The Little Nugget

by P. G. Wodehouse

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.

'Who is White?'

'The butler.'