Produced by Douglas Ethington
R. HOLMES & CO.
Being the Remarkable Adventures of Raffles Holmes, Esq., Detective andAmateur Cracksman by Birth
by John Kendrick Bangs
ContentsI. INTRODUCING MR. RAFFLES HOLMESII. THE ADVENTURE OF THE DORRINGTON RUBY SEALIII. THE ADVENTURE OF MRS. BURLINGAME'S DIAMOND STOMACHERIV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE MISSING PENDANTSV. THE ADVENTURE OF THE BRASS CHECKVI. THE ADVENTURE OF THE HIRED BURGLARVII. THE REDEMPTION OF YOUNG BILLINGTON RANDVIII. "THE NOSTALGIA OF NERVY JIM THE SNATCHER"IX. THE ADVENTURE OF ROOM 407X. THE MAJOR-GENERAL'S PEPPERPOTS
R. HOLMES & CO.
IINTRODUCING MR. RAFFLES HOLMES
It was a blistering night in August. All day long the mercury in thethermometer had been flirting with the figures at the top of the tube, andthe promised shower at night which a mendacious Weather Bureau had beenprophesying as a slight mitigation of our sufferings was conspicuous whollyby its absence. I had but one comfort in the sweltering hours of the day,afternoon and evening, and that was that my family were away in themountains, and there was no law against my sitting around all day clad onlyin my pajamas, and otherwise concealed from possibly intruding eyes by thewreaths of smoke that I extracted from the nineteen or twenty cigars which,when there is no protesting eye to suggest otherwise, form my dailyallowance. I had tried every method known to the resourceful flat-dwellerof modern times to get cool and to stay so, but alas, it was impossible.Even the radiators, which all winter long had never once given forth aspark of heat, now hissed to the touch of my moistened finger. Enoughcooling drinks to float an ocean greyhound had passed into my inner man,with no other result than to make me perspire more profusely than ever,and in so far as sensations went, to make me feel hotter than before.Finally, as a last resource, along about midnight, its gridiron floorhaving had a chance to lose some of its stored-up warmth, I climbed outupon the fire-escape at the rear of the Richmere, hitched my hammock fromone of the railings thereof to the leader running from the roof to thearea, and swung myself therein some eighty feet above the concealedpavement of our backyard--so called, perhaps, because of its dimensionswhich were just about that square. It was a little improvement, thoughnothing to brag of. What fitful zephyrs there might be, caused no doubt bythe rapid passage to and fro on the roof above and fence-tops below ofvagrant felines on Cupid's contentious battles bent, to the disturbance ofthe still air, soughed softly through the meshes of my hammock and gavesome measure of relief, grateful enough for which I ceased the perfervidlanguage I had been using practically since sunrise, and dozed off. Andthen there entered upon the scene that marvelous man, Raffles Holmes, ofwhose exploits it is the purpose of these papers to tell.
I had dozed perhaps for a full hour when the first strange sounds gratedupon my ear. Somebody had opened a window in the kitchen of the first-floorapartment below, and with a dark lantern was inspecting the iron platformof the fire-escape without. A moment later this somebody crawled out of thewindow, and with movements that in themselves were a sufficient indicationof the questionable character of his proceedings, made for the ladderleading to the floor above, upon which many a time and oft had I tooclimbed to home and safety when an inconsiderate janitor had locked me out.Every step that he took was stealthy--that much I could see by the dimstarlight. His lantern he had turned dark again, evidently lest he shouldattract attention in the apartments below as he passed their windows in hisupward flight.
"Ha! ha!" thought I to myself. "It's never too hot for Mr. Sneak to get inhis fine work. I wonder whose stuff he is after?"
Turning over flat on my stomach so that I might the more readily observethe man's movements, and breathing pianissimo lest he in turn shouldobserve mine, I watched him as he climbed. Up he came as silently as themidnight mouse upon a soft carpet--up past the Jorkins apartments on thesecond floor; up stealthily by the Tinkletons' abode on the third; up pastthe fire-escape Italian garden of little Mrs. Persimmon on the fourth; uppast the windows of the disagreeable Garraways' kitchen below mine, andthen, with the easy grace of a feline, zip! he silently landed within reachof my hand on my own little iron veranda, and craning his neck to oneside, peered in through the open window and listened intently for two fullminutes.
"Humph!" whispered my inner consciousness to itself. "He is the coolestthing I've seen since last Christmas left town. I wonder what he is up to?There's nothing in my apartment worth stealing, now that my wife andchildren are away, unless it be my Jap valet, Nogi, who might make a veryexcellent cab driver if I could only find words to convey to his mind theidea that he is discharged."
