Raffles (United Artists) (1930)

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screen story magazine seven to think, to help. From the window of her room, she looked over the rolling countryside, to the spot of dust where Raffles had disappeared. Another car was spinning out over the road. Her tear-filled eyes didn’t recognize it at first. It was McKenzie and his police, flying away to London, after Raffles. Yes, after Raffles. A man-hunt, a hunt for her man. Raffles had gone an hour ago; Crawshaw before that. Raffles didn't know that Crawshaw was hunting him. Perhaps he was “a killer.’’ With a start,—she almost shouted,—“I love him. I love him. It isn’t too late. I love him. Wildly, she ran down the stairs. Her hat sat on one side of her head. Her trench coat flew in the wind. Lord Melrose spun around as she ran into him on her way to the garage. Gwen was in a hurry; she had no time for apologies. Her tiny Austin was seen shooting down the dusty road. From the roar of the motor, they knew that she had opened her cut-out. Missing the main gate posts by an inch, she was on the high road in an instant. A trail of dust rising high into the air in a shower of white indicated her departure. Lord Melrose could only say, “My word!" as he watched the comet-like departure of his niece. “This is getting serious.” He walked back and forward for a few minutes. Then, calling a servant, he ordered, “Have the car brought at once for London. We may as well make a party of it.” He, too, was soon on his way to the city, the last of the cavalcade in search of Raffles. FIVE T HERE was an ominou8__look about the thick eve¬ ning fog in front of the Albany. Undoubtedly it was a night for high crime. An occasional straggler hurried by, his hands buried in his overcoat, his col¬ lar turned up, a sinister purpose in the guarded way in which he kept his head down as protection against the cold, gummy mist. Or so it seemed, anyway, to the three or four idlers that were scattered about the corner, carefully scrutinizing every passerby. Mc¬ Kenzie’s fine hand could be seen already. With a grinding of brakes and considerable more noise than seemed necessary, the low-slung Italian car of Raffles came to an abrupt stop in front of the door. Bunny and he were helping Barraclough in with the luggage, trying in the meanwhile, to quiet that worthy’s surprise at their premature return. Barraclough had a message. “A gentleman called, sir.’’ "Who?” "He didn’t give his name, sir. An elderly gentle¬ man. A Scotsman.” Raffles turned, startled. “Scotch? Young? Old? Short? Tall?” “Tall and elderly, sir. He seemed to feel the weather,” Barraclough answered. Raffles went to the window and looked out. Across the street there was a figure huddled against the wall. On the far corner, another stood, half buried in a paper that he held in front of him. Two men stood on the pavement beneath. Raffles shrugged, then smiled faintly. “Barraclough, I’ll tell you . . . don’t unpack the bags.” He turned to Bunny, “Will you take my car and drive to the airways office in the Haymarket? Book me a passage on the morning plane to Amster¬ dam.” “Amsterdam?” Bunny asked, surprised. “Here are the keys to the car . . . and ten pounds. Wait ... see who that is. B ARRACLOUGH went out while Raffles watched anxiously. In a minute, Gwen entered the room. Bunny left. "Hello, I drive fast, too,” Gwen said indifferently. "That’s evident.” “You’d better be leaving London." “Why?" Raffles asked. “Crawshaw’s escaped,” Gwen answered. “No!" “McKenzie let him go. Set a thief to catch a thief, McKenzie said. What do you think of it?” “Ohl Yes . . . ’ Raffles was lost in thought. Gwen continued, “I heard Crawshaw threaten ygu last night. Lady Melrose told me that you knew the necklace wasn’t in the safe." "What else?” “You weren’t in your room when the alarm went off.” “How do you know that?” “Because, a few minutes later, I met you in the hallway on your way back to your room.” She turned to him. “Where did you steal this?” holding out the bracelet. Passionately earnest, Gwen asked him pleadingly, “How could you be such a fool?” “Lately, I’ve been wondering that myself. I prac¬ tically confessed to you this morning. You’d better turn your evidence over to the police. Why don’t you?” He held out the necklace. “Hide it! Hide it! I’ll find a way to get rid of it later.” "You?” Raffles asked incredulously. “I came to save you. I don’t care what you are. 1 don’t care