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Doyle, Arthur Conan, Sir, 1859-1930

"The Doings of Raffles Haw"

It is
my wish that such valuables as remain in the Hall should be sold,
and the proceeds divided amidst all the charities of Birmingham.
I shall leave tonight if I am well enough, but I have been much
troubled all day by a stabbing pain in my side. It is as if wealth
were as bad for health as it is for peace of mind. Good-bye,
Robert, and may you never have as sad a heart as I have to-night.
Yours very truly,
RAFFLES HAW."
"Was it suicide, sir? Was it suicide?" broke in the policeman as
Robert put the note in his pocket.
"No," he answered; "I think it was a broken heart."
And so the wonders of the New Hall were all dismantled, the carvings and
the gold, the books and the pictures, and many a struggling man or woman
who had heard nothing of Raffles Haw during his life had cause to bless
him after his death. The house has been bought by a company now, who
have turned it into a hydropathic establishment, and of all the folk
who frequent it in search of health or of pleasure there are few who
know the strange story which is connected with it.
The blight which Haw's wealth cast around it seemed to last even after
his death. Old McIntyre still raves in the County Lunatic Asylum, and
treasures up old scraps of wood and metal under the impression that they
are all ingots of gold.


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