Roger, '84, and quite good enough for me; but even so it was
not more dry, nor did it sparkle more, than the merry rascal who had
dragged me thus far to the devil, but should lead me dancing the rest
of the way. I was beginning to tell him so. I had done my honest best
since my reappearance in the world; but the world had done its worst
by me. A further antithesis and my final intention were both upon my
tongue when the waiter with the Chateau Margaux cut me short; for he
was the bearer of more than that great wine; bringing also a card upon
a silver tray.

"Show him up," said Raffles, laconically.

"And who is this?" I cried when the man was gone. Raffles reached
across the table and gripped my arm in a vice. His eyes were steel
points fixed on mine.

"Bunny, stand by me," said he in the old irresistible voice, a voice
both stern and winning. "Stand by me, Bunny--if there's a row!"

And there was time for nothing more, the door flying open, and a dapper
person entering with a bow; a frock-coat on his back, gold pince-nez on
his nose; a shiny hat in one hand, and a black bag in the other.

"Good-evening, gentlemen," said he, at home and smiling.

"Sit down," drawled Raffles in casual response. "Say, let me introduce
you to Mr. Ezra B. Martin, of Shicawgo. Mr. Martin is my future
brother-in-law. This is Mr. Robinson, Ezra, manager to Sparks &
Company, the cellerbrated joolers on Re-gent Street."

I pricked up my ears, but contented myself with a nod. I altogether
distrusted my ability to live up to my new name and address.

"I figured on Miss Martin bein' right here, too," continued Raffles,
"but I regret to say she's not feelin' so good. We light out for
Parrus on the 9 A. M. train to-morrer mornin', and she guessed she'd
be too dead. Sorry to disappoint you, Mr. Robinson; but you'll see I'm
advertisin' your wares."

Raffles held his right hand under the electric light, and a diamond
ring flashed upon his little finger. I could have sworn it was not
there five minutes before.

The tradesman had a disappointed face, but for a moment it brightened
as he expatiated on the value of that ring and on the price his people
had accepted for it. I was invited to guess the figure, but I shook a
discreet head. I have seldom been more taciturn in my life.

"Forty-five pounds," cried the jeweller; "and it would be cheap at
fifty guineas."

"That's right," assented Raffles. "That'd be dead chea