"What bet?" asked a voice with a sudden start in it. The secretary was blinking as he drained his glass. "About the very thing we've just had explained to us," said I, watching my man intently as I spoke. "I made sure it was a man-trap. Raffles thought it must be something else. We had a tremendous argument about it. Raffles said it wasn't a man-trap. I said it was. We had a bet about it in the end. I put my money on the man-trap. Raffles put his upon the other thing. And Raffles was right--it wasn't a man-trap. But it's every bit as good--every little bit--and the whole boiling of you are caught in it except me!" I sank my voice with the last sentence, but I might just as well have raised it instead. I had said the same thing over and over again to see whether the wilful tautology would cause the secretary to open his eyes. It seemed to have had the very opposite effect. His head fell forward on the table, with never a quiver at the blow, never a twitch when I pillowed it upon one of his own sprawling arms. And there sat Maguire bolt upright, but for the jowl upon his shirt-front, while the sequins twinkled in a regular rise and fall upon the reclining form of the lady in the fanciful chair. All three were sound asleep, by what accident or by whose design I did not pause to inquire; it was enough to ascertain the fact beyond all chance of error. I turned my attention to Raffles last of all. There was the other side of the medal. Raffles was still sleeping as sound as the enemy--or so I feared at first. I shook him gently: he made no sign. I introduced vigor into the process: he muttered incoherently. I caught and twisted an unresisting wrist--and at that he yelped profanely. But it was many and many an anxious moment before his blinking eyes knew mine. "Bunny!" he yawned, and nothing more until his position came back to him. "So you came to me," he went on, in a tone that thrilled me with, its affectionate appreciation, "as I knew you would! Have they turned up yet? They will any minute, you know; there's not one to lose." "No, they won't, old man!" I whispered. And he sat up and saw the comatose trio for himself. Raffles seemed less amazed at the result than I had been as a puzzled witness of the process; on the other hand, I had never seen anything quite so exultant as the smile that broke through his blackened countenance like a light. It was all obviously no great surprise, and no puzzle at all, to Raffles. "How much did they have, Bunny?" were his first whispered words. "Maguire a good three fingers, and the others at least two." "Then we needn't lower our voices, and we needn't walk on our toes. Eheu! I dreamed somebody was kicking me in the ribs, and I believe it must have been true." He had risen with a hand to his side and a wry look on his sweep's face. "You can guess which of them it was," said I. "The beast is jolly well served!" And I shook my fist in the paralytic face of the most brutal bruiser of his time.