as to my elbows, as I leant
upon it and looked down, in order to satisfy a curiosity in which I
could see no point.

"Dirty-looking beggars," said I over my shoulder: "dark as dark; blue
chins, oleaginous curls, and ear-rings; ragged as they make them, but
nothing picturesque in their rags."

"Neapolitans all over," murmured Raffles behind me; "and that's a
characteristic touch, the one fellow singing while the other grinds;
they always have that out there."

"He's rather a fine chap, the singer," said I, as the song ended. "My
hat, what teeth! He's looking up here, and grinning all round his
head; shall I chuck him anything?"

"Well, I have no reason to love the Neapolitans; but it takes me
back--it takes me back! Yes, here you are, one each."

It was a couple of half-crowns that Raffles put into my hand, but I had
thrown them into the street for pennies before I saw what they were.
Thereupon I left the Italians bowing to the mud, as well they might,
and I turned to protest against such wanton waste. But Raffles was
walking up and down, his head bent, his eyes troubled; and his one
excuse disarmed remonstrance.

"They took me back," he repeated. "My God, how they took me back!"

Suddenly he stopped in his stride.

"You don't understand, Bunny, old chap; but if you like you shall. I
always meant to tell you some day, but never felt worked up to it
before, and it's not the kind of thing one talks about for talking's
sake. It isn't a nursery story, Bunny, and there isn't a laugh in it
from start to finish; on the contrary, you have often asked me what
turned my hair gray, and now you are going to hear."

This was promising, but Raffles's manner was something more. It was
unique in my memory of the man. His fine face softened and set hard by
turns. I never knew it so hard. I never knew it so soft. And the
same might be said of his voice, now tender as any woman's, now flying
to the other extreme of equally unwonted ferocity. But this was toward
the end of his tale; the beginning he treated characteristically
enough, though I could have wished for a less cavalier account of the
island of Elba, where, upon his own showing, he had met with much
humanity.

"Deadly, my dear Bunny, is not the word for that glorified snag, or for
the mollusks, its inhabitants. But they started by wounding my vanity,
so perhaps I am prejudiced, after all. I sprung myself upon them as a
shipwrecked sailor--a sole surv