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Words: 66121 in 40 pages
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FACING PAGE "What do you know about it? I tell you it's all rot!" 6
"Throw up your hands!" 10
"Do you know who you've caught?" 16
"Merry Christmas, Fatty!" 24
"I think you've got Raffles whipped to a standstill." 64
"Wot do you want?" drawled the fat man, blinking at the lantern 102
Deftly tied the two ends of string around it 130
"Hands up, or I'll shoot!" yelled the detective, as a fat, wild-eyed individual sprung from within 136
He hesitated a moment as if giving the matter the consideration it deserved 324
McAllister's Christmas
McAllister was out of sorts. All the afternoon he had sat in the club window and watched the Christmas shoppers hurrying by with their bundles. He thanked God he had no brats to buy moo-cows and bow-wows for. The very nonchalance of these victims of a fate that had given them families irritated him. McAllister was a clubman, pure and simple; that is to say though neither simple nor pure, he was a clubman and nothing more. He had occupied the same seat by the same window during the greater part of his earthly existence, and they were the same seat and window that his father had filled before him. His select and exclusive circle called him "Chubby," and his five-and-forty years of terrapin and cocktails had given him a graceful rotundity of person that did not belie the name. They had also endowed him with a cheerful though somewhat florid countenance, and a permanent sense of well-being.
As the afternoon wore on and the pedestrians became fewer, McAllister sank deeper and deeper into gloom. The club was deserted. Everybody had gone out of town to spend Christmas with someone else, and the Winthrops, on whom he had counted for a certainty, had failed for some reason to invite him. He had waited confidently until the last minute, and now he was stranded, alone.
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