er hard luck if I am to go unforgiven into the
bargain? I admit that I made a mistake; but, my dear fellow, I made it
entirely for your sake."

"For my sake!" I echoed bitterly.

Raffles was more generous; he ignored my tone.

"I was miserable about you--frankly--miserable!" he went on. "I
couldn't get it out of my head that somehow you would be laid by the
heels. It was not your pluck that I distrusted, my dear fellow, but it
was your very pluck that made me tremble for you. I couldn't get you
out of my head. I went in when runs were wanted, but I give you my
word that I was more anxious about you; and no doubt that's why I
helped to put on some runs. Didn't you see it in the paper, Bunny?
It's the innings of my life, so far."

"Yes," I said, "I saw that you were in at close of play. But I don't
believe it was you--I believe you have a double who plays your cricket
for you!"

And at the moment that seemed less incredible than the fact.

"I'm afraid you didn't read your paper very carefully," said Raffles,
with the first trace of pique in his tone. "It was rain that closed
play before five o'clock. I hear it was a sultry day in town, but at
Manchester we got the storm, and the ground was under water in ten
minutes. I never saw such a thing in my life. There was absolutely
not the ghost of a chance of another ball being bowled. But I had
changed before I thought of doing what I did. It was only when I was
on my way back to the hotel, by myself, because I couldn't talk to a
soul for thinking of you, that on the spur of the moment I made the man
take me to the station instead, and was under way in the restaurant car
before I had time to think twice about it. I am not sure that of all
the mad deeds I have ever done, this was not the maddest of the lot!"

"It was the finest," I said in a low voice; for now I marvelled more at
the impulse which had prompted his feat, and at the circumstances
surrounding it, than even at the feat itself.

"Heaven knows," he went on, "what they are saying and doing in
Manchester! But what can they say? 'What business is it of theirs? I
was there when play stopped, and I shall be there when it starts again.
We shall be at Waterloo just after half-past three, and that's going to
give me an hour at the Albany on my way to Euston, and another hour at
Old Trafford before play begins. What's the matter with that? I don't
suppose I shall notch any more, but all the better if