Of course it was Raffles’s hand that they had, but now I was in the hall among them. A red-faced barrel of a boy did all the holding, one hand round the wrist, the other palm to palm, and his knees braced up against the panel. Another was rendering ostentatious but ineffectual aid, and three or four others danced about in their pyjamas. After all, they were not more than four to one. I had raised my voice, so that Raffles might hear me and take heart, and now I raised it again. Yet to this day I cannot account for my inspiration, that proved nothing less. “Don’t talk so loud,” they were crying below their breath; “don’t wake ’em upstairs, this is our show.” “Then I see you’ve got one of them,” said I, as desired. “Well, if you want the other you can have him, too. I believe he’s hurt himself.” “After him, after him!” they exclaimed as one. “But I think he got over the wall—” “Come on, you chaps, come on!” And there was a soft stampede to the hall door. “Don’t all desert me, I say!” gasped the red-faced hero who held Raffles prisoner. “We must have them both, Beefy!” “That’s all very well—” “Look here,” I interposed, “I’ll stay by you. I’ve a friend outside, I’ll get him too.” “Thanks awfully,” said the valiant Beefy. The hall was empty now. My heart beat high. “How did you hear them?” I inquired, my eye running over him. “We were down having drinks—game o’ Nap—in there.” Beefy jerked his great head toward an open door, and the tail of my eye caught the glint of glasses in the firelight, but the rest of it was otherwise engaged. “Let me relieve you,” I said, trembling. “No, I’m all right.” “Then I must insist.” And before he could answer I had him round the neck with such a will that not a gurgle passed my fingers, for they were almost buried in his hot, smooth flesh. Oh, I am not proud of it; the act was as vile as act could be; but I was not going to see Raffles taken, my one desire was to be the saving of him, and I tremble even now to think to what lengths I might have gone for its fulfilment. As it was, I squeezed and tugged until one strong hand gave way after the other and came feeling round for me, but feebly because they had held on so long. And what do you suppose was happening at the same moment? The pinched white hand of Raffles, reddening with returning blood, and with a clot of blood upon the wrist, was craning upward and turning the key in the lock without a moment’s loss. “Steady on, Bunny!”