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diff --git a/.gitattributes b/.gitattributes new file mode 100644 index 0000000..6833f05 --- /dev/null +++ b/.gitattributes @@ -0,0 +1,3 @@ +* text=auto +*.txt text +*.md text diff --git a/29721-8.txt b/29721-8.txt new file mode 100644 index 0000000..fba3121 --- /dev/null +++ b/29721-8.txt @@ -0,0 +1,10713 @@ +The Project Gutenberg EBook of Philo Gubb Correspondence-School Detective, by +Ellis Parker Butler + +This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with +almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Philo Gubb Correspondence-School Detective + +Author: Ellis Parker Butler + +Release Date: August 17, 2009 [EBook #29721] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILO GUBB *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander, Joseph Cooper and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + PHILO GUBB + + Correspondence-School + Detective + + BY + + ELLIS PARKER BUTLER + + WITH ILLUSTRATIONS + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + The Riverside Press Cambridge + 1918 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1913, 1914, AND 1915, BY THE RED BOOK CORPORATION + COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + _Published September 1918_ + + + + +[Illustration: "IN THE DETECKATIVE LINE NOTHING SOUNDS FOOLISH" (_page +218_)] + + + + +CONTENTS + + + THE HARD-BOILED EGG 3 + + THE PET 21 + + THE EAGLE'S CLAWS 43 + + THE OUBLIETTE 66 + + THE UN-BURGLARS 95 + + THE TWO-CENT STAMP 113 + + THE CHICKEN 138 + + THE DRAGON'S EYE 156 + + THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER 171 + + THE MISSING MR. MASTER 185 + + WAFFLES AND MUSTARD 205 + + THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE 227 + + THE HALF OF A THOUSAND 247 + + DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN 266 + + HENRY 288 + + BURIED BONES 307 + + PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE 329 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + "IN THE DETECKATIVE LINE NOTHING SOUNDS FOOLISH" _Frontispiece_ + + "THIS SHELL GAME IS EASY ENOUGH WHEN YOU KNOW HOW" 8 + + MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED AMONG THEM 30 + + A HEAD SILHOUETTED AGAINST ONE OF THE GLOWING WINDOWS 44 + + "THESE HERE IS FALSE WHISKERS AND HAIR" 86 + + "WHO SENT YOU HERE, ANYWAY?" 106 + + UNDER HIS ARM HE CARRIED A SMALL BUNDLE 108 + + SHE MADE GESTURES WITH HER HANDS 128 + + "DETECKATING IS MY AIM AND MY PROFESSION" 138 + + WITH ANOTHER GROAN WIXY RAISED HIS HANDS 150 + + "THE 'ONGSOMBLE' OF MY COSTUME IS RUINED" 162 + + "THERE AIN'T A DAY HE DON'T SHOOT AND HIT ME" 178 + + THE MISSING MR. MASTER 202 + + "YOU ARE A MAN, AND BIG AND STRONG AND BRAVE-LIKE" 234 + + HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION 252 + + A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED 268 + + HE WORE A SET OF RED UNDER-CHIN WHISKERS 280 + + "SHE THINKS IT'S HENRY. SHE'S FIXED UP THE GUEST BEDROOM + FOR HIM" 304 + + "A DETECKATIVE LIKE YOU ARE OUGHTN'T TO NEED TWENTY-FIVE + CENTS SO BAD AS THAT" 320 + + HE WAS FOLLOWED BY A LARGE AND GROWING GROUP INTENT ON + WATCHING A DETECTIVE DETECT 340 + + + + + PHILO GUBB + + THE CORRESPONDENCE-SCHOOL + DETECTIVE + + + + +THE HARD-BOILED EGG + + +Walking close along the wall, to avoid the creaking floor boards, +Philo Gubb, paper-hanger and student of the Rising Sun Detective +Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting, tiptoed to the door of +the bedroom he shared with the mysterious Mr. Critz. In appearance Mr. +Gubb was tall and gaunt, reminding one of a modern Don Quixote or a +human flamingo; by nature Mr. Gubb was the gentlest and most +simple-minded of men. Now, bending his long, angular body almost +double, he placed his eye to a crack in the door panel and stared into +the room. Within, just out of the limited area of Mr. Gubb's vision, +Roscoe Critz paused in his work and listened carefully. He heard the +sharp whistle of Mr. Gubb's breath as it cut against the sharp edge of +the crack in the panel, and he knew he was being spied upon. He placed +his chubby hands on his knees and smiled at the door, while a red +flush of triumph spread over his face. + +Through the crack in the door Mr. Gubb could see the top of the +washstand beside which Mr. Critz was sitting, but he could not see Mr. +Critz. As he stared, however, he saw a plump hand appear and pick up, +one by one, the articles lying on the washstand. They were: First, +seven or eight half shells of English walnuts; second, a rubber shoe +heel out of which a piece had been cut; third, a small rubber ball no +larger than a pea; fourth, a paper-bound book; and lastly, a large and +glittering brick of yellow gold. As the hand withdrew the golden +brick, Mr. Gubb pressed his face closer against the door in his effort +to see more, and suddenly the door flew open and Mr. Gubb sprawled on +his hands and knees on the worn carpet of the bedroom. + +"There, now!" said Mr. Critz. "There, now! Serves you right. Hope you +hurt chuself!" + +Mr. Gubb arose slowly, like a giraffe, and brushed his knees. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"Snoopin' an' sneakin' like that!" said Mr. Critz crossly. "Scarin' me +to fits, a'most. How'd I know who 'twas? If you want to come in, why +don't you come right in, 'stead of snoopin' an' sneakin' an' fallin' +in that way?" + +As he talked, Mr. Critz replaced the shells and the rubber heel and +the rubber pea and the gold-brick on the washstand. He was a plump +little man with a shiny bald head and a white goatee. As he talked, he +bent his head down, so that he might look above the glasses of his +spectacles; and in spite of his pretended anger he looked like +nothing so much as a kindly, benevolent old gentleman--the sort of old +gentleman that keeps a small store in a small village and sells +writing-paper that smells of soap, and candy sticks out of a glass jar +with a glass cover. + +"How'd I know but what you was a detective?" he asked, in a gentler +tone. + +"I am," said Mr. Gubb soberly, seating himself on one of the two beds. +"I'm putty near a deteckative, as you might say." + +"Ding it all!" said Mr. Critz. "Now I got to go and hunt another room. +I can't room with no detective." + +"Well, now, Mr. Critz," said Mr. Gubb, "I don't want you should feel +that way." + +"Knowin' you are a detective makes me all nervous," complained Mr. +Critz; "and a man in my business has to have a steady hand, don't he?" + +"You ain't told me what your business is," said Mr. Gubb. + +"You needn't pretend you don't know," said Mr. Critz. "Any detective +that saw that stuff on the washstand would know." + +"Well, of course," said Mr. Gubb, "I ain't a full deteckative yet. You +can't look for me to guess things as quick as a full deteckative +would. Of course that brick sort of looks like a gold-brick--" + +"It _is_ a gold-brick," said Mr. Critz. + +"Yes," said Mr. Gubb. "But--I don't mean no offense, Mr. Critz--from +the way you look--I sort of thought--well, that it was a gold-brick +you'd bought." + +Mr. Critz turned very red. + +"Well, what if I did buy it?" he said. "That ain't any reason I can't +sell it, is it? Just because a man buys eggs once--or twice--ain't any +reason he shouldn't go into the business of egg-selling, is it? Just +because I've bought one or two gold-bricks in my day ain't any reason +I shouldn't go to sellin' 'em, is it?" + +Mr. Gubb stared at Mr. Critz with unconcealed surprise. + +"You ain't,--you ain't a con' man, are you, Mr. Critz?" he asked. + +"If I ain't yet, that's no sign I ain't goin' to be," said Mr. Critz +firmly. "One man has as good a right to try his hand at it as another, +especially when a man has had my experience in it. Mr. Gubb, there +ain't hardly a con' game I ain't been conned with. I been confidenced +long enough; from now on I'm goin' to confidence other folks. That's +what I'm goin' to do; and I won't be bothered by no detective livin' +in the same room with me. Detectives and con' men don't mix noways! +No, sir!" + +"Well, sir," said Mr. Gubb, "I can see the sense of that. But you +don't need to move right away. I don't aim to start in deteckating in +earnest for a couple of months yet. I got a couple of jobs of +paper-hanging and decorating to finish up, and I can't start in +sleuthing until I get my star, anyway. And I don't get my star until +I get one more lesson, and learn it, and send in the examination +paper, and five dollars extra for the diploma. Then I'm goin' at it as +a reg'lar business. It's a good business. Every day there's more +crooks--excuse me, I didn't mean to say that." + +"That's all right," said Mr. Critz kindly. "Call a spade a spade. If I +ain't a crook yet, I hope to be soon." + +"I didn't know how you'd feel about it," explained Mr. Gubb. +"Tactfulness is strongly advised into the lessons of the Rising Sun +Deteckative Agency Correspondence School of Deteckating--" + +"Slocum, Ohio?" asked Mr. Critz quickly. "You didn't see the ad. in +the 'Hearthstone and Farmside,' did you?" + +"Yes, Slocum, Ohio," said Mr. Gubb, "and that is the paper I saw the +ad. into; 'Big Money in Deteckating. Be a Sleuth. We can make you the +equal of Sherlock Holmes in twelve lessons.' Why?" + +"Well, sir," said Mr. Critz, "that's funny. That ad. was right atop of +the one I saw, and I studied quite considerable before I could make up +my mind whether 'twould be best for me to be a detective and go out +and get square with the fellers that sold me gold-bricks and things by +putting them in jail, or to even things up by sending for this book +that was advertised right under the 'Rising Sun Correspondence +School.' How come I settled to do as I done was that I had a sort of +stock to start with, with a fust-class gold-brick, and some green +goods I'd bought; and this book only cost a quatter of a dollar. And +she's a hummer for a quatter of a dollar! A hummer!" + +He pulled the paper-covered book from his pocket and handed it to Mr. +Gubb. The title of the book was "The Complete Con' Man, by the King of +the Grafters. Price 25 cents." + +"That there book," said Mr. Critz proudly, as if he himself had +written it, "tells everything a man need to know to work every con' +game there is. Once I get it by heart, I won't be afraid to try any of +them. Of course, I got to start in small. I can't hope to pull off a +wire-tapping game right at the start, because that has to have a gang. +You don't know anybody you could recommend for a gang, do you?" + +"Not right offhand," said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully. + +[Illustration: "THIS SHELL GAME IS EASY ENOUGH WHEN YOU KNOW