"You see, there are two or three of me now, Bunny: one's at the
bottom of the Mediterranean, and one's an old Australian
desirous of dying in the old country, but in no immediate danger
of dying anywhere. The old Australian doesn't know a soul in
town; he's got to be consistent, or he's done. This sitter
Theobald is his only friend, and has seen rather too much of
him; ordinary dust won't do for his eyes. Begin to see? To
pick you out of a crowd, that was the game; to let old Theobald
help to pick you, better still! To start with, he was dead
against my having anybody at all; wanted me all to himself,
naturally; but anything rather than kill the goose! So he is
to have a fiver a week while he keeps me alive, and he's going
to be married next month. That's a pity in some ways, but a
good thing in others; he will want more money than he foresees,
and he may always be of use to us at a pinch. Meanwhile he
eats out of my hand."

I complimented Raffles on the mere composition of his telegram,
with half the characteristics of my distinguished kinsman
squeezed into a dozen odd words; and let him know how the old
ruffian had really treated me. Raffles was not surprised; we had
dined together at my relative's in the old days, and filed for
reference a professional valuation of his household gods. I now
learnt that the telegram had been posted, with the hour marked
for its despatch, at the pillar nearest Vere Street, on the
night before the advertisement was due to appear in the Daily
Mail. This also had been carefully prearranged; and Raffles's
only fear had been lest it might be held over despite his
explicit instructions, and so drive me to the doctor for an
explanation of his telegram. But the adverse chances had been