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103 pages

English

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First published in 1901, The Black Mask is the second collection of stories detailing the exploits and intrigues of gentleman thief A. J. Raffles in late Victorian London. Raffles was E. W. Hornung's most famous character.

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Short story

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Publié par	The Floating Press
Date de parution	01 juin 2009
Nombre de lectures	0
EAN13	9781775415091
Langue	English

Informations légales : prix de location à la page 0,0134€. Cette information est donnée uniquement à titre indicatif conformément à la législation en vigueur.

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THE BLACK MASK
FURTHER ADVENTURES OF THE AMATEUR CRACKSMAN
* * *
E. W. HORNUNG

*

The Black Mask Further Adventures of the Amateur Cracksman First published in 1901.
ISBN 978-1-775415-09-1
© 2009 THE FLOATING PRESS.
While every effort has been used to ensure the accuracy and reliability of the information contained in The Floating Press edition of this book, The Floating Press does not assume liability or responsibility for any errors or omissions in this book. The Floating Press does not accept responsibility for loss suffered as a result of reliance upon the accuracy or currency of information contained in this book. Do not use while operating a motor vehicle or heavy equipment. Many suitcases look alike.
Visit www.thefloatingpress.com
Contents
*
No Sinecure A Jubilee Present The Fate of Faustina The Last Laugh To Catch a Thief An Old Flame The Wrong House The Knees of the Gods
No Sinecure
*
I
I am still uncertain which surprised me more, the telegramcalling my attention to the advertisement, or the advertisementitself. The telegram is before me as I write. It would appearto have been handed in at Vere Street at eight o'clock in themorning of May 11, 1897, and received before half-past atHolloway B.O. And in that drab region it duly found me, unwashenbut at work before the day grew hot and my attic insupportable.
"See Mr. Maturin's advertisement Daily Mail might suit youearnestly beg try will speak if necessary — —"
I transcribe the thing as I see it before me, all in onebreath that took away mine; but I leave out the initials at theend, which completed the surprise. They stood very obviously forthe knighted specialist whose consulting-room is within acab-whistle of Vere Street, and who once called me kinsman forhis sins. More recently he had called me other names. I was adisgrace, qualified by an adjective which seemed to me another.I had made my bed, and I could go and lie and die in it. If Iever again had the insolence to show my nose in that house, Ishould go out quicker than I came in. All this, and more, myleast distant relative could tell a poor devil to his face;could ring for his man, and give him his brutal instructions onthe spot; and then relent to the tune of this telegram! I haveno phrase for my amazement. I literally could not believe myeyes. Yet their evidence was more and more conclusive: a veryepistle could not have been more characteristic of its sender.Meanly elliptical, ludicrously precise, saving half-pence atthe expense of sense, yet paying like a man for "Mr." Maturin,that was my distinguished relative from his bald patch to hiscorns. Nor was all the rest unlike him, upon second thoughts.He had a reputation for charity; he was going to live up to itafter all. Either that, or it was the sudden impulse of whichthe most calculating are capable at times; the morning paperswith the early cup of tea, this advertisement seen by chance,and the rest upon the spur of a guilty conscience.
Well, I must see it for myself, and the sooner the better,though work pressed. I was writing a series of articles uponprison life, and had my nib into the whole System; a literaryand philanthropical daily was parading my "charges," the graverones with the more gusto; and the terms, if unhandsome forcreative work, were temporary wealth to me. It so happened thatmy first check had just arrived by the eight o'clock post; andmy position should be appreciated when I say that I had to cashit to obtain a Daily Mail.
Of the advertisement itself, what is to be said? It should speakfor itself if I could find it, but I cannot, and only rememberthat it was a "male nurse and constant attendant" that was"wanted for an elderly gentleman in feeble health." A malenurse! An absurd tag was appended, offering "liberal salary toUniversity or public-school man"; and of a sudden I saw that Ishould get this thing if I applied for it. What other"University or public-school man" would dream of doing so? Wasany other in such straits as I? And then my relenting relative;he not only promised to speak for me, but was the very man to doso. Could any recommendation compete with his in the matter ofa male nurse? And need the duties of such be necessarilyloathsome and repellent? Certainly the surroundings would bebetter than those of my common lodging-house and own particulargarret; and the food; and every other condition of life that Icould think of on my way back to that unsavory asylum. So Idived into a pawnbroker's shop, where I was a stranger onlyupon my present errand, and within the hour was airing a decentif antiquated suit, but little corrupted by the pawnbroker'smoth, and a new straw hat, on the top of a tram.
