THE AMATEUR
CRACKSMAN

BY
E. W. HORNUNG



TO
A. C. D.
THIS FORM OF FLATTERY





THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN




THE IDES OF MARCH

I

It was half-past twelve when I returned to the Albany as a last
desperate resort. The scene of my disaster was much as I had
left it. The baccarat-counters still strewed the table, with the
empty glasses and the loaded ash-trays. A window had been opened
to let the smoke out, and was letting in the fog instead.