heels went drumming down the common stair. I was alone in the
flat with this highly singular and rather terrible old man.

"And a damned good riddance!" croaked the invalid, raising
himself on one elbow without delay. "I may not have much body
left to boast about, but at least I've got a lost old soul to
call my own. That's why I want a gentleman of sorts about me.
I've been too dependent on that chap. He won't even let me
smoke, and he's been in the flat all day to see I didn't.
You'll find the cigarettes behind the Madonna of the Chair."

It was a steel engraving of the great Raffaelle, and the frame
was tilted from the wall; at a touch a packet of cigarettes
tumbled down from behind.

"Thanks; and now a light."

I struck the match and held it, while the invalid inhaled with
normal lips; and suddenly I sighed. I was irresistibly reminded
of my poor dear old Raffles. A smoke-ring worthy of the great
A. J. was floating upward from the sick man's lips.

"And now take one yourself. I have smoked more poisonous
cigarettes. But even these are not Sullivans!"

I cannot repeat what I said. I have no idea what I did. I only
know--I only knew--that it was A. J. Raffles in the flesh!


II