And this was all one knew of Reuben Rosenthall up to the time
when the Old Bohemian Club, having fallen on evil days, found it
worth its while to organize a great dinner in honor of so wealthy
an exponent of the club's principles. I was not at the banquet
myself, but a member took Raffles, who told me all about it that
very night.

"Most extraordinary show I ever went to in my life," said he.
"As for the man himself--well, I was prepared for something
grotesque, but the fellow fairly took my breath away. To begin
with, he's the most astounding brute to look at, well over six
feet, with a chest like a barrel, and a great hook-nose, and the
reddest hair and whiskers you ever saw. Drank like a
fire-engine, but only got drunk enough to make us a speech that I
wouldn't have missed for ten pounds. I'm only sorry you weren't
there, too, Bunny, old chap."

I began to be sorry myself, for Raffles was anything but an
excitable person, and never had I seen him so excited before.
Had he been following Rosenthall's example? His coming to my
rooms at midnight, merely to tell me about his dinner, was in
itself enough to excuse a suspicion which was certainly at
variance with my knowledge of A. J. Raffles.

"What did he say?" I inquired mechanically, divining some subtler
explanation of this visit, and wondering what on earth it could
be.

"Say?" cried Raffles. "What did he not say! He boasted of his
rise, he bragged of his riches, and he blackguarded society for