talk one would almost
believe that they were already in his possession."

I did not see Raffles Holmes again for five days, and then I met him only by
chance, nor should I have known it was he had he not made himself known to
me. I was on my way uptown, a little after six o'clock, and as I passed
Gaffany's an aged man emerged from the employes' entrance, carrying a small
bag in his hand. He was apparently very near-sighted, for he most
unceremoniously bumped into me as he came out of the door on to the
sidewalk.

Deference to age has always been a weakness of mine, and I apologized,
although it was he that was at fault.

"Don't mention it, Jenkins," he whispered. "You are just the man I want to
see. Cafe Panhard--to-night--eleven o'clock. Just happen in, and if a
foreign-looking person with a red beard speaks to you don't throw him down,
but act as if you were not annoyed by his mistake."

"You know me?" I asked.

"Tush, man--I'm Raffles Holmes!" and with that he was off.

His make-up was perfect, and as he hobbled his way along Broadway through
the maze of cars, trucks, and hansoms, there was not in any part of him a
hint or a suggestion that brought to mind my alert partner.

Of course my excitement was intense. I could hardly wait for eleven o'clock
to come, and at 9.30 I found myself in front of the Cafe Panhard a full hour
and a half ahead of time, and never were there more minutes in that period
of waiting than there seemed to be then as I paced Broadway until the
appointed hour. It seemed ages before the clock down in front of the Whirald
Building pointed to 10.55, but at last the moment arrived, and I entered the
cafe, taking one of the little tables in the farther corner, where the light
was not unduly strong and where the turmoil of the Hungarian band was
reduced by distance from moltofortissimo to a moderate approach to a
pianissimo, which would admit of conversation. Again I had to wait, but not
for so long a time. It was twenty minutes past eleven when a fine-looking
man of military bearing, wearing a full red beard, entered, and after
looking the cafe over, sauntered up to where I sat.

"Good-evening, Mr. Jenkins," said he, with a slight foreign accent. "Are you
alone?"

"Yes," said I.

"If you don't mind, I should like to sit here for a few moments," he
observed, pulling out the chair opposite me. "I have your permission?"

"Certainly, Mr.--er--"

"Robinstein is my name," said he, sitting d