Explore "The Return Match" by E.W. Hornung on Textopian. Read with annotations and highlights.
I had turned into Piccadilly, one thick evening in the following November, when my guilty heart stood still at the sudden grip of a hand upon my arm. I thought -- I was always thinking -- that my inevitable hour was come at last. It was only Raffles, however, who stood smiling at me through the fog.
"Well met! " said he. "I've been looking for you at the club."