E. W. Hornung,
A Thief in the Night — A Bad Night
(1905)
“ I could have cursed the creature's mother from my full heart; yet even with my hand on that of Raffles, as I felt his feeble pulse, I told myself that this served him right. Even had I brained him, the fault had been his, not mine. And it was a characteristic, an inveterate fault, that galled me for all my anguish: to trust and yet distrust me to the end, to race through England in the night, to spy upon me at his work—to do it himself after all!"Is he dead?" wheezed the asthmatic coolly."Not he," I answered, with an indignation that I dared not show. ”
