pon me now, reading me, weighing me. But I was not so
sensitive to his scrutiny at the time. His tone was deliberate,
calculating, preparatory; not as I heard it then, through a head full
of wine, but as it floats back to me across the gulf between that
moment and this.

"Excellent fillet!" said I, grossly. "So you think this chap is as
much in society as we were, do you?"

I preferred not to think so myself. We had cause enough for jealousy
without that. But Raffles raised his eyebrows an eloquent half-inch.

"As much, my dear Bunny? He is not only in it, but of it; there's no
comparison between us there. Society is in rings like a target, and we
never were in the bull's-eye, however thick you may lay on the ink! I
was asked for my cricket. I haven't forgotten it yet. But this
fellow's one of themselves, with the right of entre into the houses
which we could only 'enter' in a professional sense. That's obvious
unless all these little exploits are the work of different hands, which
they as obviously are not. And it's why I'd give five hundred pounds
to put salt on him to-night!"

"Not you," said I, as I drained my glass in festive incredulity.

"But I would, my dear Bunny. Waiter! another half-bottle of this," and
Raffles leant across the table as the empty one was taken away. "I
never was more serious in my life," he continued below his breath.
"Whatever else our successor may be, he's not a dead man like me, or a
marked man like you. If there's any truth in my theory he's one of the
last people upon whom suspicion is ever likely to rest; and oh, Bunny,
what a partner he would make for you and me!"

Under less genial influences the very idea of a third partner would
have filled my soul with offence; but Raffles had chosen his moment
unerringly, and his arguments lost nothing by the flowing accompaniment
of the extra pint. They were, however, quite strong in themselves.
The gist of them was that thus far we had remarkably little to show for
what Raffles would call "our second innings." This even I could not
deny. We had scored a few "long singles," but our "best shots" had
gone "straight to hand," and we were "playing a deuced slow game."
Therefore we needed a new partner--and the metaphor failed Raffles.

It had served its turn. I already agreed with him. In truth I was
tired of my false position as hireling attendant, and had long fancied
myself an object of suspicion to that other imposto