HOW"] + +"If you wasn't goin' into the detective business," said Mr. Critz, +"you'd be just the feller for me. You look sort of honest and not as +if you was too bright, and that counts a lot. Even in this here simple +little shell game I got to have a podner. I got to have a podner I can +trust, so I can let him look like he was winnin' money off of me. You +see," he explained, moving to the washstand, "this shell game is easy +enough when you know how. I put three shells down like this, on a +stand, and I put the little rubber pea on the stand, and then I take +up the three shells like this, two in one hand and one in the +other, and I wave 'em around over the pea, and maybe push the pea +around a little, and I say, 'Come on! Come on! The hand is quicker +than the eye!' And all of a suddent I put the shells down, and you +think the pea is under one of them, like that--" + +"I don't think the pea is under one of 'em," said Mr. Gubb. "I seen it +roll onto the floor." + +"It did roll onto the floor that time," said Mr. Critz apologetically. +"It most generally does for me, yet. I ain't got it down to perfection +yet. This is the way it ought to work--oh, pshaw! there she goes onto +the floor again! Went under the bed that time. Here she is! Now, the +way she ought to work is--there she goes again!" + +"You got to practice that game a lot before you try it onto folks in +public, Mr. Critz," said Mr. Gubb seriously. + +"Don't I know that?" said Mr. Critz rather impatiently. "Same as +you've got to practice snoopin', Mr. Gubb. Maybe you thought I didn't +know you was snoopin' after me wherever I went last night." + +"Did you?" asked Mr. Gubb, with surprise plainly written on his face. + +"I seen you every moment from nine P.M. till eleven!" said Mr. Critz. +"I didn't like it, neither." + +"I didn't think to annoy you," apologized Mr. Gubb. "I was practicin' +Lesson Four. You wasn't supposed to know I was there at all." + +"Well, I don't like it," said Mr. Critz. "'Twas all right last night, +for I didn't have nothin' important on hand, but if I'd been workin' +up a con' game, the feller I was after would have thought it mighty +strange to see a man follerin' me everywhere like that. If you went +about it quiet and unobtrusive, I wouldn't mind; but if I'd had a +customer on hand and he'd seen you it would make him nervous. He'd +think there was a--a crazy man follerin' us." + +"I was just practicin'," apologized Mr. Gubb. "It won't be so bad when +I get the hang of it. We all got to be beginners sometime." + +"I guess so," said Mr. Critz, rearranging the shells and the little +rubber pea. "Well, I put the pea down like this, and I dare you to bet +which shell she's goin' to be under, and you don't bet, see? So I put +the shells down, and you're willin' to bet you see me put the first +shell over the pea like this. So you keep your eye on that shell, and +I move the shells around like this--" + +"She's under the same shell," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Well, yes, she _is_," said Mr. Critz placidly, "but she hadn't ought +to be. By rights she ought to sort of ooze out from under whilst I'm +movin' the shells around, and I'd ought to sort of catch her in +between my fingers and hold her there so you don't see her. Then when +you say which shell she's under, she ain't under any shell; she's +between my fingers. So when you put down your money I tell you to pick +up that shell and there ain't anything under it. And before you can +pick up the other shells I pick one up, and let the pea fall on the +stand like it had been under that shell all the time. That's the game, +only up to now I ain't got the hang of it. She won't ooze out from +under, and she won't stick between my fingers, and when she does +stick, she won't drop at the right time." + +"Except for that, you've got her all right, have you?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Except for that," said Mr. Critz; "and I'd have that, only my fingers +are stubby." + +"What was it you thought of having me do if I wasn't a deteckative?" +asked Mr. Gubb. + +"The work you'd have to do would be capping work," said Mr. Critz. +"Capper--that's the professional name for it. You'd guess which shell +the ball was under--" + +"That would be easy, the way you do it now," said Mr. Gubb. + +"I told you I'd got to learn it better, didn't I?" asked Mr. Critz +impatiently. "You'd be capper, and you'd guess which shell the pea was +under. No matter which you guessed, I'd leave it under that one, so'd +you'd win, and you'd win ten dollars every time you bet--but not for +keeps. That's why I've got to have an honest capper." + +"I can see that," said Mr. Gubb; "but what's the use lettin' me win it +if I've got to bring it back?" + +"That starts the boobs bettin'," said Mr. Critz. "The boobs see how +you look to be winnin', and they want to win too. But they don't. When +they bet, I win." + +"That ain't a square game," said Mr. Gubb seriously, "is it?" + +"A crook ain't expected to be square," said Mr. Critz. "It stands to +reason, if a crook wants to be a crook, he's got to be crooked, ain't +he?" + +"Yes, of course," said Mr. Gubb. "I hadn't looked at it that way." + +"As far as I can see," said Mr. Critz, "the more I know how a +detective acts, the better off I'll be when I start in doin' real +business. Ain't that so? I guess, till I get the hang of things +better, I'll stay right here." + +"I'm glad to hear you say so, Mr. Critz," said Mr. Gubb with relief. +"I like you, and I like your looks, and there's no tellin' who I might +get for a roommate next time. I might get some one that wasn't +honest." + +So it was agreed, and Mr. Critz stood over the washstand and +manipulated the little rubber pea and the three shells, while Mr. Gubb +sat on the edge of the bed and studied Lesson Eleven of the "Rising +Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting." + +When, presently, Mr. Critz learned to work the little pea neatly, he +urged Mr. Gubb to take the part of capper, and each time Mr. Gubb won +he gave him a five-dollar bill. Then Mr. Gubb posed as a "boob" and +Mr. Critz won all the money back again, beaming over his spectacle +rims, and chuckling again and again until he burst into a fit of +coughing that made him red in the face, and did not cease until he had +taken a big drink of water out of the wash-pitcher. Never had he +seemed more like a kindly old gentleman from behind the candy counter +of a small village. He hung over the washstand, manipulating the +little rubber pea as if fascinated. + +"Ain't it curyus how a feller catches onto a thing like that all to +once?" he said after a while. "If it hadn't been that I was so +anxious, I might have fooled with that for weeks and weeks and not got +anywheres with it. I do wisht you could be my capper a while anyway, +until I could get one." + +"I need all my time to study," said Mr. Gubb. "It ain't easy to learn +deteckating by mail." + +"Pshaw, now!" said Mr. Critz. "I'm real sorry! Maybe if I was to pay +you for your time and trouble five dollars a night? How say?" + +Mr. Gubb considered. "Well, I dunno!" he said slowly. "I sort of hate +to take money for doin' a favor like that." + +"Now, there ain't no need to feel that way," said Mr. Critz. "Your +time's wuth somethin' to me--it's wuth a lot to me to get the hang of +this gold-brick game. Once I get the hang of it, it won't be no +trouble for me to sell gold-bricks like this one for all the way from +a thousand dollars up. I paid fifteen hundred for this one myself, and +got it cheap. That's a good profit, for this brick ain't wuth a cent +over one hundred dollars, and I know, for I took it to the bank after +I bought it, and that's what they was willin' to pay me for it. So +it's easy wuth a few dollars for me to have help whilst I'm learnin'. +I can easy afford to pay you a few dollars, and to pay a friend of +yours the same." + +"Well, now," said Mr. Gubb, "I don't know but what I might as well +make a little that way as any other. I got a friend--" He stopped +short. "You don't aim to _sell_ the gold-brick to him, do you?" + +Mr. Critz's eyes opened wide behind their spectacles. + +"Land's sakes, no!" he said. + +"Well, I got a friend may be willing to help out," said Mr. Gubb. +"What'd he have to do?" + +"You or him," said Mr. Critz, "would be the 'come-on,' and pretend to +buy the brick. And you or him would pretend to help me to sell it. +Maybe you better have the brick, because you can look stupid, and the +feller that's got the brick has got to look that." + +"I can look anyway a'most," said Mr. Gubb with pride. + +"Do tell!" said Mr. Critz, and so it was arranged that the first +rehearsal of the gold-brick game should take place the next evening, +but as Mr. Gubb turned away Mr. Critz deftly slipped something into +the student detective's coat pocket. + +It was toward noon the next day that Mr. Critz, peering over his +spectacles and avoiding as best he could the pails of paste, entered +the parlor of the vacant house where Mr. Gubb was at work. + +"I just come around," said Mr. Critz, rather reluctantly, "to say you +better not say nothing to your friend. I guess that deal's off." + +"Pshaw, now!" said Mr. Gubb. "You don't mean so!" + +"I don't mean nothing in the way of aspersions, you mind," said Mr. +Critz with reluctance, "but I guess we better call it off. Of course, +so far as I know, you are all right--" + +"I don't know what you're gettin' at," said Mr. Gubb. "Why don't you +say it?" + +"Well, I been buncoed so often," said Mr. Critz. "Seem's like any one +can get money from me any time and any way, and I got to thinkin' it +over. I don't know anything about you, do I? And here I am, going to +give you a gold-brick that cost me fifteen hundred dollars, and let +you go out and wait until I come for it with your friend, and--well, +what's to stop you from just goin' away with that brick and never +comin' back?" + +Mr. Gubb looked at Mr. Critz blankly. + +"I've went and told my friend," he said. "He's all ready to start in." + +"I hate it, to have to say it," said Mr. Critz, "but when I come to +count over them bills I lent you to cap the shell game with, there was +a five-dollar one short." + +"I know," said Gubb, turning red. "And if you go over there to my +coat, you'll find it in my pocket, all ready to hand back to you. I +don't know how I come to keep it in my pocket. Must ha' missed it, +when I handed you back the rest." + +"Well, I had a notion it was that way," said Mr. Critz kindly. "You +look like you was honest, Mr. Gubb. But a thousand-dollar gold-brick, +that any bank will pay a hundred dollars for--I got to