Tales of the Wold Newton Universe Read Online Free PDF Page A

“Those long curly locks, that high arching nose, the overly thick eyebrows, and the odor of expensive Parisian perfume? Don’t you recognize him?”
    I had to confess that I did not.
    “What, that is the famous journalist and infamous duelist, lsadora Persano!” he said. “Now tell me you have never heard of him, or her, as the case may be?”
    “Of course!” I said. “The reporter for the Daily Telegraph!”
    “No more,” Raffles said, “He’s a freelancer now. But what the devil is he doing here?”
    “Do you suppose,” I said slowly, “that he, too, is one thing by day and quite another at night?”
    “Perhaps,” Raffles said. “But he may be here in his capacity of journalist. He’s also heard things about Mr. James Phillimore. The devil take it! If the press is here, you may be sure that the Yard is not far behind!”
    Mr. Persano’s features curiously combined a rugged masculinity with an offensive effeminacy. Yet the latter characteristic was not really his fault. His father, an Italian diplomat, had died before he was born. His English mother had longed for a girl, been bitterly disappointed when her only-born was a boy, and, unhindered by a husband or conscience, had named him Isadora and raised him as a girl. Until he entered a public school, he wore dresses. In school, his long hair and certain feminine actions made him the object of an especially vicious persecution by the boys. It was there that he developed his abilities to defend himself with his fists. When he became an adult, he lived on the continent for several years. During this time, he earned a reputation as a dangerous man to insult. It was said that he had wounded half a dozen men with sword or pistol.
    From the little bag in which he carried the tools of the trade, Raffles brought a length of rope and a gag. After tying and gagging Persano, Raffles went through his pockets. The only object that aroused his curiosity was a very large matchbox in an inner pocket of his cloak. Opening this, he brought out something that shone in the moonlight.
    “By all that’s holy!” he said. “It’s one of the sapphires!”
    “Is Persano a rich man?” I said.
    “He doesn’t have to work for a living, Bunny. And since he hasn’t been in the house yet, I assume he got this from a fence. I also assume that he put the sapphire in the matchbox because a pickpocket isn’t likely to steal a box of matches. As it was, I was about to ignore it!”
    “Let’s get out of here,” I said. But he crouched staring down at the journalist with an occasional glance at the jewel. This, by the way, was only about a quarter of the size of a hen’s egg. Presently, Persano stirred, and he moaned under the gag. Raffles whispered into his ear, and he nodded. Raffles, saying to me, “Cosh him if he looks like he’s going to tell,” undid the gag.
    Persano, as requested, kept his voice low. He confessed that he had heard rumors from his underworld contacts about the precious stones. Having tracked down our fence, he had contrived easily enough to buy one of Mr. Phillimore’s jewels. In fact, he said, it was the first one that Mr. Phillimore had brought in to fence. Curious, wondering where the stones came from, since there were no reported thefts of these, he had come here to spy on Phillimore.
    “There’s a great story here,” he said. “But just what, I haven’t the foggiest. However, I must warn you that...”
    His warning was not heeded. Both Raffles and I heard the low voices outside the gate and the scraping of shoes against gravel.
    “Don’t leave me tied up here, boys,” Persano said. “I might have a little trouble explaining satisfactorily just what I’m doing here. And then there’s the jewel...”
    Raffles slipped the stone back into the matchbox and put it into Persano’s pocket. If we were to be caught, we would not have the gem on us. He untied the journalist’s wrists and ankles and said, “Good luck!”
    A moment later, after