And then the visitor, apparently having correctly assured himself thatthere was no one within, stepped across the window sill and vanished intothe darkness of my kitchen. A moment later I too entered the window inpursuit, not so close a one, however, as to acquaint him with my proximity.I wanted to see what the chap was up to; and also being totally unarmed andignorant as to whether or not he carried dangerous weapons, I determined togo slow for a little while. Moreover, the situation was not wholly devoidof novelty, and it seemed to me that here at last was abundant opportunityfor a new sensation. As he had entered, so did he walk cautiously along thenarrow bowling alley that serves for a hallway connecting my drawing-roomand library with the dining-room, until he came to the library, into whichhe disappeared. This was not reassuring to me, because, to tell the truth,I value my books more than I do my plate, and if I were to be robbed Ishould much have preferred his taking my plated plate from the dining-roomthan any one of my editions-deluxe sets of the works of Marie Corelli, HallCaine, and other standard authors from the library shelves. Once in thelibrary, he quietly drew the shades at the windows thereof to bar possibleintruding eyes from without, turned on the electric lights, and proceededto go through my papers as calmly and coolly as though they were his own.In a short time, apparently, he found what he wanted in the shape of aroyalty statement recently received by me from my publishers, and, lightingone of my cigars from a bundle of brevas in front of him, took off his coatand sat down to peruse the statement of my returns. Simple though it was,this act aroused the first feeling of resentment in my breast, for therelations between the author and his publishers are among the most sacredconfidences of life, and the peeping Tom who peers through a keyhole at thecourtship of a young man engaged in wooing his fiancee is no worse anintruder than he who would tear aside the veil of secrecy which screens theofficial returns of a "best seller" from the public eye. Feeling,therefore, that I had permitted matters to proceed as far as they mightwith propriety, I instantly entered the room and confronted my uninvitedguest, bracing myself, of course, for the defensive onslaught which Inaturally expected to sustain. But nothing of the sort occurred, for theintruder, with a composure that was nothing short of marvelous under thecircumstances, instead of rising hurriedly like one caught in somedisreputable act, merely leaned farther back in the chair, took the cigarfrom his mouth, and greeted me with:
"Howdy do, sir. What can I do for you this beastly hot night?"
The cold rim of a revolver-barrel placed at my temple could not moreeffectually have put me out of business than this nonchalant reception.Consequently I gasped out something about its being the sultriest 47th ofAugust in eighteen years, and plumped back into a chair opposite him. "Iwouldn't mind a Remsen cooler myself," he went on, "but the fact is yourbutler is off for to-night, and I'm hanged if I can find a lemon in thehouse. Maybe you'll join me in a smoke?" he added, shoving my own bundle ofbrevas across the table. "Help yourself."
"I guess I know where the lemons are," said I. "But how did you know mybutler was out?"
"I telephoned him to go to Philadelphia this afternoon to see his brotherYoku, who is ill there," said my v
isitor. "You see, I didn't want himaround to-night when I called. I knew I could manage you alone in case youturned up, as you see you have, but two of you, and one a Jap, I was afraidmight involve us all in ugly complications. Between you and me, Jenkins,these Orientals are pretty lively fighters, and your man Nogi particularlyhas got jiu-jitsu down to a pretty fine point, so I had to do something toget rid of him. Our arrangement is a matter for two, not three, anyhow."
"So," said I, coldly. "You and I have an arrangement, have we? I wasn'taware of it."
"Not yet," he answered. "But there's a chance that we may have. If I canonly satisfy myself that you are the man I'm looking for, there is noearthly reason that I can see why we should not come to terms. Go on outand get the lemons and the gin and soda, and let's talk this thing over manto man like a couple of good fellows at the club. I mean you no harm, andyou certainly don't wish to do any kind of injury to a chap who, eventhough appearances are against him, really means to do you a good turn."
"Appearances certainly are against you, sir," said I, a trifle warmly, forthe man's composure was irritating. "A disappearance would be more likelyto do you credit at this moment."
"Tush, Jenkins!" he answered. "Why waste breath saying self-evident things?Here you are on the verge of a big transaction, and you delay proceedingsby making statements of fact, mixed in with a cheap wit which, I mustconfess, I find surprising, and so obvious as to be visible even to theblind. You don't talk like an author whose stuff is worth ten cents aword--more like a penny-a-liner, in fact, with whom words are of such smallvalue that no one's the loser if he throws away a whole dictionary. Go outand mix a couple of your best Remsen coolers, and by the time you get backI'll have got to the gist of this royalty statement of yours, which is allI've come for. Your silver and books and love letters and manuscripts aresafe from me. I wouldn't have 'em as a gift."
"What concern have you with my royalties?" I demanded.
"A vital one," said he. "Mix the coolers, and when you get back I'll tellyou. Go on. There's a good chap. It'll be daylight before long, and I wantto close up this job if I can before sunrise."
What there was in the man's manner to persuade me to compliance with hiswishes, I am sure I cannot say definitely. There was a cold, steely glitterin his eye, for one thing. With it, however, was a strengthfulness ofpurpose, a certain pleasant masterfulness, that made me feel that I couldtrust him, and it was to this aspect of his nature that I yielded. Therewas something frankly appealing in his long, thin, ascetic looking face,and I found it irresistible.
