A Trap to Catch a CracksmanI was just putting out my light when the telephone rang a furious tocsin in the next room. I flounced out of bed more asleep than awake; in another minute I should have been past ringing up. It was one o'clock in the morning, and I had been dining with Swigger Morrison at his club.
"Hulloa!"
"That you, Bunny?"
"Yes - are you Raffles?"
"What's left of me! Bunny, I want you - quick."
And even over the wire his voice was faint with anxiety and apprehension.
"What on earth has happened?"
"Don't ask! You never know - "
"I'll come at once. Are you there, Raffles?"
"What's that?"
"Are you there, man?"
"Ye - e - es."
"At the Albany?"
"No, no; at Maguire's."
"You never said so. And where's Maguire?"
"In Half-moon Street."
"I know that. Is he there now?"
"