what you’ve been ... I love you,—the man you really are. And I’m going away with you,— to stay with you always." "I can’t let you do that." “Try and stop me.” "We’ll be refugees from justice! Imagine that, Gwen,—hiding from the police.” "What if we are,” she replied. “I’ll trust your wits to keep us from being caught. And the police will keep you from any more of this.” “Are you trying to make an honest man of me?" “Yes, and I shan’t love you any less for being that.” The doorbell rang. Barraclough went to answer it. “The police, probably,” Raffles said. “But 1 can face anything now.” He tossed the necklace into the tobacco jar. “Where can I go?” Gwen asked. “In there!” indicating the spare bedroom. I NSPECTOR McKENZIE strode in, a quizzical smile on his face. “You drive fast, too, Inspector.’ “I came by plane.” As the police officer sat down, he remarked cas¬ ually, “Crawshaw has escaped.” He watched Raffles closely to see the effect of this announcement. But there seemed to be none. "We were told that Crawshaw is lurking around in this neighborhood. He may be after you, Mr. Raffles. I’d like to look around to make sure.” McKenzie went from one room to the next. He peered into cupboards. He examined bathrooms. He ignored Raffles’ request that the privacy of his bedroom be undisturbed. He yanked the door open as Gwen walked out nonchalantly. M cKENZIE sat down again, bringing out his huge briar pipe. Gwen and Raffles exchanged glances, for the tobacco jar with the necklace was at his elbow. “Have a cigar, Inspector?” "Thanks. I’ll keep it for later.” “Have another for now,—these are especially fine.” “No, thanks,—there’s no dissuading a Scotchman when he wants his pipe.” But Raffles continued to insist, so much so that McKenzie became suspicious, for he was holding the tobacco jar in his hands by this time. “What's that?” Gwen asked startled. She went to the door opposite. McKenzie watched her every movement. While his interest was centered on her, Raffles easily extracted the necklace from the jar. He handed the tobacco to the Inspector, who sus¬ piciously filled his pipe. One of McKenzie’s men came in to report that Crawshaw had been traced to the roof. Although they couldn’t be too sure in the fog, he said, they were almost certain that he was up among the house¬ tops somewhere. As they went out, the lieutenant said, “Shall I keep a man here at the door ip case Crawshaw tries to break in this way?” “Yes, in case Crawshaw tries to break in or Raf¬ fles breaks out,” he mumbled. “I think we’ve got him this time.” A T that very instant, Crawshaw had let himself down from the roof to the areaway opposite the spare bedroom of the Raffles flat. He deftly let himself in. “Hands up, both of you,” was the command that froze Raffles and Gwen as they turned to gaze at their not unexpected intruder. Crawshaw advanced. “My share! Either I get the sparklers or I get you.” "Mr. Crawshaw, nothing would please me more than to have you take that necklace out of these rooms with you. Unfortunately, I’ve only just now promised to return it to the Melrose family.” "Yes?” Crawshaw snorted. “Well, you don’t do me again.” He poked the gun into the stomach pit of Raffles. “I see. Let me ask you a question, Crawshaw. Have you ever heard a man condemned to death? I have. The judge puts the black cap on his head. The judge tells you that you’re to be taken back to the place from whence you came and thence to the place of execution to be hanged by the neck until you’re dead, and may the Lord have mercy upon your soul.” Crawshaw, looking at Raffles intently, was taken in. His gun wavered a little. He felt that he was face to face with an important decision. With a sud¬ den stroke, Raffles knocked the gun from his hand and Gwen, hastily picking it up, quickly put it into her own pocket. Crawshaw stood back, his arm stinging from the force of Raffles’ blow. "Too bad, Crawshaw,” Raffles said. “You’re shaky. Have a drink.” He poured the defeated burglar a stiff bracer. J UST then, shouts came from the bedroom. The police had found the means by which Crawshaw had made his entrance. One by one, he heard them drop into the areaway. In a minute, he knew they would be in the living room again. "Gwen, drink your tea. Look surprised if the officers come in. You, Crawshaw, come with me.” He pointed to the other bedroom. As Crawshaw went ahead, Raffles raised the lid of the tobacco jar, and inserting the sparkling necklace that