The address given in the advertisement was that of a flat atEarl's Court, which cost me a cross-country journey, finishingwith the District Railway and a seven minutes' walk. It was nowpast mid-day, and the tarry wood-pavement was good to smell asI strode up the Earl's Court Road. It was great to walk thecivilized world again. Here were men with coats on their backs,and ladies in gloves. My only fear was lest I might run upagainst one or other whom I had known of old. But it was mylucky day. I felt it in my bones. I was going to get thisberth; and sometimes I should be able to smell the wood-pavementon the old boy's errands; perhaps he would insist on skimmingover it in his bath-chair, with me behind.
I felt quite nervous when I reached the flats. They were a smallpile in a side street, and I pitied the doctor whose plate I sawupon the palings before the ground-floor windows; he must be ina very small way, I thought. I rather pitied myself as well.I had indulged in visions of better flats than these. Therewere no balconies. The porter was out of livery. There was nolift, and my invalid on the third floor! I trudged up, wishingI had never lived in Mount Street, and brushed against adejected individual coming down. A full-blooded young fellow ina frock-coat flung the right door open at my summons.
"Does Mr. Maturin live here?" I inquired.
"That's right," said the full-blooded young man, grinning allover a convivial countenance.
"I—I've come about his advertisement in the Daily Mail."
"You're the thirty-ninth," cried the blood; "that was thethirty-eighth you met upon the stairs, and the day's stillyoung. Excuse my staring at you. Yes, you pass your prelim.,and can come inside; you're one of the few. We had most justafter breakfast, but now the porter's heading off the worstcases, and that last chap was the first for twenty minutes.Come in here."
And I was ushered into an empty room with a good bay-window,which enabled my full-blooded friend to inspect me yet morecritically in a good light; this he did without the least falsedelicacy; then his questions began.
"'Varsity man?"
"No."
"Public school?"
"Yes."
"Which one?"
I told him, and he sighed relief.
"At last! You're the very first I've not had to argue with asto what is and what is not a public school. Expelled?"
"No," I said, after a moment's hesitation; "no, I was notexpelled. And I hope you won't expel me if I ask a question inmy turn?"
"Certainly not."
"Are you Mr. Maturin's son?"
"No, my name's Theobald. You may have seen it down below."
"The doctor?" I said.
"His doctor," said Theobald, with a satisfied eye. "Mr.Maturin's doctor. He is having a male nurse and attendant by myadvice, and he wants a gentleman if he can get one. I ratherthink he'll see you, though he's only seen two or three all day.There are certain questions which he prefers to ask himself, andit's no good going over the same ground twice. So perhaps I hadbetter tell him about you before we get any further."
And he withdrew to a room still nearer the entrance, as I couldhear, for it was a very small flat indeed. But now two doorswere shut between us, and I had to rest content with murmursthrough the wall until the doctor returned to summon me.
"I have persuaded my patient to see you," he whispered, "but Iconfess I am not sanguine of the result. He is very difficultto please. You must prepare yourself for a querulous invalid,and for no sinecure if you get the billet."
"May I ask what's the matter with him?"
"By all means—when you've got the billet."
Dr. Theobald then led the way, his professional dignity sothoroughly intact that I could not but smile as I followed hisswinging coat-tails to the sick-room. I carried no smile acrossthe threshold of a darkened chamber which reeked of drugs andtwinkled with medicine bottles, and in the middle of which agaunt figure lay abed in the half-light.
"Take him to the window, take him to the window," a thin voicesnapped, "and let's have a look at him. Open the blind a bit.Not as much as that, damn you, not as much as that!"
The doctor took the oath as though it had been a fee. I nolonger pitied him. It was now very clear to me that he had onepatient who was a little practice in himself. I determinedthere and then that he should prove a little profession to me,if we could but keep him alive between us. Mr. Maturin,however, had the whitest face that I have ever seen, and histeeth gleamed out through the dusk as though the withered lipsno longer met about them; nor did they except in speech; andanything ghastlier than the perpetual grin of his repose I defyyou to imagine. It was with this grin that he lay regarding mewhile the doctor held the blind.
"So you think you could look after me, do you?"
"I'm certain I could, sir."
"Single-handed, mind! I don't keep another soul. You wouldhave to cook your own grub and my slops. Do you think you coulddo all that?"
"Yes, sir, I think so."
"Why do you? Have you any experience of the kind?"
"No, sir, none."
"Then why do you pretend you have?"
"I only meant that I would do my best."
"Only meant, only meant! Have you done your best at everythingelse, then?"
I hung my head. This was a facer. And there was something inmy invalid which thrust the unspoken lie down my throat.
"No, s