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6. AN OLD FLAME (continued)
"She's going to let down the blind!" whispered Raffles, in high excitement. "No, confound them, they've told her not to. Mark down her necklace, Bunny, and invoice his stud. What a brute he looks! But I like the table, and that's her show. She has the taste; but he must have money. See the festive picture over the sideboard? Looks to me like a Jacques Saillard. But that silver-table would be good enough for me."
"Get on," said I. "You're in a bath-chair."
"But the whole square's at dinner! We should have the ball at our feet. It wouldn't take two twos!"
"With those blinds up, and the cook in the kitchen underneath?"
He nodded, leaning forward in the chair, his hands upon the wraps about his legs.
"You must be mad," said I, and got back to my handles with the word, but when I tugged the chair ran light.
"Keep an eye on the rug," came in a whisper from the middle of the road; and there stood my invalid, his pale face in a quiver of pure mischief, yet set with his insane resolve. "I'm only going to see whether that woman has a silver-table--"
"We don't want it--"
"It won't take a minute--"
"It's madness, madness--"
"Then don't you wait!"
It was like him to leave me with that, and this time I had taken him at his last word had not my own given me an idea. Mad I had called him, and mad I could declare him upon oath if necessary. It was not as though the thing had happened far from home. They could learn all about us at the nearest mansions. I referred them to Dr. Theobald; this was a Mr. Maturin, one of his patients, and I was his keeper, and he had never given me the slip before. I heard myself making these explanations on the doorstep, and pointing to the deserted bath-chair as the proof, while the pretty parlor maid ran for the police. It would be a more serious matter for me than for my charge. I should lose my place. No, he had never done such a thing before, and I would answer for it that he never should again.
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