"What are you doing?" gasped Cato, his face turning a greenish-yellow with fear.
"Another sound from you and you're a dead one," said Holmes. "You'll see what I'm doing quickly enough. Twist it into a rope, Jim," he added, addressing me. I did as I was bade with the linen cover, snatching it from the bureau, and a second later we had Cato gagged. "Now tie his hands and feet with those curtain cords," Holmes went on.
Heavens! how I hated the job, but there was no drawing back now! We had gone too far for that.
"There!" said Holmes, as we laid our victim out on the floor, tied hand and foot and as powerless to speak as though he had been born deaf and dumb. "We'll just rifle your chest, Cato, and stow you away in the bath-tub with a sofa-cushion under your head to make you comfortable, and bid you farewell— not au revoir, Cato, but just plain farewell forever."
The words were hardly spoken before the deed was accomplished. Tearing aside poor Cato's vest and shirt-front, Raffles placed himself in possession of the treasure from Bar, LeDuc & Co., after which we lay Darlington's unhappy confederate at full length in the porcelain-lined tub, placed a sofa-cushion under his head to mitigate his sufferings, locked him in, and started for the elevator.
"Great Heavens, Raffles!" I chattered, as we emerged upon the street. "What will be the end of this? It's awful. When Sir Henry returns—"
"I wish I could be there to see," said he, with a chuckle.
"I guess we'll see, quick enough. I leave town to-morrow," said I.
"Nonsense," said Holmes. "Don't you worry. I put a quietus on Sir Henry Darlington. He'll leave town to-night, and we'll never hear from him again—that is, not in this matter."
"But how?" I demanded, far from convinced.