Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 48, No. 1, January 2003

“Ah, I do not promise that, not just yet. I do promise that I won’t send it to the police, though. You see, it’s not altogether out of the question that I may need your specialist services again in the future, and as you observed, I’m a man who believes in insurance. I promise you one thing, though, Mr. Raffles. Double-cross me and the police will get that document!” He nodded at the door in silent and contemptuous dismissal.

“We’ll say good night, then,” said Raffles quietly, and he took my arm and led me out, telling me to be silent when I ventured to express some of what I felt about Mr. Morgan.

“What d’you think of our host now, Bunny?” he asked, his eyes sparkling, when we were safely in his room.

I told him. At some length, I fear.

“I tend to concur,” said Raffles when I had stopped from sheer exhaustion. “Not a very nice man, as my old nurse would say.”

“And mine usually added, ‘Come away!’ ” I said. “But we can’t very well, can we?”

“Not just at the moment.” Raffles lit a cigarette. “You know, Bunny, those diamonds are the finest I’ve ever seen! And I mean to have them!”

“Well, then, take Lady Whitechurch’s emeralds as well, could you?” I said sceptically. “I could use some cash myself.”

“You know, I think I might. After all, no self-respecting burglar would take just one item, would he?”

It was said with such assurance that my scepticism vanished. But my awareness of the magnitude of the task did not. “And the other business? The document?”

“Ah, yes, the document. That does present a problem. But don’t you see, Bunny, that the problem of the document is quite different from the problem of the diamonds? In the first place, I’m by no means convinced that Morgan won’t send the document to Scotland Yard, even if I do steal his precious necklace, because quite frankly he strikes me as a double-dealing, back-biting yellow cur of the worst sort. And even if he doesn’t send it now and give us away, he won’t hand it over to us, so what’s to stop him calling on our ‘services’ at any time in the future? For his fortunes are sure to decline again, once the cash from this particular swindle is spent. And I for one don’t relish the thought of being a sort of hired crook, an unpaid one at that. We’re sure to run up against something that we can’t and won’t do, and then the document will land at Scotland Yard anyway, so it’s simply a matter of deferring the inevitable. And then there’s the question of the diamonds, Bunny — if we hand them over to Morgan, he’ll keep the proceeds without any thought of sharing with us, and we still have our own bills to pay!” He smoked in silence for a moment or two, then went on, “Bunny, you’re a good fellow, but I need to think this out by myself. Cut along to bed and get a decent night’s sleep. And if you could, keep Morgan away as much as possible tomorrow, would you?”

“Away from what?” I asked.

“From me, of course! I’ll need to think and observe, and I can’t do that with him nearby.”

I did as he suggested and went to bed, but I fear I did not get a decent night’s sleep, or anything like it. I felt that we were damned if we did and damned if we didn’t, and I could not honestly see even Raffles coming out of this with any honour, much less any profit.

I saw him only briefly at breakfast, and as I passed him he lowered his voice and said, “Remember!” The trouble was I did remember, I remembered that that was the last word Charles I said on the scaffold! A bad omen, I thought. In the event I did not have to keep Morgan occupied, for he kept out of the way pretty much all day, I rather suspected in order to avoid any suggestion that he had been seen with Raffles and myself if anything went wrong. I feared more and more as the day drew slowly and agonizingly to its close that something would go wrong. I tried to get Cynthia on her own, purely to break the monotony, but her wretched aunt insisted on playing gooseberry.

In the afternoon I excused myself from the game of cards that had been set up in the drawing room — “For fun only, strictly no gambling,” and wouldn’t you just know it, in that company? — and set off for a brisk walk to clear my head.

I went over the lawn and through the park, looking for Raffles but not seeing him anywhere, until I found a little wood with some farmland beyond. I was delighted to spot a hare, obviously as bored as I was myself, gambolling about in the snow, all on his own, perhaps getting into training for the boxing matches he would have with his rivals in love in a few weeks’ time. I stood there entranced for a quarter of an hour and was startled when Raffles’s voice whispered in my ear, “All bunnies together, eh?”

“A hare, Raffles, not a rabbit. And where the devil have you been, anyway?”

“Oh,” he said vaguely, “getting the feel of the place, the lie of the land.”

“And have you formed any plan, then?”

“An outline, my Bunny, an outline. It will need courage, though, and not a little luck. Has Morgan been obtrusive today?”