get out of this +way of trustin' everybody--" + +Mr. Critz was evidently distressed. + +"If 'twas anybody else but you," he said with an effort, "I'd make +him put up a hundred dollars to cover the cost of a brick like that +whilst he had it. There! I've said it, and I guess you're mad!" + +"I ain't mad," protested Mr. Gubb, "'long as you're goin' to pay me +and Pete, and it's business; I ain't so set against puttin' up what +the brick is worth." + +Mr. Critz heaved a deep sigh of relief. + +"You don't know how good that makes me feel," he said. "I was almost +losin' what faith in mankind I had left." + +Mr. Gubb ate his frugal evening meals at the Pie Wagon, on Willow +Street, just off Main, where, by day, Pie-Wagon Pete dispensed light +viands; and Pie-Wagon Pete was the friend he had invited to share Mr. +Critz's generosity. The seal of secrecy had been put on Pie-Wagon +Pete's lips before Mr. Gubb offered him the opportunity to accept or +decline; and when Mr. Gubb stopped for his evening meal, Pie-Wagon +Pete--now off duty--was waiting for him. The story of Mr. Critz and +his amateur con' business had amused Pie-Wagon Pete. He could hardly +believe such utter innocence existed. Perhaps he did not believe it +existed, for he had come from the city, and he had had shady +companions before he landed in Riverbank. He was a sharp-eyed, +red-headed fellow, with a hard fist, and a scar across his face, and +when Mr. Gubb had told him of Mr. Critz and his affairs, he had seen +an opportunity to shear a country lamb. + +"How goes it for to-night, Philo?" he asked Mr. Gubb, taking the stool +next to Mr. Gubb, while the night man drew a cup of coffee. + +"Quite well," said Mr. Gubb. "Everything is arranged satisfactory. I'm +to be on the old house-boat by the wharf-house on the levee at nine, +with _it_." He glanced at the night man's back and lowered his voice. +"And Mr. Critz will bring you there." + +"Nine, eh?" said Pie-Wagon. "I meet him at your room, do I?" + +"You meet him at the Riverbank Hotel at eight-forty-five," said Mr. +Gubb. "Like it was the real thing. I'm goin' over to my room now, and +give him the money--" + +"What money?" asked Pie-Wagon Pete quickly. + +"Well, you see," said Mr. Gubb, "he sort of hated to trust the--trust +_it_ out of his hands without a deposit. It's the only one he has. So +I thought I'd put up a hundred dollars. He's all right--" + +"Oh, sure!" said Pie-Wagon. "A hundred dollars, eh?" + +He looked at Mr. Gubb, who was eating a piece of apple pie +hand-to-mouth fashion, and studied him in a new light. + +"One hundred dollars, eh?" he repeated thoughtfully. "You give +him a hundred-dollar deposit now and he meets you at nine, and +me at eight-forty-five, and the train leaves for Chicago at +eight-forty-three, halfway between the house-boat and the hotel! +Say, Gubby, what does this old guy look like?" + +Mr. Gubb, albeit with a tongue unused to description, delineated Mr. +Critz as best he could, and as he proceeded, Pie-Wagon Pete became +interested. + +"Pinkish, and bald? Top of his head like a hard-boiled egg? He ain't +got a scar across his face? The dickens he has! Short and plump, and a +reg'lar old nice grandpa? Blue eyes? Say, did he have a coughin' spell +and choke red in the face? Well, sir, for a brand-new detective, +you've done well. Listen, Jim: Gubby's got the Hard-Boiled Egg!" + +The night man almost dropped his cup of coffee. + +"Go 'way!" he said. "Old Hard-Boiled? Himself?" + +"That's right! And caught him with the goods. Say, listen, Gubby!" + +For five minutes Pie-Wagon Pete talked, while Mr. Gubb sat with his +mouth wide open. + +"See?" said Pie-Wagon at last. "And don't you mention me at all. +Don't mention no one. Just say to the Chief: 'And havin' trailed him +this far, Mr. Wittaker, and arranged to have him took with the goods, +it's up to you?' See? And as soon as you say that, have him send a +couple of bulls with you, and if they can do it, they'll nab Old +Hard-Boiled just as he takes your cash. And Old Sleuth and Sherlock +Holmes won't be in it with you when to-morrow mornin's papers come +out. Get it?" + +Mr. Gubb got it. When he entered his bedroom, Mr. Critz was waiting +for him. It was slightly after eight o'clock; perhaps eight-fifteen. +Mr. Critz had what appeared to be the gold-brick neatly wrapped in +newspaper, and he looked up with his kindly blue eyes. He had been +reading the "Complete Con' Man," and had pushed his spectacles up on +his forehead as Mr. Gubb entered. + +"I done that brick up for you," he said, indicating it with his hand, +"so's it wouldn't glitter whilst you was goin' through the street. If +word got passed around there was a gold-brick in town, folks might +sort of get suspicious-like. Nice night for goin' out, ain't it? Got a +letter from my wife this aft'noon," he chuckled. "She says she hopes +I'm doin' well. Sally'd have a fit if she knew what business I was +goin' into. Well, time's gettin' along--" + +"I brung the money," said Mr. Gubb, drawing it from his pocket. + +"Don't seem hardly necess'ry, does it?" said Mr. Critz mildly. "But I +s'pose it's just as well. Thankee, Mister Gubb. I'll just pile into +my coat--" + +Mr. Gubb had picked up the gold-brick, and now he let it fall. Once +more the door flew open, but this time it opened for three stalwart +policemen, whose revolvers pointed unwaveringly at Mr. Critz. The +plump little man gave one glance, and put up his hands. + +"All right, boys, you've got me," he said in quite another voice, and +allowed them to seize his arms. He paid no attention to the police, +but at Mr. Gubb, who was tearing the wrapper from what proved to be +but a common vitrified paving-brick, he looked long and hard. + +"Say," said Mr. Critz to Mr. Gubb, "I'm the goat. You stung _me_ all +right. You worked me to a finish. I thought I knew all of you from +Burns down, but you're a new one to me. Who are you, anyway?" + +Mr. Gubb looked up. + +"Me?" he said with pride. "Why--why--I'm Gubb, the foremost +deteckative of Riverbank, Iowa." + + + + +THE PET + + +On the morning following his capture of the Hard-Boiled Egg, the +"Riverbank Eagle" printed two full columns in praise of Detective Gubb +and complimented Riverbank on having a superior to Sherlock Holmes in +its midst. + +"Mr. Philo Gubb," said the "Eagle," "has thus far received only eleven +of the twelve lessons from the Rising Sun Detective Agency's +Correspondence School of Detecting, and we look for great things from +him when he finally receives his diploma and badge. He informed us +to-day that he hopes to begin work on the dynamite case soon. With the +money he will receive for capturing the Hard-Boiled Egg, Mr. Gubb +intends to purchase eighteen complete disguises from the Supply +Department of the Rising Sun Detective Agency, Slocum, Ohio. Mr. Gubb +wishes us to announce that until the disguises arrive he will continue +to do paper-hanging, decorating, and interior painting at reasonable +rates." + +Unfortunately there were no calls for Mr. Gubb's detective services +for some time after he received his disguises and diploma, but while +waiting he devoted his spare time to the dynamite mystery, a +remarkable case on which many detectives had been working for many +weeks. This led only to his being beaten up twice by Joseph Henry, +one of the men he shadowed. + +The arrival in Riverbank of the World's Monster Combined Shows the day +after Mr. Gubb received his diploma seemed to offer an opportunity for +his detective talents, as a circus is usually accompanied by crooks, +and early in the morning Mr. Gubb donned disguise Number Sixteen, +which was catalogued as "Negro Hack-Driver, Complete, $22.00"; but, +while looking for crooks while watching the circus unload, his eyes +alighted on Syrilla, known as "Half a Ton of Beauty," the Fat Lady of +the Side-Show. + +As Syrilla descended from the car, aided by the Living Skeleton and +the Strong Man, the fair creature wore a low-neck evening gown. Her +arms and shoulders were snowy white (except for a peculiar mark on one +arm). Not only had Mr. Gubb never seen such white arms and shoulders, +but he had never seen so much arm and shoulder on one woman, and from +that moment he was deeply and hopelessly in love. Like one hypnotized +he followed her to the side-show tent, paid his admission, and stood +all day before her platform. He was still there when the tent was +taken down that night. + +Mr. Gubb was not the only man in Riverbank to fall in love with +Syrilla. When the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service League heard +that the circus was coming to town they were distressed to think how +narrow the intellectual life of the side-show freaks must be and they +instructed their Field Secretary, Mr. Horace Winterberry, to go to the +side-show and organize the freaks into an Ibsen Literary and Debating +Society. This Mr. Winterberry did and the Tasmanian Wild Man was made +President, but so deeply did Mr. Winterberry fall in love with Syrilla +that he begged Mr. Dorgan, the manager of the side-show, to let him +join the side-show, and this Mr. Dorgan did, putting him in a cage as +Waw-Waw, the Mexican Hairless Dog-Man, as Mr. Winterberry was +exceedingly bald. + +At the very next stop made by the circus a strong, heavy-fisted woman +entered the side-show and dragged Mr. Winterberry away. This was his +wife. Of this the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service League knew +nothing, however. They believed Mr. Winterberry had been stolen by the +circus and that he was doubtless being forced to learn to swing on a +trapeze or ride a bareback horse, and they decided to hire Detective +Gubb to find and return him. + +At the very moment when the ladies were deciding to retain Mr. Gubb's +services the paper-hanger detective was on his way to do a job of +paper-hanging, thinking of the fair Syrilla he might never see again, +when suddenly he put down the pail of paste he was carrying and +grasped the handle of his paste-brush more firmly. He stared with +amazement and fright at a remarkable creature that came toward him +from a small thicket near the railway tracks. Mr. Gubb's first and +correct impression was that this was some remarkable creature escaped +from the circus. The horrid thing loping toward him was, indeed, the +Tasmanian Wild Man! + +As the Wild Man approached, Philo Gubb prepared to defend himself. He +was prepared to defend himself to his last drop of blood. + +When halfway across the field, the Tasmanian Wild Man glanced back +over his shoulder and, as if fearing pursuit, increased his speed and +came toward Philo Gubb in great leaps and bounds. The