原版英文小说 The Amateur Cracksman
It was half-past twelve when I returned to the Albany as a lastdesperate resort.  The scene of my disaster was much as I had left it.
The baccarat-counters still strewed the table, with the empty glassesand the loaded ash-trays.  A window had been opened to let the smokeout, and was letting in the fog instead.  Raffles himself had merelydiscarded his dining jacket for one of his innumerable blazers.