CROOKED LUCK

Auckland Star, Volume LXXI, Issue 156, 3 July 1940, Page 17

CROOKED LUCK

By William J. Elliott

Short Story

MR. NICHOLAS RAFFINCH ctook slock still in the velvety darkness am l ;ill over his body little drops of perspiration .started into being, feelin" like tin' V"" 1 '* 1 » f ti»y cold pins beiti" forced through the cuticle from the incidc.

For a terrible realisation had just forced itself into the forefront of Mr Kudiii'liV brain. He had, temporarily, at any rale, lost his nerve. And, as ho well knew, for a gentleman of Mr. Kaflin<li's profession to lose him nerve - particularly situated as he was at the moment, in the blank darkness of the first floor corridor of a "client's" house —km about as near to being fatal as innde no odds!

Mr. I!aflinch was a burglar, with the reputation both amongst his compatriots and his enemies, the police of •being about the smartest fellow in the game. He was a man of some education, a trained mechanic and something of a chemist, with more than an average share both of brains and brawn. But he had one well-known weakness he was amazingly, incorrigibly superstitious.

And that was why, for the moment, his nerw had deserted him. He was on the biggest job of hie life—a job he had had marked down for a very long time to !>e his biggest, his best— and his hist. And he was doing it on Friday, the l.'Uh of the month!

True, lie lniil chosen that date di-lilwr-atrly, propiired ju«t for once to take the risk —hut, as eo often happens in iuch ciicmiistaiices, once the risk was taken, hw nerve had deserted him.

Nothing to do but go ahead, now. With a tremendous effort of will he etilled the wild heating of his heart stayed the prickling of the cold perspiration. But, oh hell, what a fool he was! All the omens bad, too . . . ! Last night he had seen the new moon through glass— at breakfast he had •pilt the salt ...» Well, nothing for It but to go ahead now . . . !

He knew just what he was doing. Noiselessly he opened the door of the library, where the safe was. There came a faint sound, and two luminous eyes glowed at him through the darknets. But Mr. Raffinch had a way with animal*, and especially cats. He made a faint "m-r-r-r-r"-ing sound, and the creature stalked silently over to him ami rubbed around his legs as he stroked it. A moment later a pencil of light from his tiny torch slashed the darkness, aiid he nearly screamed aloud. The beast was A pure white one!

Tt took him five minutes to recover from that—with the accursed thing Tubbing round his legs all the time'."

Once more he got control of himself and fell to work on the safe. He worked wjth skill and swiftness, and in half an hour it was open, and a hundred thousand pounds worth of jewels were neatly" ami unobtrusively disposed about his person. As he turned away, the cat came at him again. Shrinking from it, trying to avoid it. he struck" an occasional table, and something fell into the hearth with an t*r. Once more the pencil of light stabbed through the darkness and Mr. Raffinch caught his breath sharply. A small, gold-framed mirror had smashed into fragments in the grate!

This time his sense of humour saved him. Seven years' bad luck! Just what he'd get on the Moor, if they caught him.

He was close to the window, and, for a second, he peered outward and downwards. Then an icy hand seemed to catch at his heart! It was lighter, by comparison out there, and he cotlld see dark figure* moving in the shrubbery. Police, surrounding the house.

of the'c not hesitat «- The window was sle.Uv V **Z a ' He opened" to the SWU ? S himself off the sill PI d Tu" Ifc and c »nimenced to break across the lawn. They saw him! lol.ce whistles shrilled! Raffinch nunaside concealment and ran like the wind —not to the quiet little lane on the north side, where they would be expecting him, but towards the railway line on the south. He had learned every inch of the ground, and they hadn't, that s where he had the advantage. Over the line, across the field—running like a hare—into the quiet little street beyond. Here he dropped into a walk, then, hearing the whistles blare behind him again, and uncomfortably close at that, he started running again. There was the faintest powder of snow on the pavement, and it was slippery, but he raced gamely along. Round the corner. A short street, with a ladder leaning up against the side of one house. Even in that moment, his instinct was to avoid it—to take the outside—then, in a spirit of grim desperation, he thought: "In for a penny, in for a pound!" It was just on the corner. He shot underneath it and, doing so, ran slip into the arms of a huge constable who came running round the corner in answer to the whistles' signal! Again Mr. Raffinch did not hesitate. His knee came up with terrible force, and, as the embrace of the constable collapsed, his fist shot out like a steel ram, and contacted with the exact spot to produce complete unconsciousness.

As he shot round the corner, Mr. Raffinch could see the policeman's footmarks on the thin snow of the pavement —and he saw that he. on his part, had gone beneath two ladders.

Mr. Raffinch smiled, grimly. A las,t bus crossed the bottom of the road. With a terrific spurt, Mr. Raffinch caught it up, sprung on, and sank quietly and unobtrusively into a seat, sitting low that the hack might shelter him as mueh as possible.

In one of his usual haunts, the following morning. Mr. Raffinch felt a light touch on the arm.

"Better come with me, Xick!" said I>etective-Sergeant Apps. "What's the idea—am I pinched?" demanded Mr. Raffinch, indignantly. "Not yet —but the main squeeze wants a word with you!"

In his quiet little office at Scotland Yard, Superintendent Knowsley gave Mr. Raffinch a keen, comprehensive glance. "Just explain to me where you were !>ctween ten and midnight last night, will you?'' he asked quietly.

Mr. Raffinch stared. Then he asked, incredulously. "You're thinking of the Robelstein sparklers?" he asked, tapping his morning paper to show from where he had the information. "Maybe. Anyway, where were you?" "Mr. Knowsley, you're n»>t doing credit to either.' me or yourself, sir!" Mr. Raffinch shook his head, sadly. "You've got the reputation of knowing more about a crook's little peculiarities and idiosyncrasies than any other gentleman in the force.'" "Well, what of that?" "And you're asking me what I was doing on a Friday—and the thirteenth of the month?" The superintendent frowned. "By George, I'd forgotten that! What's the matter with mt? I must be getting old! All right, Raffinch, you can go." "Thank you, Mr. Knowsley!" But Mr. Raffinch's tone, as he rose to depart, suggested that the implication had cut him to the very quick!