Correspondence +School detective waved his paste-brush more frantically than ever. The +Tasmanian Wild Man stopped short within six feet of him. + +Viewed thus closely, the Wild Man was a sight to curdle the blood. +Remnants of chains hung from his wrists and ankles; his long hair was +matted about his face; and his finger nails were long and claw-like. +His face was daubed with ochre and red, with black rings around the +eyes, and the circles within the rings were painted white, giving him +an air of wildness possessed by but few wild men. His only garments +were a pair of very short trunks and the skin of some wild animal, +bound about his body with ropes of horse-hair. + +Philo Gubb bent to receive the leap he felt the Tasmanian Wild Man was +about to make, but to his surprise the Wild Man held up one hand in +token of amity, and with the other removed the matted hair from his +head, revealing an under-crop of taffy yellow, neatly parted in the +middle and smoothed back carefully. + +"I say, old chap," he said in a pleasant and well-bred tone, "stop +waving that dangerous-looking weapon at me, will you? My intentions +are most kindly, I assure you. Can you inform me where a chap can get +a pair of trousers hereabout?" + +Philo Gubb's experienced eye saw at once that this creature was less +wild than he was painted. He lowered the paste-brush. + +"Come into this house," said Philo Gubb. "Inside the house we can +discuss pants in calmness." + +The Tasmanian Wild Man accepted. + +"Now, then," said Philo Gubb, when they were safe in the kitchen. He +seated himself on a roll of wall-paper, and the Tasmanian Wild Man, +whose real name was Waldo Emerson Snooks, told his brief story. + +Upon graduating from Harvard, he had sought employment, offering to +furnish entertainment by the evening, reading an essay entitled, "The +Comparative Mentality of Ibsen and Emerson, with Sidelights on the +Effect of Turnip Diet at Brook Farm," but the agency was unable to get +him any engagements. They happened, however, to receive a request from +Mr. Dorgan, manager of the side-show, asking for a Tasmanian Wild Man, +and Mr. Snooks had taken that job. To his own surprise, he made an +excellent Wild Man. He was able to rattle his chains, dash up and down +the cage, gnaw the iron bars of the cage, eat raw meat, and howl as +no other Tasmanian Wild Man had ever done those things, and all would +have been well if an interloper had not entered the side-show. + +The interloper was Mr. Winterberry, who had introduced the subject of +Ibsen's plays, and in a discussion of them the Tasmanian Wild Man and +Mr. Hoxie, the Strong Man, had quarreled, and Mr. Hoxie had threatened +to tear Mr. Snooks limb from limb. + +"And he would have done so," said the Tasmanian Wild Man with emotion, +"if I had not fled. I dare not return. I mean to work my way back to +Boston and give up Tasmanian Wild Man-ing as a profession. But I +cannot without pants." + +"I guess you can't," said Philo Gubb. "In any station of Boston life, +pants is expected to be worn." + +"So the question is, old chap, where am I to be panted?" said Waldo +Emerson Snooks. + +"I can't pant you," said Philo Gubb, "but I can overall you." + +The late Tasmanian Wild Man was most grateful. When he was dressed in +the overalls and had wiped the grease-paint from his face on an old +rag, no one would have recognized him. + +"And as for thanks," said Philo Gubb, "don't mention it. A deteckative +gent is obliged to keep up a set of disguises hitherto unsuspected by +the mortal world. This Tasmanian Wild Man outfit will do for a hermit +disguise. So you don't owe me no thanks." + +As Philo Gubb watched Waldo Emerson Snooks start in the direction of +Boston--only some thirteen hundred miles away--he had no idea how soon +he would have occasion to use the Tasmanian Wild Man disguise, but +hardly had the Wild Man departed than a small boy came to summon Mr. +Gubb, and it was with a sense of elation and importance that he +appeared before the meeting of the Riverbank Ladies' Social Service +League. + +"And so," said Mrs. Garthwaite, at the close of the interview, "you +understand us, Mr. Gubb?" + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb. "What you want me to do, is to find Mr. +Winterberry, ain't it?" + +"Exactly," agreed Mrs. Garthwaite. + +"And, when found," said Mr. Gubb, "the said stolen goods is to be +returned to you?" + +"Just so." + +"And the fiends in human form that stole him are to be given the full +limit of the law?" + +"They certainly deserve it, abducting a nice little gentleman like Mr. +Winterberry," said Mrs. Garthwaite. + +"They do, indeed," said Philo Gubb, "and they shall be. I would only +ask how far you want me to arrest. If the manager of the side-show +stole him, my natural and professional deteckative instincts would +tell me to arrest the manager; and if the whole side-show stole him I +would make bold to arrest the whole side-show; but if the whole +circus stole him, am I to arrest the whole circus, and if so ought I +to include the menagerie? Ought I to arrest the elephants and the +camels?" + +"Arrest only those in human form," said Mrs. Garthwaite. + +Philo Gubb sat straight and put his hands on his knees. + +"In referring to human form, ma'am," he asked, "do you include them +oorangootangs and apes?" + +"I do," said Mrs. Garthwaite. "Association with criminals has probably +inclined their poor minds to criminality." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, rising. "I leave on this case by the +first train." + +Mr. Gubb hastily packed the Tasmanian garment and six other disguises +in a suitcase, put the fourteen dollars given him by Mrs. Garthwaite +in his pocket, and hurried to catch the train for Bardville, where the +World's Monster Combined Shows were to show the next day. With true +detective caution Philo Gubb disguised even this simple act. + +Having packed his suitcase, Mr. Gubb wrapped it carefully in manila +paper and inserted a laundry ticket under the twine. Thus, any one +seeing him might well suppose he was returning from the laundry and +not going to Bardville. To make this seem the more likely, he donned +his Chinese disguise, Number Seventeen, consisting of a pink, +skull-like wig with a long pigtail, a blue jumper, and a yellow +complexion. Mr. Gubb rubbed his face with crude ochre powder, and his +complexion was a little high, being more the hue of a pumpkin than the +true Oriental skin tint. Those he met on his way to the station +imagined he was in the last stages of yellow fever, and fled from him +hastily. + +He reached the station just as the train's wheels began to move; and +he was springing up the steps onto the platform of the last car when a +hand grasped his arm. He turned his head and saw that the man grasping +him was Jonas Medderbrook, one of Riverbank's wealthiest men. + +"Gubb! I want you!" shouted Mr. Medderbrook energetically, but Philo +Gubb shook off the detaining arm. + +"Me no savvy Melican talkee," he jabbered, bunting Mr. Medderbrook off +the car step. + +Bright and early next morning, Philo Gubb gave himself a healthy coat +of tan, with rather high color on his cheek-bones. From his collection +of beards and mustaches--carefully tagged from "Number One" to "Number +Eighteen" in harmony with the types of disguise mentioned in the +twelve lessons of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence +School of Detecting--he selected mustache Number Eight and inserted +the spring wires in his nostrils. + +Mustache Number Eight was a long, deadly black mustache with up-curled +ends, and when Philo Gubb had donned it he had a most sinister +appearance, particularly as he failed to remove the string tag which +bore the legend, "Number Eight. Gambler or Card Sharp. Manufactured +and Sold by the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of +Detecting Supply Bureau." Having put on this mustache, Mr. Gubb took a +common splint market-basket from under the bed and placed in it the +matted hair of the Tasmanian Wild Man, his make-up materials, a small +mirror, two towels, a cake of soap, the Tasmanian Wild Man's animal +skin robe, the hair rope, and the abbreviated trunks. He covered these +with a newspaper. + +The sun was just rising when he reached the railway siding, and hardly +had Mr. Gubb arrived when the work of unloading the circus began. + +[Illustration: MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED AMONG +THEM] + +Mr. Gubb--searching for the abducted Mr. Winterberry--sped rapidly +from place to place, the string tag on his mustache napping over his +shoulder, but he saw no one answering Mrs. Garthwaite's description of +Mr. Winterberry. When the tent wagons had departed, the elephants and +camels were unloaded, but Mr. Winterberry did not seem to be concealed +among them, and the animal cages--which came next--were all tightly +closed. There were four or five cars, however, that attracted Philo +Gubb's attention, and one in particular made his heart beat rapidly. +This car bore the words, "World's Monster Combined Shows Freak Car." +And as Mr. Winterberry had gone as a social reform agent to the +side-show, Mr. Gubb rightly felt that here if anywhere he would +find a clue, and he was doubly agitated since he knew the beautiful +Syrilla was doubtless in that car. + +Walking around the car, he heard the door at one end open. He crouched +under the platform, his ears and eyes on edge. Hardly was he concealed +before the head ruffian of the unloading gang approached. + +"Mister Dorgan," he said, in quite another tone than he had used to +his laborers, "should I fetch that wild man cage to the grounds for +you to-day?" + +"No," said Dorgan. "What's the use? I don't like an empty cage +standing around. Leave it on the car, Jake. Or--hold on! I'll use it. +Take it up to the grounds and put it in the side-show as usual. I'll +put the Pet in it." + +"Are ye foolin'?" asked the loading boss with a grin. "The cage won't +know itself, Mister Dorgan, afther holdin' that rip-snortin' Wild Man +to be holdin' a cold corpse like the Pet is." + +"Never you mind," said Dorgan shortly. "I know my business, Jake. You +and I know the Pet is a dead one, but these country yaps don't know +it. I might as well make some use of the remains as long as I've got +'em on hand." + +"Who you goin' to fool, sweety?" asked a voice, and Mr. Dorgan looked +around to see Syrilla, the Fat Lady, standing in the car door. + +"Oh, just folks!" said Dorgan, laughing. + +"You're goin' to use the Pet," said the Fat Lady reproachfully, "and +I don't think it is nice of you. Say what you will, Mr. Dorgan, a +corpse is a corpse, and a respectable side-show ain't no place for it. +I wish you would take it out in the lot and bury it, like I wanted you +to, or throw it in the river and get rid of it. Won't you, dearie?" + +"I will not," said Mr. Dorgan firmly. "A corpse may be a corpse, +Syrilla, any place but in a circus, but in a circus it is a feature. +He's goin' to be one of the Seven Sleepers." + +"One of what?" asked Syrilla. + +"One of the Seven Sleepers," said Dorgan. "I'm goin' to put him in the +cage the Wild Man was in, and I'm goin' to tell the audiences he's +asleep. 