"On the way to Chicago," said Raffles Holmes, calmly. "Mrs. Wilbraham Ward-
Smythe has the check for it."
"Safe business!" I sneered. "Bribed the porter, I presume?"
"Jenkins, you are exceedingly uncomplimentary at times," said Raffles
Holmes, showing more resentment than I had ever given him credit for.
"Perhaps you observed that I didn't go to the station in the omnibus."
"No, you went over to the drug-store after some phenacetine for your headache," said I.
"Precisely," said Holmes, "and after purchasing the phenacetine I jumped aboard the Garrymore express-wagon and got a lift over to the station. It was during that ride that I transferred Mrs. Ward-Smythe's check from her trunk to yours, and vice versa. It's one of the easiest jobs in the Raffles business, especially at this season of the year, when travel is heavy and porters are overworked."
"I'll see the trunk in the Hudson River, pearl rope and all, before I'll claim it at Jersey City or anywhere else," said I.
"Perfectly right," Holmes returned. "We'll hand the check to the expressman when he comes through the train, and neither of us need appear further in the matter. It will merely be delivered at your apartment."
"Why not yours?" said I.
"Raffles!" said he, laconically, and I understood.
"And then what?" I asked.