Bunny.

I arrived at Raffles' rooms at six o'clock, whilst Raffles was still getting ready. He opened the door in his shirtsleeves, tie hanging loose, feet bare but for stockings, eyes glittering, grin wolfish.

'You're early,' he said. 'I told you to come for seven thirty, Bunny.'

'Must I always do as I'm told?' I replied; Raffles' eyes darkened; nothing more was needed. I slammed the door shut behind me and turned the key in the lock.

A while later, as Raffles was fixing a pin in his tie and I was finishing off a tumbler of whiskey, considerably more relaxed than I had been an hour prior, a knock fell upon Raffles' door. I headed to the hallway to answer it on A. J.'s behalf, and opened it to most unwelcome callers.

'Good evening to you, Mr. — Manders. Is Mr. Raffles in? Ach, aye, there y'are, sir. Might I come in and have a wee word wi' ye?'

Inspector Mackenzie of Scotland Yard stood in the hall, his prematurely greyed hair and sunken expression only highlighting in contrast the bright fire of his grey eyes and the sharpness of his smile. Beside him was a haughty young Sergeant whose assumed attitude of confidence did little but belie his greenness. I knew the man vaguely by sight, though I couldn't recall his name; I knew only that he and A. J. had crossed paths in the past, and that they were not on the warmest of personal terms. I glanced up at Raffles, who had materialised to step in front of me the moment he'd heard that familiar brogue, but he paid me as little heed as Mackenzie had, merely smiling warmly at the Inspector and his associate as he waved them into the hallway.

'Of course, Inspector. It is so good to see you; it's been a while; you're looking well. Do come in; can I offer you a coffee, scotch? No?' Raffles spoke to the man with a condescending geniality more befitting an old friend than a policeman or, indeed, an old enemy. With a glitter in his eye, Raffles cast an appraising glance over the Detective Inspector's associate. 'I say, is Scotland Yard running police tours, now?' he asked with a spirited curiosity. 'Letting the bored general public have a go at playing detective, tagging along with the grizzled veterans for a day? Do they pay you extra for that, Mackenzie?'

I noted with interest how the young Sergeant puffed up indignantly at Raffles' words. He resembled nothing so much as an agitated seagull.

'Verrae amusing, Mr. Raffles…' replied the longsuffering Detective Inspector with a sigh. 'Now if we can—'

'You watch your tongue,' the younger man snapped at Raffles, cutting Mackenzie off. I noticed a flash of cool amusement flare up in Raffles' eyes. 'I am an Officer of the Law, Raffles, and I will be treated with my due respect! My father is the Assistant Commissioner, I'll have you know!'

'So he is; I'd forgotten about that. Well, that explains everything, Sergeant. Not far off in my guess though, was I?'

The young police officer took a step forward with murder in his eyes. 'Steady, Sergeant Bradford,' Mackenzie said, carefully, laying a hand on the man's arm. 'Mr. Raffles here is just havin' a wee joke wi' ye, aren't ye, Mr. Raffles? I'm sure the gentleman means nothing by it. Nae need to get yer feathers so ruffled.'

'No need at all,' Raffles replied, all easy charm. 'But fear not, Inspector; Sergeant Bradford is a fellow Cam' 'varsity man — well, he was for a while, in any event. He and I are practically old friends, you know.'

'So I've heard,' the older man muttered, darkly.

'Have you, now?' said Raffles, raising an eyebrow. 'How flattering. Now, you know how I hate to be rude, Inspector but if we might cut to the chase? What might I do for you both on this most balmy of spring evenings? Mr. Manders and I were just heading out — but of course, for our friends of old, Mackenzie, I am sure we can spare a minute. Do you perhaps have some queries regarding the finer points of cricket that you would like me to clear up for you? I know the sport doesn't come naturally to the Scots.'

MacKenzie pulled a notebook from his pocket; Sergeant Bradford followed suit. 'Mr. Raffles, would ye be so kind as to tell me where ye were last Tuesday night?'

'Last Tuesday? You do put a man to the test, Mackenzie; but if it will help you — though I can't see how it might — I am more than happy to oblige. Let me see, Tuesday — Ah, now if I recall correctly, I was home by myself all Tuesday night.'

'Home alone all evening? Hm.'