'He looks dead,' I'll say, 'but I give my word he's only +asleep. We offer five thousand dollars,' I'll say, 'to any man, woman, +or child that proves contrary than that we have documents provin' that +this human bein' in this cage fell asleep in the year 1837 and has +been sleepin' ever since. The longest nap on record,' I'll say. +That'll fetch a laugh." + +"And you don't care, dearie, that I'll be creepy all through the show, +do you?" said Syrilla. + +"I won't care a hang," said Dorgan. + +Mr. Gubb glided noiselessly from under the car and sped away. He had +heard enough to know that deviltry was afoot. There was no doubt in +his mind that the Pet was the late Mr. Winterberry, for if ever a man +deserved to be called "Pet," Mr. Winterberry--according to Mrs. +Garthwaite's description--was that man. There was no doubt that Mr. +Winterberry had been murdered, and that these heartless wretches meant +to make capital of his body. The inference was logical. It was a +strong clue, and Mr. Gubb hurried to the circus grounds to study the +situation. + +"No," said Syrilla tearfully, "you _don't_ care a hang for the nerves +of the lady and gent freaks under your care, Mr. Dorgan. It's nothin' +to you if repulsion from that corpse-like Pet drags seventy or eighty +pounds of fat off of me, for you well know what my contract is--so +much a week and so much for each additional pound of fat, and the less +fat I am the less you have to add onto your pay-roll. The day the Pet +come to the show first I fainted outright and busted down the +platform, but little do you care, Mr. Dorgan." + +"Don't you worry; you didn't murder him," said Mr. Dorgan. + +"He looks so lifelike!" sobbed Syrilla. + +"Oh, Hoxie!" shouted Mr. Dorgan. + +"Yes, sir?" said the Strong Man, coming to the car door. + +"Take Syrilla in and tell the girls to put ice on her head. She's +gettin' hysterics again. And when you've told 'em, you go up to the +grounds and tell Blake and Skinny to unpack the Petrified Man. Tell +'em I'm goin' to use him again to-day, and if he's lookin' shop-worn, +have one of the men go over his complexion and make him look nice and +lifelike." + +Mr. Dorgan swung off from the car step and walked away. + +The Petrified Man had been one of his mistakes. In days past petrified +men had been important side-show features and Mr. Dorgan had supposed +the time had come to re-introduce them, and he had had an excellent +petrified man made of concrete, with steel reinforcements in the legs +and arms and a body of hollow tile so that it could stand rough +travel. + +Unfortunately, the features of the Petrified Man had been entrusted to +an artist devoted to the making of clothing dummies. Instead of an +Aztec or Cave Dweller cast of countenance, he had given the Petrified +Man the simpering features of the wax figures seen in cheap clothing +stores. The result was that, instead of gazing at the Petrified Man +with awe as a wonder of nature, the audiences laughed at him, and the +living freaks dubbed him "the Pet," or, still more rudely, "the +Corpse," and when the glass case broke at the end of the week, Mr. +Dorgan ordered the Pet packed in a box. + +Just now, however, the flight of the Tasmanian Wild Man, and the +involuntary departure of Mr. Winterberry at the command of his wife +after his short appearance as Waw-Waw, the Mexican Hairless Dog-Man, +suggested the new use for the Petrified Man. + +When Detective Gubb reached the circus grounds the glaring banners had +not yet been erected before the side-show tent, but all the tents +except the "big top" were up and all hands were at work on that one, +or supposed to be. Two were not. Two of the roughest-looking +roustabouts, after glancing here and there, glided into the property +tent and concealed themselves behind a pile of blue cases, hampers, +and canvas bags. One of them immediately drew from under his coat a +small but heavy parcel wrapped in an old rag. + +"Say, cul," he said in a coarse voice, "you sure have got a head on +you. This here stuff will be just as safe in there as in a bank, see? +Gimme the screw-driver." + +"'Not to be opened until Chicago,'" said the other gleefully, pointing +to the words daubed on one of the blue cases. "But I guess it will +be--hey, old pal? I guess so!" + +Together they removed the lid of the box, and Detective Gubb, seeking +the side-show, crawled under the wall of the property tent just in +time to see the two ruffians hurriedly jam their parcel into the case +and screw the lid in place again. Mr. Gubb's mustache was now in a +diagonal position, but little he cared for that. His eyes were +fastened on the countenances of the two roustabouts. The men were easy +to remember. One was red-headed and pockmarked and the other was dark +and the lobes of his ears were slit, as if some one had at some time +forcibly removed a pair of rings from them. Very quietly Philo Gubb +wiggled backward out of the tent, but as he did so his eyes caught a +word painted on the side of the blue case. It was "_Pet_"! + +Mr. Gubb proceeded to the next tent. Stooping, he peered inside, and +what he saw satisfied him that he had found the side-show. Around the +inside of the tent men were erecting a blue platform, and on the far +side four men were wheeling a tongueless cage into place. A door at +the back of the cage swung open and shut as the men moved the cage, +but another in front was securely bolted and barred. Mr. Gubb lowered +the tent wall and backed away. It was into this cage that the body of +Mr. Winterberry was to be put to make a public holiday for yokels! And +the murderer was still at large! + +Murderer? Murderers! For who were the two rough characters he had seen +tampering with the case containing the remains of the Pet? What had +they been putting in the case? If not the murderers, they were surely +accomplices. Walking like a wary flamingo, Mr. Gubb circled the tent. +He saw Mr. Dorgan and Syrilla enter it. Himself hidden in a clump of +bushes, he saw Mr. Lonergan, the Living Skeleton; Mr. Hoxie, the +Strong Man; Major Ching, the Chinese Giant; General Thumb, the Dwarf; +Princess Zozo, the Serpent Charmer; Maggie, the Circassian Girl; and +the rest of the side-show employees enter the tent. Then he removed +his Number Eight mustache and put it in his pocket, and balanced his +mirror against a twig. Mr. Gubb was changing his disguise. + +For a while the lady and gentleman freaks stood talking, casting +reproachful glances at Mr. Dorgan. Syrilla, with traces of tears on +her face, was complaining of the cruel man who insisted that the Pet +become part of the show once more and Mr. Dorgan was resisting their +reproaches. + +"I'm the boss of the show," he said firmly. "I'm goin' to use that +cage, and I'm goin' to use the Pet." + +"Couldn't you put Orlando in it, and get up a spiel about him?" asked +Princess Zozo, whose largest serpent was called Orlando. "If you got +him a bottle of cold cream from the make-up tent he'd lie for hours +with his dear little nose sniffin' it. He's pashnutly fond of cold +cream." + +"Well, the public ain't pashnutly fond of seein' a snake smell it," +said Mr. Dorgan. "The Pet is goin' into that cage--see?" + +"Couldn't you borry an ape from the menagerie?" asked Mr. Lonergan, +the Living Skeleton, who was as passionately fond of Syrilla as +Orlando was of cold cream. "And have him be the first man-monkey to +speak the human language, only he's got a cold and can't talk to-day? +You did that once." + +"And got roasted by the whole crowd! No, sir, Mr. Lonergan. I can't, +and I won't. Bring that case right over here," he added, turning to +the four roustabouts who were carrying the blue case into the tent. +"Got it open? Good! Now--" + +He looked toward the cage and stopped short, his mouth open and his +eyes staring. Sitting on his haunches, his fore paws, or hands, +hanging down like those of a "begging" dog, a Tasmanian Wild Man +stared from between the bars of the cage. The matted hair, the bare +legs, the animal skin blanket, the streaks of ochre and red on the +face, the black circles around the eyes with the white inside the +circles, were those of a real Tasmanian Wild Man, but this Tasmanian +Wild Man was tall and thin, almost rivaling Mr. Lonergan in that +respect. The thin Roman nose and the blinky eyes, together with the +manner of holding the head on one side, suggested a bird--a large and +dissipated flamingo, for instance. + +Mr. Dorgan stared with his mouth open. He stared so steadily that he +even took a telegram from the messenger boy who entered the tent, and +signed for it without looking at the address. The messenger boy, too, +stopped to stare at the Tasmanian flamingo. The men who had brought +the blue case set it down and stared. The freaks gathered in front of +the cage and stared. + +"What is it?" asked Syrilla in a voice trembling with emotion. + +"Say! Where in the U.S.A. did _you_ come from?" asked Mr. Dorgan +suddenly. "What in the dickens are you, anyway?" + +"I'm a Tasmanian Wild Man," said Mr. Gubb mildly. + +"You a Tasmanian Wild Man?" said Mr. Dorgan. "You don't think you look +like a Tasmanian Wild Man, do you? Why, you look like--you look +like--you look--" + +"He looks like an intoxicated pterodactyl," said Mr. Lonergan, who had +some knowledge of prehistoric animals,--"only hairier." + +"He looks like a human turkey with a piebald face," suggested General +Thumb. + +"He don't look like nothin'!" said Mr. Dorgan at last. "That's what he +looks like. You get out of that cage!" he added sternly to Mr. Gubb. +"I don't want nothin' that looks like you nowhere near this show." + +"But, Mr. Dorgan, dearie, think how he'd draw crowds," said Syrilla. + +"Crowds? Of course he'd draw crowds," said Mr. Dorgan. "But what would +I say when I lectured about him? What would I call him? No, he's got +to go. Boys," he said to the four roustabouts, two of whom were those +Mr. Gubb had seen in the property tent, "throw this feller out of the +tent." + +"Stop!" said Mr. Gubb, raising one hand. "I will admit I have tried to +deceive you: I am not a Tasmanian Wild