"All right," said I with a smile and a frown to express the conflictingquality of my emotions. "So be it. I'll get the coolers, but you mustremember, my friend, that there are coolers and coolers, just as there arejugs and jugs. The kind of jug that remains for you will depend upon thestory you have to tell when I get back, so you'd better see that it's agood one."
"I am not afraid, Jenkins, old chap," he said with a hearty laugh as Irose. "If this royalty statement can prove to me that you are the literarypartner I need in my business, I can prove to you that I'm a good man totie up to--so go along with you."
With this he lighted a fresh cigar and turned to a perusal of my statement,which, I am glad to say, was a good one, owing to the great success of mybook, _Wild Animals I Have Never Met_--the seventh-best seller atRochester, Watertown, and Miami in June and July, 1905--while I went outinto the dining-room and mixed the coolers. As you may imagine, I was notlong at it, for my curiosity over my visitor lent wings to my corkscrew,and in five minutes I was back with the tempting beverages in the tallglasses, the lemon curl giving it the vertebrate appearance that all stiffdrinks should have, and the ice tinkling refreshingly upon the sultry air.
"There," said I, placing his glass before him. "Drink hearty, and then tobusiness. Who are you?"
"There is my card," he replied, swallowing a goodly half of the cooler andsmacking his lips appreciatively, and tossing a visiting card across to meon the other side of the table. I picked up the card and read as follows:"Mr. Raffles Holmes, London and New York."
"Raffles Holmes?" I cried in amazement.
"The same, Mr. Jenkins," said he. "I am the son of Sherlock Holmes, thefamous detective, and grandson of A. J. Raffles, the distinguished--er--ah--cricketer, sir."
I gazed at him, dumb with astonishment.
"You've heard of my father, Sherlock Holmes?" asked my visitor.
I confessed that the name of the gentleman was not unfamiliar to me.
"And Mr. Raffles, my grandfather?" he persisted.
"If there ever was a story of that fascinating man that I have not read, Mr.Holmes," said I, "I beg you will let me have it."
"Well, then," said he with that quick, nervous manner which proved him atrue son of Sherlock Holmes, "did it never occur to you as an extraordinaryhappening, as you read of my father's wonderful powers as a detective, andof Raffles' equally wonderful prowess as a--er--well, let us not mincewords--as a thief, Mr. Jenkins, the two men operating in England at the sametime, that no story ever appeared in which Sherlock Holmes's genius waspitted against the subtly planned misdeeds of Mr. Raffles? Is it notsurprising that with two such men as they were, working out their destiniesin almost identical grooves of daily action, they should never have crossedeach other's paths as far as the public is the wiser, and in the very natureof the conflicting interests of their respective lines of action as foemen,the one pursuing, the other pursued, they should to the public's knowledgenever have clashed?"
"Now that you speak of it," said I, "it was rather extraordinary thatnothing of the sort happened. One would think that the sufferers from thedepredations of Raffles would immediately have gone to Holmes for assistancein bringing the other to justice. Truly, as you intimate, it was strangethat they never did."
"Pardon me, Jenkins," put in my visitor. "I never intimated anything of thesort. What I intimated was that no story of any such conflict ever came tolight. As a matter of fact, Sherlock Holmes was put upon a Raffles case in1883, and while success attended upon every step of it, and my grandfatherwas run to earth by him as easily as was ever any other criminal in Holmes'sgrip, a little naked god called Cupid stepped in, saved Raffles from jail,and wrote the word failure across Holmes's docket of the case. _I, sir, amthe only tangible result of Lord Dorrington's retainers to SherlockHolmes._"
"You speak enigmatically, after the occasional fashion of your illustriousfather," said I. "The Dorrington case is unfamiliar to me."
"Naturally so," said my vis-a-vis. "Because, save to my father, mygrandfather, and myself, the details are unknown to anybody. Not even mymother knew of the incident, and as for Dr. Watson and Bunny, the scribesthrough whose industry the adventures of those two great men wererespectively narrated to an absorbed world, they didn't even know there hadever been a Dorrington case, because Sherlock Holmes never told Watson andRaffles never told Bunny. But they both told me, and now that I am satisfiedthat there is a demand for your books, I am willing to tell it to you withthe understanding that we share and share alike in the profits if perchanceyou think well enough of it to write it up."
"Go on!" I said. "I'll whack up with you square and honest."
"Which is more than either Watson or Bunny ever did with my father or mygrandfather, else I should not be in the business which now occupies my timeand attention," said Raffles Holmes with a cold snap to his eyes which Itook as an admonition to hew strictly to the line of honor, or to subjectmyself to terrible consequences. "With that understanding, Jenkins, I'lltell you the story of the Dorrington Ruby Seal, in which some crime, a gooddeal of romance, and my ancestry are involved."