The Raffles Megapack. E.W. Hornung
let one in!
“‘Who’s that knocking?’ said Ewbank up above.
“I could not make out the answer, but it sounded to me like the irrelevant supplication of a spent man. What I did hear, plainly, was the cocking of the bank revolver before the bolts were shot back. Then, a tottering step, a hard, short, shallow breathing, and Ewbank’s voice in horror—
“‘My God! Good Lord! What’s happened to you? You’re bleeding like a pig!’
“‘Not now,’ came with a grateful sort of sigh.
“‘But you have been! What’s done it?’
“‘Bushrangers.’
“‘Down the road?’
“‘This and Whittlesea—tied to tree—cock shots—left me—bleed to death…’”
The weak voice failed, and the bare feet bolted. Now was my time—if the poor devil had fainted. But I could not be sure, and there I crouched down below in the dark, at the half-shut iron door, not less spellbound than imprisoned. It was just as well, for Ewbank wasn’t gone a minute.
“‘Drink this,’ I heard him say, and, when the other spoke again, his voice was stronger.
“‘Now I begin to feel alive…’
“‘Don’t talk!’
“‘It does me good. You don’t know what it was, all those miles alone, one an hour at the outside! I never thought I should come through. You must let me tell you—in case I don’t!’
“‘Well, have another sip.’
“‘Thank you…I said bushrangers; of course, there are no such things nowadays.’
“‘What were they, then?’
“‘Bank-thieves; the one that had the pot shots was the very brute I drove out of the bank at Coburg, with a bullet in him!”’
“I knew it!”
“Of course you did, Bunny; so did I, down in that strong-room; but old Ewbank didn’t, and I thought he was never going to speak again.
“‘You’re delirious,’ he says at last. ‘Who in blazes do you think you are?’
“‘The new manager.’
“‘The new manager’s in bed and asleep upstairs.’
“‘When did he arrive?’
“‘This evening.’
“‘Call himself Raffles?’
“‘Yes.’
“‘Well, I’m damned!’ whispered the real man. ‘I thought it was just revenge, but now I see what it was. My dear sir, the man upstairs is an imposter—if he’s upstairs still! He must be one of the gang. He’s going to rob the bank—if he hasn’t done so already!’
“‘If he hasn’t done so already,’ muttered Ewbank after him; ‘if he’s upstairs still! By God, if he is, I’m sorry for him!’
“His tone was quiet enough, but about the nastiest I ever heard. I tell you, Bunny, I was glad I’d brought that revolver. It looked as though it must be mine against his, muzzle to muzzle.
“‘Better have a look down here, first,’ said the new manager.
“‘While he gets through his window? No, no, he’s not down here.’
“‘It’s easy to have a look.’
“Bunny, if you ask me what was the most thrilling moment of my infamous career, I say it was that moment. There I stood at the bottom of those narrow stone stairs, inside the strong-room, with the door a good foot open, and I didn’t know whether it would creak or not. The light was coming nearer—and I didn’t know! I had to chance it. And it didn’t creak a bit; it was far too solid and well-hung; and I couldn’t have banged it if I tried, it was too heavy; and it fitted so close that I felt and heard the air squeeze out in my face. Every shred of light went out, except the streak underneath, and it brightened. How I blessed that door!
“‘No, he’s not down there,’ I heard, as though through cotton-wool; then the streak went out too, and in a few seconds I ventured to open once more, and was in time to hear them creeping to my room.
“Well, now there was not a fifth of a second to be lost; but I’m proud to say I came up those stairs on my toes and fingers, and out of that bank (they’d gone and left the door open) just as gingerly as though my time had been my own. I didn’t even forget to put on the hat that the doctor’s mare was eating her oats out of, as well as she could with a bit, or it alone would have landed me. I didn’t even gallop away, but just jogged off quietly in the thick dust at the side of the road (though I own my heart was galloping), and thanked my stars the bank was at that end of the township, in which I really hadn’t set foot. The very last thing I heard was the two managers raising Cain and the coachman. And now, Bunny—”
He stood up and stretched himself, with a smile that ended in a yawn. The black windows had faded through every shade of indigo; they now framed their opposite neighbors, stark and livid in the dawn; and the gas seemed turned to nothing in the globes.
“But that’s not all?” I cried.
“I’m sorry to say it is,” said Raffles apologetically. “The thing should have ended with an exciting chase, I know, but somehow it didn’t. I suppose they thought I had got no end of a start; then they had made up their minds that I belonged to the gang, which was not so many miles away; and one of them had got as much as he could carry from that gang as it was. But I wasn’t to know all that, and I’m bound to say that there was plenty of excitement left for me. Lord, how I made that poor brute travel when I got among the trees! Though we must have made it over fifty miles from Melbourne, we had done it at a snail’s pace; and those stolen oats had brisked the old girl up to such a pitch that she fairly bolted when she felt her nose turned south. By Jove, it was no joke, in and out among those trees, and under branches with your face in the mane! I told you about the forest of dead gums? It looked perfectly ghostly in the moonlight. And I found it as still as I had left it—so still that I pulled up there, my first halt, and lay with my ear to the ground for two or three minutes. But I heard nothing—not a thing but the mare’s bellow and my own heart. I’m sorry, Bunny; but if ever you write my memoirs, you won’t have any difficulty in working up that chase. Play those dead gum-trees for all they’re worth, and let the bullets fly like hail. I’ll turn round in my saddle to see Ewbank coming up hell-to-leather in his white suit, and I’ll duly paint it red. Do it in the third person, and they won’t know how it’s going to end.”
“But I don’t know myself,” I complained. “Did the mare carry you all the way back to Melbourne?”
“Every rod, pole or perch! I had her well seen to at our hotel, and returned her to the doctor in the evening. He was tremendously tickled to hear that I had been bushed; next morning he brought me the paper to show me what I had escaped at Yea!”
“Without suspecting anything?”
“Ah!” said Raffles, as he put out the gas; “that’s a point on which I’ve never made up my mind. The mare and her color was a coincidence—luckily she was only a bay—and I fancied the condition of the beast must have told a tale. The doctor’s manner was certainly different. I’m inclined to think he suspected something, though not the right thing. I wasn’t expecting him, and I fear my appearance may have increased his suspicions.”
I asked him why.
“I used to have rather a heavy moustache,” said Raffles, “but I lost it the day after I lost my innocence.”
WILFUL MURDER
Of the various robberies in which we were both concerned, it is but the few, I find, that will bear telling at any length. Not that the others contained details