Man. I am a deteckative!" + +"Detective?" said Mr. Dorgan. + +"In disguise," said Mr. Gubb modestly. "In the deteckative profession +the assuming of disguises is often necessary to the completion of the +clarification of a mystery plot." + +He pointed down at the Pet, whose newly rouged and powdered face +rested smirkingly in the box below the cage. + +"I arrest you all," he said, but before he could complete the +sentence, the red-headed man and the black-headed man turned and +bolted from the tent. Mr. Gubb beat and jerked at the bars of his cage +as frantically as Mr. Waldo Emerson Snooks had ever beaten and +jerked, but he could not rend them apart. + +"Get those two fellers," Mr. Gubb shouted to Mr. Hoxie, and the strong +man ran from the tent. + +"What's this about arrest?" asked Mr. Dorgan. + +"I arrest this whole side-show," said Mr. Gubb, pressing his face +between the bars of the cage, "for the murder of that poor, gentle, +harmless man now a dead corpse into that blue box there--Mr. +Winterberry by name, but called by you by the alias of the 'Pet.'" + +"Winterberry?" exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. "That Winterberry? That ain't +Winterberry! That's a stone man, a made-to-order concrete man, with +hollow tile stomach and reinforced concrete arms and legs. I had him +made to order." + +"The criminal mind is well equipped with explanations for use in time +of stress," said Mr. Gubb. "Lesson Six of the Correspondence School of +Deteckating warns the deteckative against explanations of murderers +when confronted by the victim. I demand an autopsy onto Mr. +Winterberry." + +"Autopsy!" exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. "I'll autopsy him for you!" + +He grasped one of the Pet's hands and wrenched off one concrete arm. +He struck the head with a tent stake and shattered it into crumbling +concrete. He jerked the Roman tunic from the body and disclosed the +hollow tile stomach. + +"Hello!" he said, lifting a rag-wrapped parcel from the interior of +the Pet. "What's this?" + +When unwrapped it proved to be two dozen silver forks and spoons and a +good-sized silver trophy cup. + +"'Riverbank Country Club, Duffers' Golf Trophy, 1909?'" Mr. Dorgan +read. "'Won by Jonas Medderbrook.' How did that get there?" + +"Jonas Medderbrook," said Mr. Gubb, "is a man of my own local town." + +"He is, is he?" said Mr. Dorgan. "And what's your name?" + +"Gubb," said the detective. "Philo Gubb, Esquire, deteckative and +paper-hanger, Riverbank, Iowa." + +"Then this is for you," said Mr. Dorgan, and he handed the telegram to +Mr. Gubb. The detective opened it and read:-- + + Gubb, + Care of Circus, + Bardville, Ia. + + My house robbed circus night. Golf cup gone. Game now + rotten: never win another. Five hundred dollars reward for + return to me. + + JONAS MEDDERBROOK + +"You didn't actually come here to find Mr. Winterberry, did you?" +asked Syrilla. + +Mr. Gubb folded the telegram, raised his matted hair, and tucked the +telegram between it and his own hair for safe-keeping. + +"When a deteckative starts out to detect," he said calmly, "sometimes +he detects one thing and sometimes he detects another. That cup is one +of the things I deteckated to-day. And now, if all are willing, I'll +step outside and get my pants on. I'll feel better." + +"And you'll look better," said Mr. Dorgan. "You couldn't look worse." + +"In the course of the deteckative career," said Mr. Gubb, "a gent has +to look a lot of different ways, and I thank you for the compliment. +The art of disguising the human physiology is difficult. This disguise +is but one of many I am frequently called upon to assume." + +"Well, if any more are like this one," said Mr. Dorgan with sincerity, +"I'm glad I'm not a detective." + +Syrilla, however, heaved her several hundred pounds of bosom and cast +her eyes toward Mr. Gubb. + +"I think detectives are lovely in any disguise," she said, and Mr. +Gubb's heart beat wildly. + + + + +THE EAGLE'S CLAWS + + +As Philo Gubb boarded the train for Riverbank after recovering the +silver loving-cup from the interior of the petrified man, he cast a +regretful glance backward. It was for Syrilla. There was half a ton of +her pinky-white beauty, and her placid, cow-like expression touched an +echoing chord in Philo Gubb's heart. + +Philo felt, however, that his admiration must be hopeless, for Syrilla +must earn a salary in keeping with her size, and his income was too +irregular and small to keep even a thin wife. + + * * * * * + +Five hundred dollars was a large reward for a loving-cup that cost not +over thirty dollars, it is true, but Mr. Jonas Medderbrook could +afford to pay what he chose, and as he was passionately fond of golf +and passionately poor at the game, and as this was probably the only +golf prize he would ever win, he was justified in paying liberally, +especially as this cup was not merely a tankard, but almost large +enough to be called a tank. + +Detective Gubb hastened to the home of Mr. Medderbrook, but when the +door of that palatial house opened, the colored butler told Mr. Gubb +that Mr. Medderbrook was at the Golf Club, attending the annual +banquet of the Fifty Worst Duffers. Mr. Gubb started for the Golf +Club. As he walked he thought of Syrilla, and he was at the gate of +the Golf Club before he knew it. + +He walked up the path toward the club-house, but when halfway, he +stopped short, all his detective instincts aroused. The windows of the +club-house glowed with light, and sounds of merriment issued from +them, but the cause of Philo Gubb's sudden pause was a head +silhouetted against one of the glowing windows. As Mr. Gubb watched, +he saw the head disappear in the gloom below the window only to +reappear at another window. Mr. Gubb, following the directions as laid +down in Lesson Four of the Correspondence Lessons, dropped to his +hands and knees and crept silently toward the "Paul Pry." When within +a few feet of him, Mr. Gubb seated himself tailor-fashion on the +grass. + +As Philo sat on the damp grass, the man at the window turned his head, +and Mr. Gubb noted with surprise that the stranger had none of the +marks of a sodden criminal. The face was that of a respectably +benevolent old German-American gentleman. Kindliness and good-nature +beamed from its lines; but at the moment the plump little man seemed +in trouble. + +"Good-evening," said Mr. Gubb. "I presume you are taking an +observation of the dinner-party within the inside of the club." + +The old gentleman turned sharply. + +[Illustration: A HEAD SILHOUETTED AGAINST ONE OF THE GLOWING WINDOWS] + +"Shess!" he said. "I look at der peoples eading and drinking. Alvays I +like to see dot. Und sooch goot eaders! Dot man mit der black beard, +he vos a schplendid eader!" + +Mr. Gubb raised himself to his knees and looked into the dining-room. + +"That," he said, "is the Honorable Mr. Jonas Medderbrook, the +wealthiest rich man in Riverbank." + +"Metterbrook? Mettercrook?" said the old German-American. "Not Chones, +eh?" + +"Not Jones, to my present personal knowledge at this time," said Philo +Gubb. + +"Not Chones!" repeated the plumply benevolent-looking German-American. +"Dot vos stranche! You vos sure he vos not Chones?" + +"I'm quite almost positive upon that point of knowledge," said Philo +Gubb, "for I have under my arm a golf cup I am returning back to Mr. +Medderbrook to receive five hundred dollars reward from him for." + +"So?" queried the stranger. "Fife hunderdt dollars? Und it is his +cup?" + +"It is," said Philo Gubb. He raised the cup in his hand that the +stranger might read the inscription stating that the cup was Jonas +Medderbrook's. + +The light of the window made the engraving easy to read, but the old +German-American first drew from his pocket a pair of gold-rimmed +spectacles and adjusted them carefully on his nose. He then took the +cup and moved closer to the window and read the inscription. + +"Shess! Shess!" he agreed, nodding his head several times, and then he +smiled at Mr. Gubb a broadly benevolent smile. "Oxcoose me!" he added, +and with gentle deliberation he removed Mr. Gubb's hat. "Shoost a +minute, please!" he continued, and with his free hand he felt gently +of the top of Mr. Gubb's head. He turned Mr. Gubb's head gently to the +right. "So!" he exclaimed: "Dot vos goot!" He raised the cup above his +head and brought it down on top of Mr. Gubb's head in the exact spot +he had selected. For two moments Mr. Gubb made motions with his hands +resembling those of a swimmer, and then he collapsed in a heap. The +kindly looking old German-American gentleman, seeing he was quite +unconscious, tucked the golf cup under his own arm, and waddled slowly +down the path to the club gates. + +Ten minutes later a small automobile drove up and young Dr. Anson +Briggs hopped out. Mr. Gubb was just getting to his feet, feeling the +top of his head with his hand as he did so. + +"Here!" said Dr. Briggs. "You must not do that!" + +"Why can't I do it?" Mr. Gubb asked crossly. "It is my own personal +head, and if I wish to desire to rub it, you are not concerned in the +occasion whatever." + +"Oh, rub your head if you want to!" exclaimed the doctor. "I say you +must not stand up. A man that has just had a fit must not stand up." + +"Who had a fit?