Chapter 5 The Failed Assassination Attack

Hundley, meanwhile, had come home in his car in a boundless rage and had summoned his servant José, a negro of extraordinary physical strength and size, into his bedroom.

“You have a job to do for me today,” said Hundley to the black man.

The Negro's eyes looked up greedily.

“Listen, José,” the millionaire continued, “you know the house in Central Park of an acquaintance of mine, a certain Mr. Bird?”

“Yes, sir.”

“You must creep into this house to-night, and punish Mr. Bird with a stab in the back for the insult he has done me.

" He is the cause of Mrs. Hundley's leaving my house. Yes, if all is not deceiving me, she loves this man."

The black teeth ground, something that satisfied Hundley. He knew that José was in love with his beautiful wife.

So he was the right person to help the hated club king to the other world.—

Half an hour later the black man left his master's house, and glided like a shadow past the villas.

He had been a feared bank robber for years, and, unknown to anyone, together with his master.

The millionaire had been, before coming to New York, the head of a gang operating in the American West, but as soon as he had struck a blow and captured a million, he had not failed to leave the West and settle in New York as a man of honor under another name.

Here he had for ten years had a bank-shop, which he had established with the stolen money. Of the whole gang he kept only the gigantic José with him. All the rest had disappeared or were dead.

José was also aware of the dangerous contents of Hundley's safe.

On a lonely farm near New York lived a handsome, consumptive engraver and printer, who had been employed in making the counterfeit five-dollar bills.

The poor man, driven by necessity, had made millions of dollars, and when Hundley discharged him and paid him a few thousand dollars, he had died in a New York hospital.

José looked for a few minutes at Mr. Bird's house, which was completely in darkness.

He was about to open the gate that separated the villa from the street when he was prevented from doing so by an approaching car.

He quickly slipped into a hiding place and saw the car stop in front of Mr. Bird's house and the club king enter the house. Immediately the chauffeur drove through the open door into the car garage.

The man had not noticed that when Raffles opened the right side of the car, the Negro opened the opposite door and got into the closed car.

In this way the millionaire 's accomplice had entered the house without climbing over a fence or breaking down a door. When the chauffeur slowly brought the car into the garage, the black man quietly opened the door and crept away unnoticed. In the shadow of a small shed he hid until the chauffeur and the porter had left the storage room.

Now he went to the basement, opened a window with his knife, and slid through.

John Raffles, who was rather tired, had immediately gone to sleep.

Only Charly Brand was still awake and reading.

Suddenly he put the book down.

It was as if the floorboards had creaked.

Simply paying attention to every sound, he went to the door and opened it a crack.

The corridor was brightly lit, at the end of which was Raffles' bedroom.

Frightened, Charly stared at the door of the room. He clearly saw a Negro standing in front of it with an open knife in his hand.

Immediately Charly Brand reached into his pocket, took out his Browning pistol, pointed it at the unsuspecting black man and shouted:

“Hands up or I'll shoot!”

With a cry of anger the Negro jumped back from the door and looked at Charly Brand with rolling eyes.

He seemed to be still debating what to do, because Charly was, compared to him, a small, frail figure.

Once again Charly Brand's command sounded:

“Hands up or I'll shoot!”

Now at last the Negro dropped the knife and raised his hands.

At this moment the door of Raffles's bedroom opened and he himself appeared.

“A pleasant conversation in the night,” he said calmly, looking smilingly at the other two.

“I found him in front of your bedroom door with the open knife in his hand,” Charly Brand explained.

“Oh!” nodded Raffles, “now I recognize the lad. He is in Mr. Hundley's service. A curious way to convey an order to me. What do you want?”

The Negro could not answer.

His eyes looked uncertainly back and forth.

He did not understand the meaning of Raffles' words.

He stooped down and picked up the black man's dagger.

“A good weapon,” he said, “were you afraid that someone would attack you here?”

The negro ground his teeth. He perceived now that Raffles was making a fool of him.

"I will add your arms," ​​continued Lord Lister, "to my collection. Now go home, and tell your lord that he must henceforth choose a more suitable servant to execute his orders.

“ Forward! And now out of the house!”

“You let him walk?” asked Charly Brand in surprise.

"Should I show him hospitality too?" laughed Raffles. "He would feel quite ill at ease with me. And now, good night, Charly, sleep well."

Quietly, as if nothing had happened, the Great Unknown sought his bedroom again. Then Charly Brand also went to rest.

Just as he was about to lie down, he heard the ground crack again.

He hastily seized his revolver and rushed outside. There he saw Raffles before him in a dark overcoat, the collar turned up and a black bag in his hand.

“Is that you?” asked the secretary in surprise, “where else do you want to go?”

“Take a little walk,” was the usual answer, “I’ll be back in two hours. I’ve had a wonderful idea. In the meantime, go to bed and sleep.”

Without paying any further attention to Charly Brand, John Raffles walked down the hall and disappeared. — —

It was nearly morning when Lord Lister stepped through the twilight to the little secret door of the winter garden in Hundley Palace.

With the key given him the previous night by Mrs. Hundley, the Great Unknown opened the door and entered.

He had been forced to remain hidden and waiting in the vicinity of the palace for several hours, as he noticed that Hundley had not yet gone to sleep.