Colonel Crutchley, R.E., V.C., has been the victim of a dastardly
outrage at his residence, Peter Street, Campden Hill. Returning
unexpectedly to the house, which had been left untenanted during
the absence of the family abroad, it was found occupied by two
ruffians, who overcame and secured the distinguished officer by
the exercise of considerable violence. When discovered through
the intelligence of the Kensington police, the gallant victim was
gagged and bound hand and foot, and in an advanced stage of
exhaustion.
"Thanks to the Kensington police," observed Raffles, as I read the last
words aloud in my horror. "They can't have gone when they got my
letter."
"Your letter?"
"I printed them a line while we were waiting for our train at Euston.
They must have got it that night, but they can't have paid any
attention to it until yesterday morning. And when they do, they take
all the credit and give me no more than you did, Bunny!"
I looked at the curly head upon the pillow, at the smiling, handsome
face under the curls. And at last I understood.
"So all the time you never meant it!"
"Slow murder? You should have known me better. A few hours' enforced
Rest Cure was the worst I wished him."
"You might have told me, Raffles!"
"That may be, Bunny, but you ought certainly to have trusted me!"