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"You did," said Dr. Briggs. "I am told you had a very bad fit, and +fell and knocked your head against the building. You're dazed. Lie +down!" + +"I prefer to wish to stand erect on my feet," said Mr. Gubb firmly. +"Where's my cup?" + +"What cup?" + +"Who told you I was suffering from the symptom of a fit?" demanded +Philo Gubb. + +"Why, a short, plump little German did," said the doctor. "He sent me +here. And he gave me this to give to you." + +The doctor held an envelope toward Mr. Gubb, and the detective took it +and tore it open. By the light of the window he read:-- + + Rec'd of J. Jones, golluf cup worth $500. P. H. + SCHRECKENHEIM. + +Philo Gubb turned to Dr. Briggs. + +"I am much obliged for the hastiness with which you came to relieve +one you considered to think in trouble, doctor," he said, "but fits +are not in my line of sickness, which mainly is dyspeptic to date." + +"Now, what is all this?" asked the doctor suspiciously. "What is that +letter, anyway?" + +"It is a clue," said Philo Gubb, "which, connected with the bump on +the top of the cranium of my skull, will, no doubt, land somebody into +jail. So good-evening, doctor." + +He picked his hat from the lawn, and in his most stately manner +walked around the club-house and in at the door. + +Inside the club-house, Mr. Gubb asked one of the waiters to call Mr. +Medderbrook, and Mr. Medderbrook immediately appeared. + +As he came from the dining-room rapidly, the napkin he had had tucked +in his neck fell over his shoulder behind him, and Mr. Medderbrook, +instead of turning around bent backward until he could pick up the +napkin with his teeth, after which he resumed his normal upright +position. + +"Excuse me, Gubb," he said; "I didn't think what I was doing. Where is +the cup?" + +The detective explained. He handed Mr. Medderbrook the receipt that +had been sent by Mr. Schreckenheim, and the moment Mr. Medderbrook's +eyes fell upon it he turned red. + +"That infernal Dutchman!" he cried, although Mr. Schreckenheim was not +a Dutchman at all, but a German-American. "I'll jail him for this!" + +He stopped short. + +"Gubb," he said, "did that fellow tell you what his business was?" + +"He did not," said Philo Gubb. "He failed to express any mention of +it." + +"That man," said Mr. Medderbrook bitterly, "is Schreckenheim, the +greatest tattoo artist in the world. He is the king of them all. A +connoisseur in tattooish art can tell a Schreckenheim as easily as a +picture-dealer can tell a Corot. But no matter! Mr. Gubb, you are a +detective and I believe what is told detectives is held inviolable. +Yes. You--and all Riverbank--see in me an ordinary citizen, wealthy, +perhaps, but ordinary. As a matter of fact, I was once"--he looked +cautiously around--"I was once a contortionist. I was once _the_ +contortionist. And now I am a wealthy man. My wife left me because she +said I was stingy, and she took my child--my only daughter. I have +never seen either of them since. I have searched high and low, but I +cannot find them. Mr. Gubb, I would give the man that finds my +daughter--if she is alive--a thousand dollars." + +"You don't object to my attempting to try?" said Philo Gubb. + +"No," said Mr. Jonas Medderbrook, "but that is not what I wish to +explain. In my contortion act, Mr. Gubb, I was obliged to wear the +most expensive silk tights. Wiggling on the floor destroys them +rapidly. I had a happy thought. I was known as the Man-Serpent. Could +I not save all expense of tights by having myself tattooed so that my +skin would represent scales? Look." + +Mr. Medderbrook pulled up his cuff and showed Mr. Gubb his arm. It was +beautifully tattooed in red and blue, like the scales of a cobra. + +"The cost," continued Mr. Medderbrook, "was great. Herr Schreckenheim +worked continuously on me, and when he reached my manly chest I had a +brilliant thought. I would have tattooed upon it an American eagle. +Imagine the enthusiasm of an audience when I stood straight, spread my +arms and showed that noble emblem of our nation's strength and +freedom! I told Herr Schreckenheim and he set to work. When--and the +contract price, by the way, for doing that eagle was five hundred +dollars--when the eagle was about completed, I said to Herr +Schreckenheim, 'Of course you will do no more eagles?' + +"'More eagles?' he said questioningly. + +"'On other men," I said. 'I want to be the only man with an eagle on +my chest.' + +"'I am doing an eagle on another man now,' he said. + +"I was angry at once. I jumped from the table and threw on my clothes. +'Cheater!' I cried. 'Not another spot or dot shall you make on me! Go! +I will never pay you a cent!' + +"He was very angry. 'It is a contract!' he cried. 'Five hundred +dollars you owe me!' + +"'I owe it to you when the job is complete,' I declared. 'That was the +contract. Is this job complete? Where are the eagle's claws? I'll +never pay you a cent!' + +"We had a lot of angry words. He demanded that I give him a chance to +put the claws on the eagle. I refused. I said I would never pay. He +said he would follow me to the end of the world and collect. He said +he would do those eagle claws if he had to do them on my infant +daughter. I dared him to touch the child. And now," said Mr. +Medderbrook, "he has taken the golf cup I value at five hundred +dollars. He has won." + +At the mention of the threat regarding the child, Philo Gubb's eyes +opened wide, but he kept silence. + +"Gubb," said Mr. Medderbrook suddenly, "I'll give you a thousand +dollars if you can recover my poor child." + +"The deteckative profession is full of complicity of detail," said Mr. +Gubb, "and the impossible is quite possible when put in the right +hands. The cup--" + +"Bother the cup!" said Mr. Medderbrook carelessly. "I want my +child--I'll give _ten_ thousand dollars for my child, Gubb." + +With difficulty could Philo Gubb restrain his eagerness to depart. He +had a clue! + +Ordinarily Mr. Gubb would have taken any disguise that seemed to him +best suited for the work in hand; but now he was going to see and be +seen by Syrilla! + +Mr. Gubb ran down the list--Number Seven, Card Sharp; Number Nine, +Minister of the Gospel; Number Twelve, Butcher; Number Sixteen, Negro +Hack-Driver; Number Seventeen, Chinese Laundryman; Number Twenty, +Cowboy.... Philo Gubb paused there. He would be a cowboy, for it was a +jaunty disguise--"chaps," sombrero, spurs, buckskin gloves, holsters +and pistols, blue shirt, yellow hair, stubby mustache. He donned the +complete disguise, put his street garments in a suitcase and viewed +himself in his small mirror. He highly approved of the disguise. He +touched his cheeks with red to give himself a healthy, outdoor +appearance. + +Early the next morning, before the earliest merchants had opened their +shops, Philo Gubb boarded the train for West Higgins, for it was there +the World's Greatest Combined Shows were to appear. The few sleepy +passengers did not open their eyes; the conductor, as he took Mr. +Gubb's ticket, merely remarked, "Joining the show at West Higgins?" +and passed on. Boys were already gathering on the West Higgins station +platform when the train pulled in, and they cheered Mr. Gubb, thinking +him part of the show. This greatly increased the difficulty of Mr. +Gubb's detective work. He had hoped to steal unobserved to the circus +grounds, but a dozen small boys immediately attached themselves to +him, running before him and whooping with joy. + +"Boys," said Mr. Gubb sternly, "I wish you to run away and play +elsewhere than in front of me continuously and all the time,"--and +they cheered because he had spoken. Only the glad news that the circus +trains had reached town finally dragged them reluctantly away. +Detective Gubb hurried to the circus grounds. The cook tent was +already up, and the grub tent was being put up. Presently the +side-show tent was up and the "big top" rising. It was not until nine +o'clock, however, that the side-show ladies and gentlemen began to +appear, and when they arrived they went at once to the grub tent and +seated themselves at the table. From a corner of the "big top's" side +wall, Detective Gubb watched them. + +"Look there, dearie," said Syrilla suddenly to Princess Zozo, "don't +that cowboy look like Mr. Gubb that was at Bardville and got the golf +cup?" + +"It don't look like him," said Princess Zozo; "it is him. Why don't +you ask him to come over and help at the eats? You seemed to like him +yesterday." + +"I thought he was a real gentlem'nly gentlemun, dearie, if that's what +you mean," said Syrilla; and raising her voice she called to Mr. Gubb. +For a moment he hesitated, and then he came forward. "We knowed you +the minute we seen you, Mr. Gubb. Come and sit in beside me and have +some breakfast if you ain't dined. I thought you went home last night. +You ain't after no more crim'nals, are you?" + +"There are variously many ends to the deteckative business," said Mr. +Gubb, as he seated himself beside Syrilla. "I'm upon a most important +case at the present time." + +Syrilla reached for her fifth boiled potato, and as her arm passed Mr. +Gubb's face he thrilled. He had not been mistaken. Upon that arm was a +pair of eagle's claws, tattooed in red and blue! How little these had +meant to him before, and how much they meant now! + +"I presume you don't hardly ever long for a home in one place, Miss +Syrilla," he began, with his eye fixed on her arm just above the +elbow. + +"Well, believe me, dearie," said Syrilla, "you don't want to think +that just because I travel with a side-show I don't long for the +refinements of a true home just like other folks. Some folks think I'm +easy to see through and that I ain't nothin' but fat and appetite, but +they've got me down wrong, Mr. Gubb. I was unfortunate in gettin' lost +from my father and mother when a babe, but many is the time I've said +to Zozo, 'I got a refined strain in my nature.' Haven't I, Zozo?" + +"You say it every time we begin to rag you about fallin' in love with +every new thin man you see," said Princess Zozo. "You said it last +night when we was joshin' you about Mr. Gubb here." + +Syrilla colored, but Mr. Gubb thrilled joyously. + +"Just the same, dearie," Syrilla said to Princess Zozo, "I've got +myself listed right when I say I got a refined nature. I've got all +the instincts of a real society lady and sometimes it irks me awful +not to be able to let myself loose and bant like--" + +"Pant?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"_Bant_ was the word I used, Mr. Gubb," Syrilla replied. "Maybe you +wouldn't guess it, lookin' at me shovelin' in the eatables this way, +but eatin' food is the croolest thing I have to do. It jars me +somethin' terrible. Yes, dearie, what I long for day and night is a +chance to take my place in the social stratums I was born for and +bant off the fat like other social ladies is doin' right along. I +don't eat food because I like it, Mr. Gubb, but because a lady in a +profession like mine has got to keep fatted up. My outside may be fat, +Mr. Gubb, but I got a soul inside of me as skinny as any fash'nable +lady would care to have, and as soon as possible I'm goin' to quit the +road and bant off six or seven hundred pounds. Would you believe it +possible that I ain't dared to eat a pickle for over seven years, +because it might start me on the thinward road?" + +"I presume to suppose," said Mr. Gubb politely, "that if you was to be +offered a home that was rich with wealth and I was to take you there +and place you beside your parental father, you wouldn't refuse?" + +Mr. Gubb awaited the reply with eagerness. He tried to remain calm, +but in spite of himself he was nervous. + +"Watch me!" said Syrilla. "If you could show me a nook like that, you +couldn't hold me in this show business with a tent-stake and bull +tackle. But that's a rosy dream!" + +"You ain't got a locket with the photo' of your mother's picture into +it?