'Oh,' Raffles added with an incendiary sparkle in his bright eye, 'well, other than an hour or four put in at my Club of course. Maybe five, come to think of it — though I confess, I really don't know how that will help you either way.'

Mackenzie exhaled irritably. 'An hour or five at your club…' He pinched the bridge of his nose. 'What time, Mr. Raffles?'

'I arrived there at around nine o'clock, and left somewhere between half past one and two, or thereabouts. I'm sorry I can't be more specific for you, Inspector; as I had nowhere else to be, I had little reason to keep close track of the time. The liberties of bachelorhood, eh?'

'And can ye provide any witnesses who can corroborate that?'

'Corroborate my being a bachelor? Well, they don't allow wives at the Albany, Inspector, though I suppose that wouldn't preclude me having a secret one squirreled away here somewhere, like Mr. Rochester, in the attic. Though of course you and your fine chaps did quite the overhaul of my rooms a few years back and found nothing. I'd imagine if I'd had a—'

The Inspector tapped his pencil against his notebook and interrupted with growing agitation. 'Witnesses to your whereabouts, Mr. Raffles!'

'Oh, I see! But, my good fellow, why ever should you need witnesses for my whereabouts? I suppose if you are hell bent on it, then — well, I spoke to a good many chaps at the Club, not to mention the staff — oh! and I distinctly remember bidding good evening to a fine young policeman walking his beat on my way home. Is it a sign one is getting old when even policemen begin to look like children? Or is the Yard now hiring Sergeants straight from the cradle? I suppose it saves on the unnecessary expense of putting them through school, first,' Raffles added with a deliberately goading smile at Bradford, who visibly bristled at the implication.

'And how about two nights before last?' Mackenzie pressed on with professional impatience. 'Where were ye on the Friday night, Mr. Raffles?'

'Friday? Ah, now, for Friday night I can be a little more specific: I was out with Mr. Manders into the wee hours.'

MacKenzie's sharp eyes lit up. 'Out all night with Mr. Manders, were ye?'

'Yes, isn't that right, Bunny?' Raffles answered, nudging me with a sharp elbow, prompting me to nod. 'Though I'm sorry to admit that we were both rather the worse for wear; I can't say we'll be any good to you as witnesses to whatever it is you want witnessing. Woke up with the Devil's own headache the next day; though I'm sure it should have been a hundred times worse were it not for those miracle workers at the Turkish Baths on Northumberland Avenue. Don't you just swear by the Turkish Baths, Inspector? I certainly do, and I keep trying to convince Mr. Manders here of their restorative effects, but he remains stubbornly set against them. Wasn't I just telling you this afternoon that you ought to have come along with me, Bunny? Then you might not have been stuck in bed half the day, sleeping it off!'

'Mr. Raffles,' MacKenzie interrupted once more with ever growing irritation, 'I've nae got the time for yer jokes. Do ye have any witnesses to your whereabouts on Friday?'

'Yes,' Raffles replied blandly, glancing none too subtly at his pocket-watch, 'Mr. Manders, for one, as I said,' — I nodded my assent once more, though my presence was as superfluous to the Inspector as the hat-stand and umbrella — 'and the good folks who run the baths on Northumberland Avenue who can attest to my tumbling in there in no fit state at around nine-fifteen the following morning, for another. Though as I have no idea what your enquiries are about, I can't think how I would be able to advise on who else you could talk to about it. Now, at the lamentable risk of causing offense, if there is a point to all of this, Inspector, I ask that you make it sooner rather than later. Places to be, you know. Vesta Tilley waits for no man!'

'We'll leave when we've finished with you,' the upstart Bradford snapped. Raffles gave him an icy smile in reply. Were such a smile directed at me, I should have shivered, but Bradford evidently lacked even my intelligence, for he met Raffles' gaze quite unfazed.

'We shan't be keeping you much longer, gentlemen,' Mackenzie said, with somewhat more tact. 'The matter's concerning a burglary. A set of verra valuable jewels were discovered stolen on Friday night, Mr. Raffles, and I'm verra keen to get my hands on them — and the thief who took 'em. As the victim of this burglary was someone of your set, and, I believe, of your personal acquaintance, Mr. Raffles, we are here merely to follow up on our more — distant leads. Ye never know who may ha' seen or heard anything that might prove useful. Pure matter o' procedure, ye ken.'

