_--I'll be in the smoking-room."

The boy went off on his errand, and in a few minutes returned with a
magazine.

"Thanks," said Holmes. "Now get me my key and we'll call it square."

"Four hundred and seven, sir?" said the boy, with a smile of recognition.

"Yep," said Holmes, laconically, as he leaned back in his chair and
pretended to read.

"Gad, Holmes, what a nerve!" I muttered.

"We need it in this business," said he.

The buttons returned and delivered the key of Sir Henry Darlington's
apartment into the hands of Raffles Holmes.

Ten minutes later we sat in room 407--I in a blue funk from sheer
nervousness, Raffles Holmes as imperturbable as the rock of Gibraltar from
sheer nerve. It was the usual style of hotel room, with bath, pictures,
telephone, what-nots, wardrobes, and centre-table. The last proved to be the
main point of interest upon our arrival. It was littered up with papers of
one sort and another: letters, bills receipted and otherwise, and a large
assortment of railway and steamship folders. "He knows how to get away," was
Holmes's comment on the latter. Most of the letters were addressed to Sir
Henry Darlington, in care of Bruce, Watkins, Brownleigh & Co., bankers.

"Same old game," laughed Holmes, as he read the superscription. "The most
conservative banking-house in New York! It's amazing how such institutions
issue letters indiscriminately to any Tom, Dick, or Harry who comes along
and planks down his cash. They don't seem to realize that they thereby
unconsciously lend the glamour of their own respectability and credit to
people who, instead of travelling abroad, should be locked up in the most
convenient penitentiary at home. Aha!" Holmes added, as he ran his eye over
some of the other documents and came upon a receipted bill. "We're getting
close to it, Jenkins. Here's a receipted bill from Bar, LeDuc & Co., of
Fifth Avenue, for $15,000--three rings, one diamond necklace, a ruby stick-
pin, and a set of pearl shirt-studs."

"Yes," said I, "but what is there suspicious about that? If the things are
paid for--"

"Precisely," laughed Holmes. "They're paid for. Sir Henry Darlington has
enough working capital to buy all the credit he needs with Messrs. Bar,
LeDuc & Co. There isn't a house in this town that, after a cash transaction
of that kind, conducted through Bruce, Watkins, Brownleigh & Co., wouldn't
send its own soul up on approval to a nice, clean-cut member of the British
arist