Alfred Hitchcock’s Mystery Magazine. Vol. 48, No. 1, January 2003

“Rather the reverse. I think he’s avoiding us, in case — you know.”

“I do indeed. Look here, can you try to keep him away from me this evening, if necessary?”

“Naturally. And is that all?”

He nodded. “You had best not appear in this at all, Bunny. Just in case.”

“I hardly think so!”

He gripped my arm. “Bunny, your courage is not, and never has been, in question. Don’t you see I need a man on the outside in case of emergency? Your main task is to keep Morgan out of my hair, but also to be ready to use your initiative.”

“Put like that, of course—”

“Good man! And now it is almost time for tea.”

We returned to the house, but as soon as we entered, Raffles excused himself and vanished. I realized almost at once that he was starting his “plan,” and in answer to a question from one of the others as to where he was, I made some noncommittal reply. He came into the room ten minutes after tea had been served, full of apologies for his lateness, and telling a charming story of having stopped longer than he had intended to watch a hare playing in the snow!

After tea Raffles pleaded a headache and vanished once more. There was no general movement to follow him upstairs, for it was that curious time that you get only in winter when tea is over but it is too early to think of changing for dinner, and all you want to do is sit in your armchair and gaze at the ever-darkening sky.

It was fully dark, and people were starting to light lamps here and there, and there was a shuffling as we thought of dinner and the attendant preparations, before Raffles turned up again. “Hello!” I said. “Feeling better?”

“Yes, thanks. I had fallen asleep, but I fancied I heard—” Raffles was standing by the door, having just come in. The rest of us had turned to look at him, as you do when someone enters the room, but as he broke off his sentence and stared down the room at the french window, we all turned back again to follow his gaze and were astounded to see the window standing open and just inside it two large men, both wearing black masks over their faces and both holding revolvers.

I cannot remember who said what. Someone said, “Damn!” and one of the ladies let out a little scream, but mostly we just stood or sat where we were, too surprised to do anything.

One of the men said, “Stay where you are and you won’t get hurt,” which was hardly original, but I suppose there is a set form for these things, and we stayed where we were accordingly, which is what he wanted. The speaker, evidently the leading light in the team, told his mate, “Keep ’em covered while I get the stuff,” and made his way out past Raffles, obviously making for the bedrooms.

“This is deuced awkward,” said Raffles, half to himself.

I stared at him, wondering if he had somehow arranged the whole thing himself. Was this part of his plan? I had not seen him all day, he could easily have gone into the village a mile away and sent a telegram or something. Only his face, a comical mixture of disbelief and chagrin, gave me pause. He caught me looking at him, shrugged, and laughed, much to the amazement of everyone else in the room.

After a very short while, as it seemed to me, there were heavy footsteps outside. The door flew open, and the burglar who had gone upstairs started into the room, pretty clearly in a bad temper. His way was blocked by Raffles, who spoke to him in a low voice. I was nearest to them, and fancied I heard Raffles say some such phrase as “something to your advantage,” but I could not be certain. I am certain that the burglar hesitated a moment, then motioned with his revolver to Raffles to step out into the corridor. The two of them were out there no more than a minute, then they returned, Raffles first, the burglar, his good humour obviously restored, following.

“Anyone who steps outside in the next ten minutes will be shot,” the burglar informed us, and then he and his still silent confederate made their way out through the french window.

“Telephone the police at once!” shouted Morgan to anyone who would listen.

“I think they will have cut the wires,” said Raffles calmly, and this proved to be the truth.

Morgan’s next suggestion was that someone — Raffles, me, the JP, the editor, the butler — should follow, for, as he said, “The — s won’t be out there! They’ve made good their escape by now! It was an empty threat! There’s not the slightest danger!”

“In that case,” said the editor, speaking for the first time in my presence since I had been introduced to him, “in that case, why don’t you go out there?”

Morgan subsided at that. But only for a moment, and then he demanded angrily of Raffles, “What the devil did you say to that chap?”