'A set of jewels, by Jove,' Raffles replied ponderously, all concerned innocence. 'And from someone I might know? I can't say I've heard even a whisper of it, I'm afraid. But what rotten luck for them! Yet you say "discovered" stolen, Inspector?'

'Aye, I say discovered.'

'Surely you mean they were stolen on Friday night?'

'I mean what I say.'

'You mean to say that you believe the jewels might have been removed from the house earlier, and its occupants simply failed to notice the theft until long after the fact? Not to criticise the professional opinion of Scotland Yard, but that hardly sounds plausible!'

'It is not merely the opinion o' Scoteland Yard, Mr. Raffles, it is the opinion o' me.'

'And you'll do well not to question it,' piped in the irritating and superfluous voice of Bradford.

'I see,' Raffles said through a paper-thin veil of politeness. 'Well, if you ask me, anyone who fails to discover that their valuables have been taken until days after the fact doesn't deserve them in the first place — if, indeed, that is what happened. Whose jewels were they, if you don't mind my asking?'

Mackenzie opened his mouth to reply; Bradford answered for him. 'As a matter of fact we do mind you asking! We are the ones who ask the questions around here, Mr. Raffles! Who do you think you are, asking questions like that? Quite frankly, I don't know why your attitude has been tolerated for so long — I certainly do not intend to tolerate it! You can play the fool all you like; that act might bamboozle some policemen, but you will find it rather more difficult to pull the wool over my eyes. You're cleverer than you appear, Mr. Raffles, but that won't wash with me. I know your sort.'

'Is that so?' Raffles said, smile laced with daggers. 'I must say, how lucky for Inspector Mackenzie to have such a bright young blood as you to tag along with him! I'm sure he can't quite believe his luck. I congratulate you, Inspector, on finding yourself with such a charming partner, and one so unusually able to recognise that I am not, in fact, an idiot. Take notes, Mackenzie; I am sure this is news to you! My, how the long hours walking the beat must fly past with an insightful fellow like Sergeant Bradford as your constant companion. Were I a less honest man, I would say I envied you! But as much as I do enjoy being paid such warm compliments, as I said, I do have an appointment to keep, and I can't for the life of me see what any of this has to do with — what did say you were here about? Those stolen jewels, I presume, were the central focus of this call? It's simply never social with you, is it Mackenzie? I've half a mind to be insulted.' Raffles shook his head, sadly. 'Still, it is rum job, about those jewels. Whatever is the great city of London coming to when even Scotland Yard's finest can't keep the inherited wealth of the aristocracy safe from swell mobsmen? I think I shall write to The Times about it, you know!'

'As ye please, sir, as you please.' A flicker of a smile passed over the Detective Inspector's thin lips as his bright eyes darted to Raffles' hands, and back again to his face. 'Though ye may need Mr. Manders to do the writin' for ye, I should think. How is yon hand, Mr. Raffles? I ken ye've a wee friction burn across yer palm there. Looks recent. Professional injury?'

'Ah, amateur,' Raffles replied with a matching glimmer in his own eye. 'The cricket season's not in full swing yet, but one must get one's practice in before taking to the field in earnest. Dangers of the sport, Inspector; even the very best take their tumbles from time to time. Not enough to drive 'em from the game though.'

'Take enough tumbles, and sooner or later ye'll find yourself outplayed, Mr. Raffles. It's a risky game you play, sir.'

'Perhaps; but that's the thrill of the sport, wouldn't you say? And the risk is half the fun, Inspector!'

'Disnae sound like fun to me; it sounds exhausting. There's so much running, Mr. Raffles, in — cricket. D'ye not ever tire of it?'

'When the alternative is golf? My dear Mackenzie, there is simply no question!'

Sergeant Bradford had followed this exchange with an ever deepening crease in his brow, his cruel, watery eyes darting back and forth between the two old enemies as though he were watching a tennis match. And evidently he was not impressed.

'Inspector,' he interrupted in an officious tone, 'this is hardly the time to be discussing sport! I can see why father had me assigned to work with you, if this is how you handle your interrogations! And as for you,' the young ass turned back to Raffles, 'I don't believe you take the police force seriously, Mr. Raffles. Perhaps you've not had reason to. But I'm on your case now, son. I know your type. And I've read up on you, Raffles, you and your little — friend. If you ask me it is a travesty of the police department that you haven't already been up in the docks — a travesty! And you mark my words, I will have you up there, one way or another. You may have got by this far on your smiles and charm and celebrity, but that won't work with me.'

