to the Egyptian part."

And we left them resuming their providential chat.

"I believe you're mad," I said bitterly as we went.

"I believe I was," admitted Raffles; "but I'm not now, and I'll see you
through. A hundred and thirty-nine yards, wasn't it? Then it can't be
more than a hundred and twenty now--not as much. Steady, Bunny, for
God's sake. It's SLOW march--for our lives."

There was this much management. The rest was our colossal luck. A
hansom was being paid off at the foot of the steps outside, and in we
jumped, Raffles shouting "Charing Cross!" for all Bloomsbury to hear.

We had turned into Bloomsbury Street without exchanging a syllable when
he struck the trap-door with his fist.

"Where the devil are you driving us?"

"Charing Cross, sir."

"I said King's Cross! Round you spin, and drive like blazes, or we
miss our train! There's one to York at 10:35," added Raffles as the
trap-door slammed; "we'll book there, Bunny, and then we'll slope
through the subway to the Metropolitan, and so to ground via Baker
Street and Earl's Court."

And actually in half an hour he was seated once more in the hired
carrying chair, while the porter and I staggered upstairs with my
decrepit charge, for whose shattered strength even one hour in Kew
Gardens had proved too much! Then, and not until then, when we had got
rid of the porter and were alone at last, did I tell Raffles, in the
most nervous English at my command, frankly and exactly what I thought
of him and of his latest deed. Once started, moreover, I spoke as I
have seldom spoken to living man; and Raffles, of all men, stood my
abuse without a murmur; or rather he sat it out, too astounded even to
take off his hat, though I thought his eyebrows would have lifted it
from his head.

"But it always was your infernal way," I was savagely concluding.
"You make one plan, and yet you tell me another--"

"Not to-day, Bunny, I swear!"

"You mean to tell me you really did start with the bare idea of finding
a place to hide in for a night?"

"Of course I did."

"It was to be the mere reconnoitre you pretended?"

"There was no pretence about it, Bunny."

"Then why on earth go and do what you did?"

"The reason would be obvious to anyone but you," said Raffles, still
with no unkindly scorn. "It was the temptation of a minute--the final
impulse of the fraction of a second, when Roberto saw that I was
tempted, and let me see that he saw it. It's not