"Before coming here I eked out a miserable existence in New York as buyer for an antique dealer on Fourth Avenue," she explained. "He thinks I am still working for him, travelling about the country in search of bargains in high-boys, mahogany desks, antique tables, wardrobes, bedsteads—in short, valuable junk generally. Now do you see?"
"As Mrs. Raffles—or Van Raffles, as you have it now?" I demanded.
"Oh, Bunny, Bunny, Bunny! What a stupid you are! Never! As Miss Pratt-Robinson," she replied. "From this I earn fifteen dollars a week. The sources of the material I send him—well—do you see now, Bunny?"
"It is growing clearer," said I. "You contemplate paying the rent of this house with its contents, is that it?"
"What beautiful intelligence you have, Bunny!" she laughed, airily. "You know a hawk from a hand-saw. Nobody can pass a motor-car off on you for a horse, can they, Bunny dear? Not while you have that eagle eye of yours wide open. Yes, sir. That is the scheme. I am going to pay the rental of this mansion with its contents. Half a million dollars' worth of contents means how long at twenty-five hundred dollars a month? Eh?"
"Gad! Henriette," I cried. "You are worthy of Raffles, I swear it. You can be easy about your rent for sixteen years."
"That is about the size of it, as these Newport people have it," said Mrs. Raffles, beaming upon me.
"I'm still in the dark as to where I come in," said I.
"Promise to obey my directions implicitly," said Henriette "and you will receive your share of the booty."
"Henriette—" I cried, passionately, seizing her hand.