, with the saddle twisted around and the stirrup-irons ringing. Without thinking, I had a shot at head- ing him with the doctor's mare, and blocked him just enough to allow a man who came galloping after to do the rest “Thank ye, mister,” growled the man, a huge chap In a red-checked shirt, with a beard like W. G. Grace, but the very devil of an expression. ‘Been an accident? said I, reining was a mere track over and whole up. *“Yes," said he, scowling as though he defied me to ask any more. “Well, Bunny, | may be a blackguard myself, but I don’t think I ever looked at a fellow as that chap looked at me. But 1 staved him out, and forced him to ad- mit that it was Dblood on the twisted saddie, and after that he became quite tame. He told me exactly whot had hap- pened. A mate of his had been dragged under a branch and had his nose smashed, but that was all; had sat tight after it tiil Le dropped from loss o. blood; an- other mate was with him back In the bush. “As I'vc said already, Bunny, I wasn't wie old stager that I am now—in any re- spect—and we parted good enough friends. He asked me which way I was going, and, when 1 told him, he said I should save seven miles and get a good road carlier to Yea by striking off the track and making for a peak that we could see through the trees and following a creek that I should see from the peak. Don't smile, Bunny! I began by saying I was a child in those days. Of course, the shorteut was the long way ‘round, and it was nearly dark whnen that unlucsy mare and I saw the single street of Yea. “I was looking for the bank when & fellow in a white suit ran down from a veranda. “‘Mr. Raffes? eald he. “‘Mr. Raffies!’ sald I laughing, as I shook his hand: A “'You're late. ‘1 was misdirected.” ““That all? I'm relieved,’ he said. ‘Do you know what they are saying? There are some brand new bushrangers on the road between Whittlesea and this—a sec- e N mu'(ll il M Wi ‘\{',/"é"fx’_'/’/‘/' ! h Vi (,,’ iy (o -l 2 Ralite =~ o ad ond Kelly gang! They'd have caught a Tartar in you, ¢h? ““They would in you,' I retorted, and my tu quoguo shut him up and seemed to puzzle him. Yet there was much more sense in it than in his compliment to me, which was absolutely pointless. “‘I'm afraid you'll find things pretty rough he resumed, when he had un- strapped my valise and handed my reins to his man. ‘It's lucky you're a bachelor. like mvself.” “1 could not quite sce the point of this remark, either, since, had I been married, 1 should hardly have sprung my wife upon him in this free-and- easy fashion. I muttered the conven- tional sort of thing, and then he sald 1 should find it all right when I set- tled, a¢ though I had come to graze upon him for weeks! ‘Well’ thought I, ‘these colonials do take the cake for hospitality!” And, still marveling, I let himi lead me into the privats part of the bank. “ ‘Dinner’ will be ready in’a quarter of an hour,’ said he as we entered. ‘I thought you might like a tub first, and you'll find all ready in the room at the end of the passage. Sing out it there's anything you K want. Your luggage hasn't turned up yet, by th» way, but here’s a letter that came this morning.’ *‘Not for me’ “‘Yes, didn’t you expect one!' ‘I certainly did not.’ “‘Well, here it is.’ “Ahd as he lit me to my room I read my own superscription of the previous day—to W. F. Raffles. “Bunny, you've had your wind bagged at footer, I daresay; you know what that's like. All I can say is that my moral wind was bagged by that let- ter as I hope, old chap, I have never yet bagged yours. I couldn't speak. I could only stand with my own letter in my hands until he had the good taste to leave me by muyself. “W. F. Raffles! We had mistaken each other for W. F. Raffles—for the new manager who had not yet arrived! Small wonder we had conversed at cross-purposes; ;the only wonder was that we had not discovered our mutual mistake. How the other man would have laughed! But I—I could not laugh. By Jove, no, it was no laugh- ing matter for me! I saw the whole thing in a flash, without a tremor, but with the direst depression from my own single point of view. Call it callous if you like, Bunny, but remember that I was in much the same Lole as you've since been in yourself and that I had counted on this W. F. Raffles even as you counted on A. J. I thought of the man with the W. G. Beard—the rider- less horse with the bloody saddle—the deliberate misdirection that had put me off the track and out of the way— and now the missing manager and the report of buchnl?nn at this end. But 1 simply don’t pretend to have felt any personal pity for a man whom I had never seen; that kind of pity's ally cant; and besides, for myself. 