Jack hurried out, crunching Raffles' letter in his fist. He went straight to Acton's room, and, bursting in whilst Acton was drinking his last cup of coffee, blurted out the dismal news. Jack was almost hysterical in his rage against Raffles.
"Acton, I believe that filthy blackmailer meant Phil to get that letter: he wanted to round on me and get me into trouble. Oh!" said Jack, in a very explosion of futile rage, "if I could only pound his ugly face into a jelly."
"Well, perhaps you'll have that pleasure one day, Jack. I hope so, anyhow. Now, straight, Jack, you need not be frightened of your brother saying a word. He could never risk Corker hearing of it, for he could not bear the chance of expulsion, so he'll lie low as far as Corker is concerned, take my word for it. He may hand you over to your father, but that, too, I doubt. He may give you a thrashing himself, which I fancy he will."
"I don't mind that," said Jack. "I deserve something."
"No, you don't, old man; and I'm fearfully sorry that I've got you into this hole. But your brother will certainly interview me."
"I suppose so," said Jack, thoughtfully, even in his rage and shame. "I hope there is no row between you;" for the idea of an open quarrel between Phil and Acton made Jack rather qualmish.
"You'd better cut now, Jack, and lie low till you find out when the hurricane is going to commence."
Jack went away, and as the door closed softly behind him Acton smiled sweetly.
"Well, Raffles has managed it nicely, and carried out my orders to the strokings of the t's. He is quite a genius in a low kind of way. And now I'm ready for Philip Bourne, Esq. I bet I'm a sight more comfortable than he is." Which was very true.
I, of course, knew nothing of all these occurrences at the time, and the first intimation I had that anything was wrong was when Phil Bourne came into my room and gave me a plain unvarnished account, sans comment, of Acton's and young Bourne's foolery in London.