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E. W. Hornung: The Amateur Cracksman2. A COSTUME PIECE (continued)It was between eight and nine o'clock in the evening when we took up our position in the garden adjoining that of Reuben Rosenthall; the house itself was shut up, thanks to the outrageous libertine next door, who, by driving away the neighbors, had gone far towards delivering himself into our hands. Practically secure from surprise on that side, we could watch our house under cover of a wall just high enough to see over, while a fair margin of shrubs in either garden afforded us additional protection. Thus entrenched, we had stood an hour, watching a pair of lighted bow-windows with vague shadows flitting continually across the blinds, and listening to the drawing of corks, the clink of glasses, and a gradual crescendo of coarse voices within. Our luck seemed to have deserted us: the owner of the purple diamonds was dining at home and dining at undue length. I thought it was a dinner-party. Raffles differed; in the end he proved right. Wheels grated in the drive, a carriage and pair stood at the steps; there was a stampede from the dining-room, and the loud voices died away, to burst forth presently from the porch. Let me make our position perfectly clear. We were over the wall, at the side of the house, but a few feet from the dining-room windows. On our right, one angle of the building cut the back lawn in two diagonally; on our left, another angle just permitted us to see the jutting steps and the waiting carriage. We saw Rosenthall come out--saw the glimmer of his diamonds before anything. Then came the pugilist; then a lady with a head of hair like a bath sponge; then another, and the party was complete. Raffles ducked and pulled me down in great excitement. "The ladies are going with them," he whispered. "This is great!" "That's better still." "The Gardenia!" the millionaire had bawled. "And that's best of all," said Raffles, standing upright as hoofs and wheels crunched through the gates and rattled off at a fine speed. "Now what?" I whispered, trembling with excitement. This is page 37 of 164. [Marked] This title is on Your Bookshelf. Buy a copy of The Amateur Cracksman at Amazon.com
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