The hotel is alive with the padding of footsteps. Leather slippers swish here and there, punctuated occasionally by the odd sharp stab of stiletto on a well-polished tile floor. There is also the familiar and heavy tread of a Brogue or a Derby shoe. Bells ring from atop the walnut counter of the main desk and chimes from large brass clocks tinkle through the air. Smoke from cigars and pipes floats around the room like the lost children of adult clouds, and green palms are wafted gently by fans high above on the ceiling. In a high-backed leather chair with brass studs that have been polished until they gleam like nuggets in a clear stream, sits Raffles, known to many as The Gentleman Thief.
He is as much a part of the Black Museum as Jack the Ripper, albeit, Raffles has earned the respect