I doubt that anyone but I who knew him best noticed the minute changes which flashed across Raffles' features in that moment. The tensing of the jaw, the glitter of ice in his eyes, the brightening of the smile like the gleam upon a blade, the coiling of muscles like a tiger before the killing leap.

'Naturally, Sergeant,' Raffles replied with effortless charm, 'if the police ever require either myself or Mr. Manders to stand as helpful bystanders in the witness box, we should be more than glad to assist. We are proud citizens under British Law, Bunny and me, and always glad to help out its capable and incorruptible defenders in any way we can. And if you truly were so well-acquainted with me as you claim, then you would know that Mr. Manders and I have been and remain great friends to Her Majesty's Finest; Bunny here in fact directly assisted in the arrest of a notorious jewel thief some years back. Isn't that so, Inspector? Perhaps you need to give your young protege some further instruction, hm? He seems to have missed a few crucial lessons.'

'I've not missed anything,' Bradford replied sharply. 'I know you don't take me seriously, Mr. Raffles; I doubt you take anything seriously, and that will be your downfall. So you can just carry on being as witty as you like, sir, and we'll see how well that serves you, when the time comes. About as well as that playwright's wit has been serving him, I should think — you're cut from the same cloth, perhaps? Both bright enough on your own, and smart-mouthed enough to out-talk the Devil himself, but also sharing the same, shall we say — weak points?' As he spoke, Bradford glanced at me with a conspiratorial smile, as though he and I were somehow in on some joke together at Raffles' expense. The audacity of the man incensed me, though thankfully I managed to keep my expression one of cold disinterest in imitation of Raffles. 'There's more than one way to skin a cat, Mr. Raffles, and sometimes it is by first skinning the mouse. You'd do well to remember that. I know I will.'

'Sergeant Bradford, that is enough!' the Inspector bellowed, evidently as irritated by the upstart as I was. Bradford gave the older man such a look that I half believed that were there not witnesses present he might have hit him; rank, I suppose, matters less when one's father is the Assistant Commissioner. But as it was, in front of witnesses, Bradford merely glowered and bit his tongue. 'Thank ye for your time, gentleman,' Mackenzie growled, nodding politely at the pair of us, scowling at Bradford. 'I think we ha' everything we came for. Sergeant Bradford, out!'

When Raffles made no move to do so, I showed the Inspector out myself and locked the door behind him. Raffles stayed back in the sitting room, unsettlingly quiet. Usually after a verbal tangle with the police he would be in high spirits due to his inevitably having come out on top. I'd thought he'd done rather well with them this evening, all things considered, but his suddenly dark mood gave me pause.

'That was unpleasant,' I said, tentatively, pouring Raffles a drink out of want for something to do with my hands. 'That Bradford's a little bastard, isn't he? I'm surprised a pipsqueak like that has made it to Sergeant at all…' I hesitated, biting my lip when Raffles made no reply. '...I wonder what that was about, anyway, those questions about that burglary? You haven't been up to anything else, have you, Raffles? You haven't mentioned anything, but— Well, even if it was you, it's obvious they've nothing on you. If they did, they wouldn't be here asking pointless, routine questions like that, would they? Raffles?'

Raffles still had yet to speak. He hadn't even looked at me since the Inspector had left, breathing heavily as he stood beside his desk, head hanging, hand gripping the back of the chair so tightly that his knuckles had gone white.

'...A. J.? Look here, are you quite all right, old boy?'

'I'll kill him,' Raffles said, softly.

I was taken aback at his response. The Sergeant had been a bit of a smart-mouth, and his personal dislike of Raffles was so obvious as to be unprofessional, but A. J. had fielded worse in his time — he'd fielded worse from Mackenzie! Yet never had I seen him so shaken by a mere verbal altercation with anyone, let alone the police, whom he always ran circles around. Usually I was the one distressed by any minor run in with the police; Raffles always took them with that cool equanimity which was as alien to me as my nervousness was to him. But other than the usual unease I always felt when compelled to talk with Her Majesty's Finest, I saw no reason for either of us to be at all unsettled; and that in itself unsettled me.

