It was the intermittent sound of cautious movements, the creak of a sole not repeated for a great many seconds, the all but inaudible passing of a hand over the unseen side of the door leading into the lobby. It may be that I imagined more than I actually heard of the last detail; nevertheless I was as sure of what was happening as though the door had been plate-glass. Yet there was the outer door between lobby and landing and that I distinctly remembered Raffles shutting behind him when we entered. Unable to attract his attention now, and never sorry to be the one to take the other by surprise, I listened without breathing until assurance was doubly sure, then bounded out of my chair without a word. And there was a resounding knock at the inner door, even as I flung it open upon a special evening edition of Mr. Daniel Levy, a resplendent figure with a great stud blazing in a frilled shirt, white waistcoat and gloves, opera-hat and cigar, and all the other insignia of a nocturnal vulgarian about town. "May I come in?" said he with unctuous affability. "May you!" I took it upon myself to shout. "I like that, seeing that you came in long ago! I heard you all right--you were listening at the door--probably looking through the keyhole--and you only knocked when I jumped up to open it!" "My dear Bunny!" exclaimed Raffles, a reproving hand upon my shoulder. And he bade the unbidden guest a jovial welcome. "But the outer door was shut," I expostulated. "He must have forced it or else picked the lock." "Why not, Bunny? Love isn't the only thing that laughs at locksmiths," remarked Raffles with exasperating geniality. "Neither are swell mobsmen!" cried Dan Levy, not more ironically than Raffles, only with a heavier type of irony. Raffles conducted him to a chair. Levy stepped behind it and grasped the back as though prepared to break the furniture on our heads if necessary. Raffles offered him a drink; it was declined with a crafty grin that made no secret of a base suspicion. "I don't drink with the swell mob," said the money-lender. "My dear Mr. Levy," returned Raffles, "you're the very man I wanted to see, and nobody could possibly be more welcome in my humble quarters; but that's the fourth time to-day I've heard you make use of an obsolete expression. You know as well as I do that the slap-bang-here-we-are-again type of work is a thing of the past. Where are the jolly dogs of the old song now?" "'Ere at the Albany!" said Levy. "Here in your rooms, Mr. A.J. Raffles." "Well, Bunny," said Raffles, "I suppose we must both plead guilty to a hair of the jolly dog that bit him--eh?" "You know what I mean," our visitor ground out through his teeth. "You're cracksmen, magsmen, mobsmen, the two of you; so you may as well both own up to it." "Cracksmen? Magsmen? Mobsmen?" repeated Raffles, with his head on one side. "What does the kind gentleman mean, Bunny? Wait! I have it--thieves! Common thieves!"