Raffles was not surprised; we had
dined together at my relative's in the old days, and filed for
reference a professional valuation of his household gods. I now
learnt that the telegram had been posted, with the hour marked
for its despatch, at the pillar nearest Vere Street, on the
night before the advertisement was due to appear in the Daily
Mail. This also had been carefully prearranged; and Raffles's
only fear had been lest it might be held over despite his
explicit instructions, and so drive me to the doctor for an
explanation of his telegram. But the adverse chances had been
weeded out and weeded out to the irreducible minimum of risk.
His greatest risk, according to Raffles, lay nearest home:
bedridden invalid that he was supposed to be, his nightly terror
was of running into Theobald's arms in the immediate
neighborhood of the flat. But Raffles had characteristic
methods of minimizing even that danger, of which something
anon; meanwhile he recounted more than one of his nocturnal
adventures, all, however, of a singularly innocent type; and one
thing I noticed while he talked. His room was the first as you
entered the flat. The long inner wall divided the room not
merely from the passage but from the outer landing as well.
Thus every step upon the bare stone stairs could be heard by
Raffles where he lay; and he would never speak while one was
ascending, until it had passed his door.
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