had done my honest best since my reappearance in the world; but
the world had done its worst by me. A further antithesis and my
final intention were both upon my tongue when the waiter with
the Chateau Margaux cut me short; for he was the bearer of more
than that great wine; bringing also a card upon a silver tray.

"Show him up," said Raffles, laconically.

"And who is this?" I cried when the man was gone. Raffles
reached across the table and gripped my arm in a vice. His eyes
were steel points fixed on mine.

"Bunny, stand by me," said he in the old irresistible voice, a
voice both stern and winning. "Stand by me, Bunny--if there's a
row!"

And there was time for nothing more, the door flying open, and a
dapper person entering with a bow; a frock-coat on his back,
gold pince-nez on his nose; a shiny hat in one hand, and a black
bag in the other.

"Good-evening, gentlemen," said he, at home and smiling.

"Sit down," drawled Raffles in casual response. "Say, let me
introduce you to Mr. Ezra B. Martin, of Shicawgo. Mr. Martin is
my future brother-in-law. This is Mr. Robinson, Ezra, manager to
Sparks & Company, the cellerbrated joolers on Re-gent Street."

I pricked up my ears, but contented myself with a nod. I
altogether distrusted my ability to live up to my new name and