NOVEMBER JOE
"Hello! You need n't bother no more, Nov," he shouted. "We've got him."
"Who've you got?"
"The blackguard that robbed us."
"Good!" said November. "Who is it?"
"Look at him!" Thompson banged open the office door and showed us the manager, Close, sitting on a chair by the fire, looking a good deal dishevelled.
"Mr. Close?" exclaimed November.
"Yes, the boss—no other!"
"Got evidence?" inquired November, staring at Close.
"Tiptop! No one seen him from dark to dawn. And we got the boots. Found 'em in a biscuit-tin on a shelf in the shanty just behind here where he sleeps."
"You fool! I was at my accounts all night!" cried Close to Thompson.
November took no notice.
"Who found the boots?" said he.
"Cookee, when he was cleaning up. Found a bottle of sleeping-stuff, too—near empty," shouted two or three together.
November whistled. "Good for cookee. Has
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