The Raffles Relics etc. but ok
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Our landlady was visiting her cousins in Shropshire for Christmas, that last year, which left Raffles and I sharing a simple feast ordered from the nearby inn. There was no point in exchanging presents; indeed, when I’d floated the subject, Raffles had shut me down with a word. We were both feeling the weight of our isolation. Thoughts of war and our own infamy left little room for seasonal merriment.
He had been a friend of isolation on better days, and I myself was more content than I would have been in any other company. Nonetheless, it made for a cold and dreary evening in front of the fireplace, and a heavy silence reigned while I wrote at the desk and he brooded in an armchair.
He broke the silence while I was contemplating rhyming ‘over’ with ‘tow her’. “Two truths and a lie.”
“Hm?”
“Kangaroo meat is dry and disappointing, I once stole the wedding ring off a groom I thought unsuited for his bride, and I cheated my way through any subject at Cambridge that didn’t hold my interest.”
“That’s three truths.”
“Well spotted, my Bunny.”
“There’s not much point to this game if you’re going to cheat.”
“I didn’t cheat. I lied about telling two truths.”
“You can’t get to three truths without telling two. So now you’ve told me four truths.”
“You are the most irritating man I have ever met, Bunny Manders, and I wish I’d let you blow your brains out all those years ago at the Albany.”
I swiveled around in my chair, ready to let all the frustration of this frigid night focus itself into a bitter word. Raffles held up his hands, four fingers held up one and two in the other. “Four truths, two lies. Your turn.”
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