"Plain clothes?" I sighed, following the sartorial train of
thought, even to the loathly arrows that had decorated my person
once already for a little aeon. Next time they would giveme
double. The skilly was in my stomach when I saw Raffles's face.
"Who said it was the police, Bunny?" said he. "It's the
Italians. They're only after me; they won't hurt a hair of YOUR
head, let alone cropping it! Have a drink, and don't mind me.
I shall score them off before I'm done."
"And I'll help you!"
"No, old chap, you won't. This is my own little show. I've
known about it for weeks. I first tumbled to it the day those
Neapolitans came back with their organs, though I didn't
seriously suspect things then; they never came again, those
two, they had done their part. That's the Camorra all over,
from all accounts. The Count I told you about is pretty high up
in it, by the way he spoke, but there will be grades and grades
between him and the organ-grinders. I shouldn't be surprised
if he had every low-down Neapolitan ice-creamer in the town upon
my tracks! The organization's incredible. Then do you remember
the superior foreigner who came to the door a few days
afterwards? You said he had velvet eyes."
"I never connected him with those two!"
"Of course you didn't, Bunny, so you threatened to kick the
fellow downstairs, and only made them keener on the scent.
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