And I saw that Beefy’s ears were blue; but Raffles was feeling in his pockets as he spoke. “Now let him breathe,” said he, clapping his handkerchief over the poor youth’s mouth. An empty vial was in his other hand, and the first few stertorous breaths that the poor boy took were the end of him for the time being. Oh, but it was villainous, my part especially, for he must have been far gone to go the rest of the way so readily. I began by saying I was not proud of this deed, but its dastardly character has come home to me more than ever with the penance of writing it out. I see in myself, at least my then self, things that I never saw quite so clearly before. Yet let me be quite sure that I would not do the same again. I had not the smallest desire to throttle this innocent lad (nor did I), but only to extricate Raffles from the most hopeless position he was ever in; and after all it was better than a blow from behind. On the whole, I will not alter a word, nor whine about the thing any more. We lifted the plucky fellow into Raffles’s place in the pantry, locked the door on him, and put the key through the panel. Now was the moment for thinking of ourselves, and again that infernal mask which Raffles swore by came near the undoing of us both. We had reached the steps when we were hailed by a voice, not from without but from within, and I had just time to tear the accursed thing from Raffles’s face before he turned. A stout man with a blonde moustache was on the stairs, in his pyjamas like the boys. “What are you doing here?” said he. “There has been an attempt upon your house,” said I, still spokesman for the night, and still on the wings of inspiration. “Your sons—” “My pupils.” “Indeed. Well, they heard it, drove off the thieves, and have given chase.” “And where do you come in?” inquired the stout man, descending. “We were bicycling past, and I actually saw one fellow come head-first through your pantry window. I think he got over the wall.” Here a breathless boy returned. “Can’t see anything of him,” he gasped. “It’s true, then,” remarked the crammer. “Look at that door,” said I. But unfortunately the breathless boy looked also, and now he was being joined by others equally short of wind. “Where’s Beefy?” he screamed. “What on earth’s happened to Beefy?” “My good boys,” exclaimed the crammer, “will one of you be kind enough to tell me what you’ve been doing, and what these gentlemen have been doing for you? Come in all, before you get your death. I see lights in the class-room, and more than lights. Can these be signs of a carouse?” “A very innocent one, sir,” said a well set-up youth with more moustache than I have yet. “Well, Olphert, boys will be boys. Suppose you tell me what happened, before we come to recriminations.”