0 : “I was in as big a hole as ever. What the devil was I to do? I doubt if I have sufficiently impressed upon you the absolute necessity of my returning P ‘all mine was neede wjl'n-u m i n /"/‘ W /s ,//,”//,// i Il T li Jinie ‘, g UALLTUR ittty /‘,/1 R “AND THER WITH THE GB IN THAT BRICK to Melbourne in funds. As a matter of fact, it was less the necessity than my own determination which I can truth- fully describe as absolute. “Money I would have—but how—but how? Would this stranger be open to persuasion—it I told.him the truth? No; tuat would set us all scouring the coun- try for the rest of the night. Why should I tell him? Suppose I left him to find out his mistake. would anything be gained? Bunny, I give you my word that 1 went in to dinmer without a def- inite intemtion in my head, or one pre- meditated lie upon my lips. I might do the decent natural thing and ex- plain Mmatters without loss of time: on the other. hand, there was no hurry. I had not opened the letter and could always pretend I had not noticed the injtials; meanwhile something might turn up. 1 could wait a little and see. Tempted 1 already was, but as yet the temptation was vague and its very vagueness made me tremble. ' ‘Bad news, I'm afraid? said the man- ager when at last I sat down at his table. ‘' ‘A mere annoyance,’ 1 answered—I do agsure you—on the spur of the moment and nothing else. But my le was told; my position was taken; from that mo- ment onward there was no retreat. By implication, without realizing what I was doing, 1 had already declared myself W. F. Raffles. Therg¢fore W. F. Raffles T would be in that bank for that night. And the devil teach me how to use my lie!" Again he ralsed his glass to his lips—1 lxad forgotten mine. His clfiqrptta case aught the gas light as he handed it to me. & shook my head, without taking my eyes from his. - “The devil played up,” ‘continued Raf- fles, with a laugh. “Before I tasted my soup I had decided what to do. I had de- termined to rob that bank instead of go- ing to bed, and to be badk in Melbourne for breakfast if the doctor's mare could do it. 1 would tell the old fellow that 1 had missed my way and been bushed for hours, as I easily might have been, and had never got to Yea at all. At Yea, an the other hand, the pgrsonation and rob- bery would ever after be attributed to a member of the gang that had waylaid and murdered the new manager with that very object. You are acquiring some ex- perience in such matters, Bunny. I ask you, was there ever a better get-out? Last night's was something like it, only never such a certalnty. And I saw it from the beginning—saw to the end before 1 had finished my soup. “To increase .my chances the cashier, who also lived in the bank, was away ovér the holld?y:-—hnd actuaily gone dbwn to Melbourne to see us play; and the man who had taken_ my l\:’rn also ‘Waited at table, for he and his wife were the only servants, and they slept in a separate bullding. You may 1 as- certained this hefore I finished dinner. Indeed, I was by way of adking too many Questions (the most oblique and delicate was that which elicited my host’s name, , nor was I careful enough to conceal their drift. : “ ‘Do you know,’ said this fellow Ew- bank, who ‘one of the downright sort, ‘it it 't you I should say you were In a funk .of robbers? Have you lost your nerve? é 1=:;"TO_OD ) EUNNING HOT OVEP OF A 5TEONCTEOOG L}VE MY FINGEES, - <> e “‘I hepe not,’ said I, turning jolly het, I can tell you; ‘but—waell, it's not a pleas- ant thing to have to put a bullet through “ ‘No? sald he coolly, ‘I should enjoy nothing better myself; besjdes, yours didn’t go through.’ ‘1 wish it had! I was smart enough to ‘*‘Amen,” said he. “And I emptied my glass. Actually T did not know whether my wounded bank robber was in prison, dead or at large. “‘But, now that I had more than enough of it, Ewbank would come back to the subject. He admitted that the staff was small, but as for himself, he had a load- ed revolver under his pillow all night, under the counter all day, and he was only waiting for his chance. ‘ “‘Under the counter, eh? 1 was an ass enough to say. ‘' ‘Yes; so had you! “He was looking at me in surprise, and sompething told me that to say 'Of course; ad forgotten!’ would have been quite fatal, considering what I was supposel to have done. So I looked down my nose and shook my head. ‘“*But the papers said you had!" he cried “'Not under the counter,’ sald I. ** ‘But it's the regujation! “For the moment, Bunny, 1 felt stumped, though I trust I only looked more superior than before, and think I justified mv look. 3 "he regulation!’ I said at length, in the most offensive tone at my command. ‘Yes, the regulation would ve us all dead men! My dear sif, d6 you expect your bank robber to let you reach Yor raglnthenhuwhm he knows I got my chance by counter with all visible “Ewbank stared at me and a five-barred | Wm‘ i &?S s Still,’ h ‘was rt! Still,’ he al 11k6 a man who would not be in the wrong, ‘the papers said the other thing, would you? “‘Of course,’ I rejoined, ‘because they sald what T told them. You wouldn't | | \ { \ have had me advertise the fact that I improved upon the bank's regulations, would you?" “So: that cloud rolled over, and by Jove it was a cloud with a golden lin- in*! Not silver—-real good Australian old! For old Ewbank hadn't quite ap- ;ru;hted me till then; he was a hard hut. a much older man than myself, and T feit pretty sure he thought me young for fhe place. and my, supposed feat a fluke. But I never saw a man change hif mind more opeply. He got out his best brandy, he made me throw away the cigar 1 was smoking, and opened a fresh box. He was a con- viym-looking party, with a red mus- tache and a very humorous face (not unlike Tom Emmett's), and from that moment I lajd myself out to attack him on his convivial flank. But he wasn't a Rosenthall. unny; he had a treble- seamed, hand-sewed head, and could havg drunk me under the table ten times over. “All right; 1 thought. ‘you may go to bed soher, but you'll sleep like a timber-yard’ And I threw half he gave me through the open windew, when he wasn't looking. “But he was’a good chap, Ewbank, and don't you imagine he was at ali In- temperate. Convivial T called him, and I only wish he had been something more. He did, however, become more and more genial as the evening ad- vanced, and I had not much difficulty in getting him to show me round the bank at what was really an unearthly hour for such a proceeding. It was when he went to fetch the revolver before turning in. I kept him out of his bed another twenty minutes, and I knew * gvéry inch of the business premises be- " fore 1 shook hands with Ewbank in my “You won't guess what I did with myselt for the next hour. I undressed and went to bed. The i t strain involved in even the most ate 1i rsopation is the most wearing 1 know. Then how much more 8o when the Impersonation is impromp- tu! There's no getting your eye in; the ‘next wgrd may bowl you out; it's bat- J i . { !‘l‘“ L s, i ting im a bad lght all through I haven't told you of half the tight places ‘1 was in during a conversjtion that ran into hours and became dangerously in- timate toward the end. You can im- agine them for yourself, and then pic- ture me spread out on my bed, getting my second wind for the big deal of the night. “Once more T was in luck, for I had not been lying there long before [ hegrd my dear Ewbank snoring Jike a harmonium, and the music never ceased for a moment; it was as lodd as ever when I crept out and closed my door behind me, as regular as ever when I stopped to listen at his. And I have still to hear the concert that I shall Joy more. The good fellow snored me out of the bank and was Still snoring when I again stood and listened under his open window. “Why did T leave the bank first? To cateh and saddle the mare and teth her In a clump of trees close by—tc have the means of escape nice and handy before I went to work. I hav often wondered at the instinctive wis- dom of the precaution. Unconscious! 1 was acting on what has been one of my gulding principles ever since. Pains and patience were required—I had to get 1y saddle without waking the man, and 1 was not used to catehing horses in a horse paddock. Then I diztrusted the poor mare, and T went back to the stables .or a batful of @uts, whidh [ left with her in the clump, hat and all There was a dog, tee, to reckon with (our very worst enemy, Btnny): but I had' been ‘cute enough to make im- mense friends with hum during the even- in{; and he wagged his tall, pot only wheht I came downstairs, -but when I reappearcd at the back. door. “As the soi-disant new manager. [ had been able, in the mest ordinary course, to pump poor Ewbank about anything and everything cornected with the working of the bank. espeeially in those twenty last invaluable minutes before turning in. And T had made a very natural point of asking him where he kept,“and would recommend me to Continued on Page Three er