Raffles mildly, "is to see
something else as clever as that last."

"Then come this way," said the clerk, and led us into a recess almost
monopolized by the iron-clamped chest of thrilling memory, now a mere
platform for the collection of mysterious objects under a dust-sheet
on the lid. "These," he continued, unveiling them with an air, "are
the Raffles Relics, taken from his rooms in the Albany after his death
and burial, and the most complete set we've got. That's his
centre-bit, and this is the bottle of rock-oil he's supposed to have
kept dipping it in to prevent making a noise. Here's the revawlver he
used when he shot at a gentleman on the roof down Horsham way; it was
afterward taken from him on the P. & O. boat before he jumped
overboard."

I could not help saying I understood that Raffles had never shot at
anybody. I was standing with my back to the nearest window, my hat
jammed over my brows and my overcoat collar up to my ears.

"That's the only time we know about," the clerk admitted; "and it
couldn't be brought 'ome, or his precious pal would have got more than
he did. This empty cawtridge is the one he 'id the Emperor's pearl in,
on the Peninsular and Orient. These gimlets and wedges were what he
used for fixin' doors. This is his rope-ladder, with the telescope
walking-stick he used to hook it up with; he's said to have 'ad it
with him the night he dined with the Earl of Thornaby, and robbed the
house before dinner. That's his life-preserver; but no one can make
out what this little thick velvet bag's for, with the two holes and
the elawstic round each. Perhaps you can give a guess, sir?"

Raffles had taken up the bag that he had invented for the noiseless
filing of keys. Now he handled it as though it were a tobacco-pouch,
putting in finger and thumb, and shrugging over the puzzle with a
delicious face; nevertheless, he showed me a few grains of steel
filing as the result of his investigations, and murmured in my ear,
"These sweet police!" I, for my part, could not but examine the
life-preserver with which I had once smitten Raffles himself to the
ground: actually, there was his blood upon it still; and seeing my
horror, the clerk plunged into a characteristically garbled version of
that incident also. It happened to have come to light among others at
the Old Bailey, and perhaps had its share in promoting the quality of
mercy which had undoubtedly been exercised on my behalf. But the
present recita