'What's the trouble? What--got your notebook?--has been
happening?'

Johnson removed his gaze from the middle distance and produced a
notebook.

'At about half past five--' I began.

Johnson moistened his pencil.

'At about half past five an automobile drove up to the front door.
In it were five masked men with revolvers.'

I interested them. There was no doubt of that. Bones's healthy
colour deepened, and his eyes grew round. Johnson's pencil raced
over the page, wobbling with emotion.

'Masked men?' echoed Bones.

'With revolvers,' I said. 'Now aren't you glad you didn't go to
the circus? They rang the front-door bell; when White opened it,
they stunned him with a sand-bag. Then--'

Bones held up a large hand.

'Wait!'

I waited.