t be called upon to defend, give me the enterprising
burglar."

"It must be the breeziest branch of the business," remarked Raffles,
while I held my breath.

But his touch was as light as gossamer, and his artless manner a
triumph of even his incomparable art. Raffles was alive to the danger
at last. I saw him refuse more champagne, even as I drained my glass
again. But it was not the same danger to us both. Raffles had no
reason to feel surprise or alarm at such a turn in a conversation
frankly devoted to criminology; it must have been as inevitable to him
as it was sinister to me, with my fortuitous knowledge of the
suspicions that were entertained. And there was little to put him on
his guard in the touch of his adversaries, which was only less light
than his own.

"I am not very fond of Mr. Sikes," announced the barrister, like a man
who had got his cue.

"But he was prehistoric," rejoined my lord. "A lot of blood has flowed
under the razor since the days of Sweet William."

"True; we have had Peace," said Parrington, and launched out into such
glowing details of that criminal's last moments that I began to hope
the diversion might prove permanent. But Lord Thornaby was not to be
denied.

"William and Charles are both dead monarchs," said he. "The reigning
king in their department is the fellow who gutted poor Danby's place in
Bond Street."

There was a guilty silence on the part of the three conspirators--for I
had long since persuaded myself that Ernest was not in their
secret--and then my blood froze.

"I know him well," said Raffles, looking up.

Lord Thornaby stared at him in consternation. The smile on the
Napoleonic countenance of the barrister looked forced and frozen for
the first time during the evening. Our author, who was nibbling cheese
from a knife, left a bead of blood upon his beard. The futile Ernest
alone met the occasion with a hearty titter.

"What!" cried my lord. "You know the thief?"

"I wish I did," rejoined Raffles, chuckling. "No, Lord Thornaby, I
only meant the jeweller, Danby. I go to him when I want a wedding
present."

I heard three deep breaths drawn as one before I drew my own.

"Rather a coincidence," observed our host dryly, "for I believe you
also know the Milchester people, where Lady Melrose had her necklace
stolen a few months afterward."

"I was staying there at the time," said Raffles eagerly. No snob was
ever quicker to boast of basking in t