"He's kept it dark, I see, sir. There isn't a bigger fool alive than Robins when he's drunk--which he mostly--what is--and he acted yesterday up to the usual form of drunks. He _would_ go on the ice just below the locks, when it would hardly bear a sparrer, let alone a drunk Robin, and he naturally goes under before he'd gone a dozen yards. Mr. Todd went for him without, I fancy, considering the risks. He broke the ice up to that forsaken Robins, and waded in after him. When _we_ got there he was up to his neck in water, and he'd got the fool by the collar; then we pulled 'em both out. Mind, up to his chin in that frozen water! We thought Robins was a goner from cold when we landed 'im, and asked Mr. Todd's name as bein' likely to be required at the inquest. But, bless you, sir, Robins pulled through all right; that sort generally does." "Was there any one to help Todd, when he went for the fellow?" "No, sir; he just waded in and took his chance. I wouldn't--at least not for an ord'nary drunk. Mr. Todd just ran home as he was: said the sprint would warm him to rights. How is he?" "Got a vile cold; he was barking pretty well all chapel." "And Robins," said the policeman, in disgust, "doesn't own up to a snuffle. This Mr. Todd's house, sir?" "Yes. I'd just ask to see Mr. Taylor, the house-master, first. I fancy he'll be pleased to see you." The constable's plain, unvarnished tale gave the Rev. E. Taylor as pleasant a ten minutes as he had enjoyed for some time, and he passed on the worthy man to the butler with instructions as to "something hot." Then he rapped on Todd's door. Decidedly the ship _Agustus Vernon Robert Todd_ "had found herself." CHAPTER XVII RAFFLES' BILL It was with hearty thankfulness at the idea of being finally rid of Raffles that Jack walked over to the "Lodestone" by himself on the Thursday, jingling his last few shillings in his pockets. Raffles was waiting for him in the stables, and he was very friendly and familiar, which always annoyed Jack immensely. "Glad you're in time, sir, and to 'ear the dibs a-rattlin' in your pockets." "Because they'll rattle in yours, soon, I suppose. I make out I owe you about ten shillings, Raffles." "'Ow do you make that out, Mr. Bourne?" "Rabbits, cartridges, and dummy pigeons. I'm about right, I fancy?" "Right as far as they go." "As far as they go, of course--not farther. Then here you are." "And the gun," said Raffles, calmly, looking into vacancy, and not seeing Jack's coins--"leastwise, wot was a gun." "Am I to pay for that filthy article?" said Jack, angrily. "Why, it nearly blew my brains out!" "'As'e to pay for that breech-loader gun?" said Raffles, laughing softly as at some good joke. "Why, of course you have." "My opinion is, Raffles, that that gun was rotten. It wasn't worth a sovereign. I don't believe it was ever fit to shoot with, now." "Of course, _now_," said Raffles, with a sneer. "_Now_, when you've got to pay for it."