detail was premeditated, and an
alternative expedient at each finger's end for as many bare and awful
possibilities. In this case, however, the finished study stopped short
at the garden gate or wall; there I was to assume command; and though
Raffles carried the actual tools of trade of which he alone was master,
it was on the understanding that for once I should control and direct
their use.

I had gone down in evening-clothes by an evening train, but had
carefully overshot old landmarks, and alighted at a small station some
miles south of the one where I was still remembered. This committed me
to a solitary and somewhat lengthy tramp; but the night was mild and
starry, and I marched into it with a high stomach; for this was to be
no costume crime, and yet I should have Raffles at my elbow all the
night. Long before I reached my destination, indeed, he stood in wait
for me on the white highway, and we finished with linked arms.

"I came down early," said Raffles, "and had a look at the races. I
always prefer to measure my man, Bunny; and you needn't sit in the
front row of the stalls to take stock of your friend Guillemard. No
wonder he doesn't ride his own horses! The steeple-chaser isn't foaled
that would carry him round that course. But he's a fine monument of a
man, and he takes his troubles in a way that makes me blush to add to
them."

"Did he lose a horse?" I inquired cheerfully.

"No, Bunny, but he didn't win a race! His horses were by chalks the
best there, and his pals rode them like the foul fiend, but with the
worst of luck every time. Not that you'd think it, from the row
they're making. I've been listening to them from the road--you always
did say the house stood too near it."

"Then you didn't go in?"

"When it's your show? You should know me better. Not a foot would I
set on the premises behind your back. But here they are, so perhaps
you'll lead the way."

And I led it without a moment's hesitation, through the unpretentious
six-barred gate into the long but shallow crescent of the drive. There
were two such gates, one at each end of the drive, but no lodge at
either, and not a light nearer than those of the house. The shape and
altitude of the lighted windows, the whisper of the laurels on either
hand, the very feel of the gravel underfoot, were at once familiar to
my senses as the sweet, relaxing, immemorial air that one drank deeper
at every breath. Our stealthy advance was to