he brought out of his pocket, carefully replaced the top. Then he followed Crawshaw into the bedroom. The voices of the police re-entering the apartment became plainer. “They’ve got your rope, so there’s no use trying to get it,” Raffles said. He reached down and adjusted a light piece of Manila hemp around a steam pipe. The other end he dropped quickly to the alley only fifty feet below. “Quick, now. But wait. Have you any money?” Crawshaw shook his head. “Here’s twenty pounds. Give me that chloroform. Now, out with.you! On your way!” A S Raffles saw Crawshaw swing himself quickly out of the window and down the rope to freedom, he threw himself on the bed. His handkerchief had already been saturated with the drug. As the officers pushed in the door, the powerful odor at once struck their nostrils. Raffles was stretched out, lifeless, apparently. “He's been chloroformed. Come, let’s drag him out,” McKenzie said. Ten minutes later. Raffles was already beginning to revive. Lord Melrose had arrived and Bunny had returned. All stood about^looking at him. McKen¬ zie had been watching Bunny. With a quick move¬ ment, he snatched the airways ticket out of his inner pocket. Looking at them, he remarked, "Amsterdam, eh? That’s the great diamond market. “V^hat have you there, Inspector? Raffles asked. “Tickets to Amsterdam,” was the answer. “But you won't need them. _ Instead, 1 ve a warrant for your arrest,—aren t you the Amateur Cracksman? Raffles looked sheepish and still a little groggy from the effects of the drug. He nodded. Then as an afterthought, he raised his head to ask, “I say. Lord Melrose, does that offer of a thousand pounds still stand for the return of the necklace?” "Certainly, surely, why not? He looked askance at the Inspector, who offered no objection. “Good! Bunny, couldn’t you use a thousand pounds? I’m sure you could. If you’ll be good enough to get the necklace and give it to Lord Mel¬ rose . . . you’ll find it there, in that tobacco jar.” McKenzie dropped his pipe in surprise. “Well, I’ll be ...” T URNING to the Inspector after he had the necklace safe again in his pocket, Lord Melrose said, We ve got this back. You can’t go any further. 1 won't have my family in this scandal . . . "You needn’t be afraid, Lord Melrose. The war¬ rant charges him with the theft of an emerald and diamond bracelet.” “Here that is,—that’s restored,” Gwen said. She tossed the bracelet on the table, as she crossed the room to hand Raffles something. “I’m sorry things had to end this way. Crawshaw left this for you.” Raffles felt a revolver being pressed into his hands. “Can you use it?” she asked. Suddenly, Raffles stood up. "Inspector, you’ve got your necklace and your bracelet, but not me. He knocked over a chair in front of McKenzie and in one frenzied leap, was out of the room and into the library beyond. The door slammed and three heavy metal bolts shot into place. “Look out!” “Get after him!” “Good heavens!” “Break open the door!” Everyone had a different suggestion. Grabbing a fire axe from the hallway, one of McKenzie s men began to chop down the door. When McKenzie, fol¬ lowed by his men, entered the room that was thought to be Raffles’ refuge, they found the window open. The windows were examined, and the service entrance beyond. Barraclough and Bunny, standing with Gwen in the living room, were startled. Raffles peered at them from the door of the great grandfather clock. “Close that broken door again, Bunny, and you, Barraclough, hold it as tightly as you can. 1 want to talk to Gwen alone.” From the library could be heard the shouts of the police, trying to trace his descent to the street below. Excitedly, Gwen asked Raffles, “Where are you go- ing?" “Wherever you’ll join me.” “Paris, on the twelfth,—the Dorsay. If I ever get out of here.” Her hand went out to him. He kissed iT fervently. Bunny called to him, “They’re coming back, better go quick!” Raffles picked up McKenzie’s great coat and tweed hat. Into the open door of the clock he stepped as he shouted his farewell. In a minute, he was on the street, colliding with his searchers. A cab stopped. Imitating McKenzie’s heavy Scotch accent, Raffles ordered, “Scotland Yard . . . no, no, maybe not, you’d better make it Victoria Station.” “Certainly, Inspector,” the cabby nodded, as his bus trundled noisily down the street. THE END HPHEY loved Kim for his polish, his immaculate drawing room presence, his enduring loyalty, his gallantry!