Robinson-Jones herself.

"Look at that, Jenkins!" He said, gleefully, when the thing was all over. "A
check for $10,000."

"Well--that isn't so much, considering the value of the necklace," said I.

"That's the funny part of it," laughed Holmes. "Every stone in it was paste,
but Mrs. Robinson-Jones never let on for a minute. She paid her little ten
thousand rather than have it known."

"Great Heavens!--really?" I said.

"Yes," said Holmes, replacing the check in his pocket-book. "She's almost as
nervy as Nervy Jim himself. She's what I call a dead-game sport."

IX
THE ADVENTURE OF ROOM 407

Raffles Holmes and I had walked up-town together. It was a beastly cold
night, and when we reached the Hotel Powhatan my companion suggested that we
stop in for a moment to thaw out our frozen cheeks, and incidentally, warm
up the inner man with some one of the spirituous concoctions for which that
hostelry is deservedly famous. I naturally acquiesced, and in a moment we
sat at one of the small tables in the combination reading-room and cafe of
the hotel.

"Queer place, this," said Holmes, gazing about him at the motley company of
guests. "It is the gathering place of the noted and the notorious. That
handsome six-footer, who has just left the room, is the Reverend Dr.
Harkaway, possibly the most eloquent preacher they have in Boston. At the
table over in the corner, talking to that gold-haired lady with a roasted
pheasant on her head in place of a hat, is Jack McBride, the light-weight
champion of the Northwest, and--by thunder, Jenkins, look at that!"

A heavy-browed, sharp-eyed Englishman appeared in the doorway, stood a
moment, glanced about him eagerly, and, with a gesture of impatience, turned
away and disappeared in the throngs of the corridor without.

"There's something doing to bring 'Lord Baskingford' here," muttered Holmes.

"Lord Baskingford?" said I. "Who's he?"

"He's the most expert diamond lifter in London," answered Holmes. "His
appearance on Piccadilly was a signal always to Scotland Yard to wake up,
and to the jewellers of Bond Street to lock up. My old daddy used to say
that Baskingford could scent a Kohinoor quicker than a hound a fox. I wonder
what his game is."

"Is he a real lord?" I asked.

"Real?" laughed Holmes. "Yes--he's a real Lord of the Lifters, if that's
what you mean, but if you mean does he belong to the peerage, no. His real
name is Bob Hollister. He has served two terms