'A. J.?' I repeated, taking a step closer to him, laying a hand upon his shoulder. 'My dear chap, whatever's the matter? Is there anything I can do? Can I help?'

Raffles suddenly slammed his fist against the desk with a heart-shattering bang. I leapt back with a start.

'Good god!' I cried, clutching at my chest. 'What the hell's the matter with you, Raffles?'

I couldn't remember the last time I'd seen Raffles so shaken! It frightened me — not least for, as I saw it, the baffling lack of provocation! Mackenzie had nothing on us; he hadn't even claimed to! It was routine bureaucracy, nothing more; the Inspector had said so himself! I couldn't understand what had Raffles the unrattleable so thoroughly rattled; and I began to worry I had missed something. I sent my mind back, searching over the brief interaction, searching for a clue, searching for an answer, searching for any explanation as to what had so upset him. I could see, perhaps, that there may have been some heavily veiled insinuations in Mackenzie's words, but that was nothing new. He had been suspicious of Raffles ever since that misadventure with friend Crawshay, and Raffles had put the nix on that when he'd allowed the Inspector to vainly search his rooms long since. Nothing Mackenzie could have said could possibly have affected Raffles so. And as for Bradford, surely nothing he could have said would—

Recollection of the words passed between then slammed into my conscious mind like a sack of bricks, suddenly so obvious that I could not fathom how I had missed them. I had spent the past few days so entirely preoccupied with our one brand of criminality that I'd quite forgotten about the other.

I remembered then. Good god, I remembered then.

"I know your type," Bradford had said.

"There's more than one way to skin a cat," he'd said.

'...Oh... Oh, god,' I moaned, stepping back, pressing a hand to my forehead, already beading with sweat.

Raffles looked up slowly, grim-faced and ashen. 'They can't do anything, Bunny. Whatever they might want me to think, it's nothing but an empty threat. They were simply trying to rile me, and I'm sorry to say I've momentarily let them. But don't you worry about it. Damned unsporting play to make, but what else do you expect from the police?' he added with a snarl.

I could barely hear him.

The sickening insinuation in the way he'd referred to me Raffles' "friend"; the way he'd smiled at me as he spoke of Raffles' "weak point" ... How could I have been so stupid as to miss it!

'And I'd kill him before he could lay a finger on you, Bunny, so don't fret for your own sake,' Raffles continued. '...Bunny?'

The — oh god, how did I miss it — the allusion to being cut from the same cloth as the playwright.

The playwright!

The room began to spin, the temperature swaying in waves between arctic and Saharan, the air agonisingly thin. My tongue was suddenly too large for my mouth as poison rose from my stomach, my chest, my throat, making my eyes water and grow dim. Because for all that I had been wracked with terror over this exact thing happening, for all I had spent months envisaging this exact scenario coming to pass, now that it was upon me in earnest I could barely believe it real. My past and my future collided with my present, crushing the breath from my lungs and bursting my heart. Blood hammered in my veins; in my teeth; in the corners of my vision in ever-growing red-and-black pulses till I could no longer see. It came rushing and pounding and roaring through my ears until the world was lost to ringing silence. I felt almost as though I were drowning; sinking in quicksand whilst floating in salt water; two halves of me being dragged apart, my sinews stretched, the ache omnipotent. I couldn't breathe.

I couldn't breathe.

'Bunny?' I was distantly aware of someone calling my name: probably Raffles; maybe God; perhaps the Devil himself. '...Bunny!'

In that moment I believed I was dying, and it almost came as a relief; an easy escape from my troubles; a solution out of my hands. The room blurred, the ground buckled, and I fell for what seemed an eternity, hanging in the air, weightless and heavy and no longer a part of myself. I was half sure I was already dead. And, as I watched Raffles' Indian rug spiral upward to meet me, I accepted it. I accepted that my final act would close in his sitting room just as, perhaps, it should have done all of those years ago. There was a compelling neatness in coming full circle; a strange peace to be found in it; some sense of purpose, of completion, of fate. Nothing mattered, anymore. Not the burglary; not the Wilde trial; not my relationship with A. J. or the risk that it held for us both. Not my sins; not my love; not a damned thing. There was nothing. I was nothing.

My head passed through the corner of the desk with as much resistance as it would find in passing through fog, and the floor as I met it felt soft as clouds.

And then everything went white.