ed him to pick me up on
his way; but at five minutes to the appointed hour there was no sign
of Raffles or his cab. We were bidden at a quarter to eight for eight
o'clock, so after all I had to hurry off alone.

Fortunately, Thornaby House is almost at the end of my street that
was; and it seemed to me another fortunate circumstance that the house
stood back, as it did and does, in its own august courtyard; for, as I
was about to knock, a hansom came twinkling in behind me, and I drew
back, hoping it was Raffles at the last moment. It was not, and I knew
it in time to melt from the porch, and wait yet another minute in the
shadows, since others were as late as I. And out jumped these others,
chattering in stage whispers as they paid their cab.

"Thornaby has a bet about it with Freddy Vereker, who can't come, I
hear. Of course, it won't be lost or won to-night. But the dear man
thinks he's been invited as a cricketer!"

"I don't believe he's the other thing," said a voice as brusque as the
first was bland. "I believe it's all bunkum. I wish I didn't, but I
do!"

"I think you'll find it's more than that," rejoined the other, as the
doors opened and swallowed the pair.

I flung out limp hands and smote the air. Raffles bidden to what he
had well called this "gruesome board," not as a cricketer but,
clearly, as a suspected criminal! Raffles wrong all the time, and I
right for once in my original apprehension! And still no Raffles in
sight--no Raffles to warn--no Raffles, and the clocks striking eight!

Well may I shirk the psychology of such a moment, for my belief is
that the striking clocks struck out all power of thought and feeling,
and that I played my poor part the better for that blessed surcease of
intellectual sensation. On the other hand, I was never more alive to
the purely objective impressions of any hour of my existence, and of
them the memory is startling to this day. I hear my mad knock at the
double doors; they fly open in the middle, and it is like some
sumptuous and solemn rite. A long slice of silken-legged lackey is
seen on either hand; a very prelate of a butler bows a benediction
from the sanctuary steps. I breathe more freely when I reach a
book-lined library where a mere handful of men do not overflow the
Persian rug before the fire. One of them is Raffles, who is talking to
a large man with the brow of a demi-god and the eyes and jowl of a
degenerate bulldog. And this is our noble host.