E. W. Hornung_A J Raffles 01 by The Amateur Cracksman

brings you before the public, I should
have thought, far more than is either safe or wise."
    "My dear Bunny, that's exactly where you make a mistake. To
follow Crime with reasonable impunity you simply MUST have a
parallel, ostensible career—the more public the better. The
principle is obvious. Mr. Peace, of pious memory, disarmed
suspicion by acquiring a local reputation for playing the fiddle
and taming animals, and it's my profound conviction that Jack the
Ripper was a really eminent public man, whose speeches were very
likely reported alongside his atrocities. Fill the bill in some
prominent part, and you'll never be suspected of doubling it with
another of equal prominence. That's why I want you to cultivate
journalism, my boy, and sign all you can. And it's the one and
only reason why I don't burn my bats for firewood."
    Nevertheless, when he did play there was no keener performer on
the field, nor one more anxious to do well for his side. I
remember how he went to the nets, before the first match of the
season, with his pocket full of sovereigns, which he put on the
stumps instead of bails. It was a sight to see the professionals
bowling like demons for the hard cash, for whenever a stump was
hit a pound was tossed to the bowler and another balanced in its
stead, while one man took #3 with a ball that spreadeagled the
wicket. Raffles's practice cost him either eight or nine
sovereigns; but he had absolutely first-class bowling all the
time; and he made fifty-seven runs next day.
    It became my pleasure to accompany him to all his matches, to
watch every ball he bowled, or played, or fielded, and to sit
chatting with him in the pavilion when he was doing none of these
three things. You might have seen us there, side by side, during
the greater part of the Gentlemen's first innings against the
Players (who had lost the toss) on the second Monday in July. We
were to be seen, but not heard, for Raffles had failed to score,
and was uncommonly cross for a player who cared so little for the
game. Merely taciturn with me, he was positively rude to more
than one member who wanted to know how it had happened, or who
ventured to commiserate him on his luck; there he sat, with a
straw hat tilted over his nose and a cigarette stuck between lips
that curled disagreeably at every advance. I was therefore much
surprised when a young fellow of the exquisite type came and
squeezed himself in between us, and met with a perfectly civil
reception despite the liberty. I did not know the boy by sight,
nor did Raffles introduce us; but their conversation proclaimed
at once a slightness of acquaintanceship and a license on the
lad's part which combined to puzzle me. Mystification reached
its height when Raffles was informed that the other's father was
anxious to meet him, and he instantly consented to gratify that
whim.
    "He's in the Ladies' Enclosure. Will you come round now?"
    "With pleasure," says Raffles. "Keep a place for me, Bunny."
    And they were gone.
    "Young Crowley," said some voice further back. "Last year's
Harrow Eleven."
    "I remember him. Worst man in the team."
    "Keen cricketer, however. Stopped till he was twenty to get his
colors. Governor made him. Keen breed. Oh, pretty, sir! Very
pretty!"
    The game was boring me. I only came to see old Raffles perform.
Soon I was looking wistfully for his return, and at length I saw
him beckoning me from the palings to the right.
    "Want to introduce you to old Amersteth," he whispered, when I
joined him. "They've a cricket week next month, when this boy
Crowley comes of age, and we've both got to go down and play."
    "Both!" I echoed. "But I'm no cricketer!"
    "Shut up," says Raffles. "Leave that to me. I've been lying for
all I'm worth," he added sepulchrally as we reached the bottom of
the steps. "I trust to you not to give the show away."
    There was a gleam in his eye that I knew well enough elsewhere,
but was unprepared for in those healthy, sane surroundings; and
it was with very