Am back in 'read all the things!' mode. This has led to the disorienting experience of reading a Dave Robicheaux mystery in tandem with Raffles, the Amateur Cracksman. The Robicheaux is much the more rivetting, mostly from the way it presents New Orleans and Louisiana as hallucinatory places that connect neither with the New Orleans mythos nor with the general ethos of Southern writing (which makes the American South sound to me like a corner of hell. All Gothic, all the time, and rationality a totally unknown concept.)
There are no gentlemen in Robicheaux's world, but in its reflection, Raffles' gentlemen and their world look pretty damned weird too. Fagging, cricketers, gentlemen's clubs- the cozy familiar British Empah world of Peter Wimsey, even if he was much later- takes on a distinctly sinister hue. Maybe it was hell as well.