had made short work of my hock, though it
was Johannisberger. As for Raffles, one had but to see his horror to
feel how completely he was off his guard.

"In itself, I have heard, it was not a sympathetic case?" was the
remark with which he broke the general silence.

"Not a bit."

"That must have been a comfort to you," said Raffles dryly.

"It would have been to me," vowed our author, while the barrister
merely smiled. "I should have been very sorry to have had a hand in
hanging Peckham and Solomons the other day."

"Why Peckham and Solomons?" inquired my lord.

"They never meant to kill that old lady."

"But they strangled her in her bed with her own pillow-case!"

"I don't care," said the uncouth scribe. "They didn't break in for
that. They never thought of scragging her. The foolish old person
would make a noise, and one of them tied too tight. I call it jolly
bad luck on them."

"On quiet, harmless, well-behaved thieves," added Lord Thornaby, "in
the unobtrusive exercise of their humble avocation."

And, as he turned to Raffles with his puffy smile, I knew that we had
reached that part of the programme which had undergone rehearsal: it
had been perfectly timed to arrive with the champagne, and I was not
afraid to signify my appreciation of that small mercy. But Raffles
laughed so quickly at his lordship's humor, and yet with such a natural
restraint, as to leave no doubt that he had taken kindly to my own old
part, and was playing the innocent inimitably in his turn, by reason of
his very innocence. It was a poetic judgment on old Raffles, and in my
momentary enjoyment of the novel situation I was able to enjoy some of
the good things of this rich man's table. The saddle of mutton more
than justified its place in the menu; but it had not spoiled me for my
wing of pheasant, and I was even looking forward to a sweet, when a
further remark from the literary light recalled me from the table to
its talk.

"But, I suppose," said he to Kingsmill, "it's many a burglar you've
restored to his friends and his relations'?"

"Let us say many a poor fellow who has been charged with burglary,"
replied the cheery Q.C. "It's not quite the same thing, you know, nor
is 'many' the most accurate word. I never touch criminal work in town."

"It's the only kind I should care about," said the novelist, eating
jelly with a spoon.

"I quite agree with you," our host chimed in. "And of all the
criminals one migh