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"No," said Syrilla. "My pa and ma was unknown to me. I dare say they +got sick of hearin' me bawl and left me on a doorstep. The first I +knew of things was that I was travelin' with a show, representin' a +newborn babe in an incubator machine. I was incubated up to the time +I was five years old, and got too long to go in the glass case." + +"But some one was your guardian in charge of you, no doubt?" asked +Gubb. + +"I had forty of them, dearie," said Syrilla. "Whenever money run low, +they quit because they couldn't get paid on Saturday night." + +"Hah!" said Mr. Gubb. "And does the name Jones bring back the memory +of any rememberance to you?" + +"No, Mr. Gubb," said Syrilla regretfully, seeing how eager he was. "It +don't." + +"In that state of the case of things," said Mr. Gubb, "I've got to go +over to that wagon-pole and sit down and think awhile. I've got a +certain clue I've got to think over and make sure it leads right, and +if it does I'll have something important to say to you." + +The wagon-pole in question was attached to a canvas wagon near by, and +Detective Gubb seated himself on it and thought. The side-show ladies +and gentlemen, having finished, entered the side-show tent--with the +exception of Syrilla, who remained to finish her meal. She ate a great +deal at meals, before meals, and after meals. Mr. Gubb, from his seat +on the wagon-pole, looked at Syrilla thoughtfully. He had not the +least doubt that Syrilla was the lost daughter of Mr. Jones (or +Medderbrook as he now called himself). The German-American tattoo +artist had sworn to complete the eagle by putting its claws on Mr. +Jones's daughter, if need be, and here were the claws on Syrilla's +arm. But, just as it is desirable at times to have a handwriting +expert identify a bit of writing, Mr. Gubb felt that if he could prove +that the claws tattooed on Syrilla's arm were the work of Mr. +Schreckenheim, his case would be complete. He longed for Mr. +Schreckenheim's presence, but, lacking that, he had a happy idea. Mr. +Enderbury, the tattooed man of the side-show, should be a connoisseur +and would perhaps be able to identify the eagle's claws. Leaving +Syrilla still eating, Mr. Gubb entered the side-show tent. + +Mr. Enderbury, seated on a blue property case, was engaged in biting +the entire row of finger nails on his right hand, and a frown creased +his brow. He was enwrapped by a long purple bathrobe which tied +closely about his neck. As he caught sight of Mr. Gubb, he started +slightly and doubled his hand into a fist, but he immediately calmed +himself and assumed a nonchalant air. As a matter of fact, Mr. +Enderbury led a dog's life. For years he had loved Syrilla devotedly, +but he was so bashful he had never dared to confess his love to her, +and year after year he saw her smile upon one thin man after another. +Now it was Mr. Lonergan; again it was Mr. Winterberry--or it was Mr. +Gubb, or Smith, or Jones, or Doe; but for Mr. Enderbury she seemed to +have nothing but contempt. Mr. Enderbury had first seen her when she +was posing in the infant incubator, and had loved her even then, for +he was twenty when she was but five. The coming of a new rival always +affected him as the coming of Mr. Gubb had, but for good reason he +hated Mr. Gubb worse than any of the others. + +"Excuse me for begging your pardon," said Mr. Gubb, "but in the +deteckative business questions have to be asked. Have you ever chanced +to happen to notice some tattoo work upon the arm of Miss Syrilla of +this side-show?" + +"I have," said Mr. Enderbury shortly. + +"A pair of eagle's claws," said Mr. Gubb. "Can you tell me, from your +knowledge and belief, if the work there done was the work of a Mr. +Herr Schreckenheim?" + +"I can tell you if I want to," said Mr. Enderbury. "What do you want +to know for?" + +"If those claws are the work of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim," said Mr. +Gubb, "I am prepared to offer to Miss Syrilla her daughterly place in +a home of wealth at Riverbank, Iowa. If those claws are Schreckenheim +claws, Miss Syrilla is the daughter of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook of the +said burg, beyond the question of a particle of doubt." + +Mr. Enderbury looked at Mr. Gubb with surprise. + +"That's non--" he began. "And if Schreckenheim did those claws, you'll +take Syrilla away from this show? Forever?" he asked. + +"I will," said Philo Gubb, "if she desires to wish to go." + +"Then I have nothing whatever to say," said Mr. Enderbury, and he +shut his mouth firmly; nor would he say more. + +"Do you desire to wish me to understand that they are not the work of +Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?" persisted Mr. Gubb. + +"I have nothing to say!" said Mr. Enderbury. + +"I consider that conclusive circumstantial evidence that they are," +said Detective Gubb, and he clanked out of the side-show. + +Syrilla was still seated at the grub table, finishing her meal, and +Mr. Gubb seated himself opposite her. As delicately as he could, he +told of Jonas Medderbrook and his lost daughter, of the home of wealth +that awaited that daughter, and finally, of his belief that Syrilla +was that daughter. It was clear that Syrilla was quite willing to take +up a life of refinement and dieting if she was given an opportunity +such as Mr. Gubb was able to offer in the name of Jonas Medderbrook; +and, this being so, he questioned her regarding the eagle's claws. + +"Mr. Gubb," she said, "I wish to die on the spot if I know how I got +them claws tattooed onto me. If you ask me, I'll say it is the mystery +of my life. They've been on me since I was a little girl no bigger +than--why, who is that?" + +Mr. Gubb turned his head quickly, but he was not in time to see a +plump, good-natured looking little German-American slip quickly out of +sight behind the cook tent. Neither did he see the glitter of the sun +on a large silver golf cup the plump German-American carried under +his arm; but the German-American had recognized Mr. Gubb, even through +his disguise of a cowboy. + +"No matter," said Syrilla. "But these claws have been on my arm since +I was a wee little girl, Mr. Gubb. I always thought they was a +trademark of a hospital." + +"I was not knowingly aware that hospitals had trademarks," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"Maybe they don't," said Syrilla. "But when I was a small child I had +an accident and had to be took to a hospital, and it wasn't until +after that that anybody saw the eagle's claws on me. I considered that +maybe it was like the mark the laundry puts on a handkerchief it has +laundered." + +"I don't know much about the manners of the ways of hospitals," +admitted Mr. Gubb, "and that may be so, but I have another idea. Did +you ever hear of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?" + +"Only that Mr. Enderbury is always cross on the days of the month that +he gets Mr. Schreckenheim's statements of money due. Mr. Schreckenheim +is the man that tattooed Mr. Enderbury so beautiful, but poor Mr. +Enderbury has never been able to pay him in full." + +Philo Gubb arose. + +"I am going to telegraph Mr. Medderbrook to come on to West Higgins +immediately by the three P.M. afternoon train," he said, "and you will +meet him as your paternal father and arrange to make your home with +him as soon as you desire to wish it." + + * * * * * + +At five o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Medderbrook, escorted by Mr. Gubb, +entered the side-show tent. The lady and gentlemen freaks were resting +before evening grub, and all were gathered around Syrilla's platform, +for the news that she was to leave the show to enter a home of wealth +and refinement had spread quickly. Syrilla herself was in tears. Now +that the time had come she was loath to part from her kind companions. + +"I tell you, Mr. Gubb," Mr. Medderbrook said, as they entered the +side-show, "if you have indeed found my daughter you have made me a +happy man. You cannot know how lonesome my life has been. Now, which +is she?" + +"She is the female lady in the pink satin dress on that platform," +said Mr. Gubb. + +Mr. Medderbrook looked toward Syrilla and gasped. + +"Why, that--that's the Fat Woman! That's the Fat Woman of the +side-show!" he exclaimed. "I thought--I--why, my daughter wouldn't be +a Fat Woman in a side-show!" + +"But she is," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Great Scott!" exclaimed Mr. Medderbrook. + +For years Mr. Medderbrook had retained a memory of his daughter +as he had seen her last, a tender babe in long clothes. As he rode +toward West Higgins, however, he had thought about his daughter and +he had revised his conception of her. She was older now, of course, +and he had finally settled the matter by deciding that she would be +a dainty slip of a girl--probably a tight-rope walker or one of the +toe-dancers in the Grand Spectacle, or perhaps even engaged as the +Ten-Thousand-Dollar Beauty. But a Fat Lady! Mr. Medderbrook walked +toward Syrilla. Every eye in the tent was upon him. There was utter +silence except for Syrilla's happy sobbing. + +"Shess!" said a voice suddenly. "You bet I vos here! Und I vant my +money! Years I haf been collecding dot bill, und still you owe me. Now +I come, and you pay me all vot you owe or I make troubles!" + +The voice came from outside the tent, and with surprising agility +Detective Gubb dived under the platform and wriggled under the canvas +wall. + +"I don't owe you a cent!" exclaimed the voice of Mr. Enderbury. "I've +paid you for every bit of tattoo I have on me." + +"Seven hunderdt dollars vos der contract," cried the voice of Herr +Schreckenheim. "Und ten dollars is due me yet. I vant it." + +"Well, you'll keep on wanting it," said Mr. Enderbury's voice. "Look +here! Look at my chest. There's the eagle you did on me--do you see +any claws on it? No, you don't! Well, I'm not going to pay for claws +that are not on me. No, sir!" + +"Claws? I do some claws on you, don't I, ven I do dot eagle?" asked +the German-American. + +"Yes, but they're not on me now, are they?" asked Mr. Enderbury, "You +can go and collect from the person that has them. What do I care for +her now? She's going to quit the circus business. I've paid for all +the tattoo that's on me; you go and collect ten dollars for those +claws from Syrilla." + +"Und how does she get those claws on her?" asked Herr Schreckenheim +shrewdly. + +"I'll tell you how," said Mr. Enderbury. "You remember when Griggs' & +Barton's Circus burned down years ago? Well, Syrilla was burned in +that fire--burned on the arm--and they took her to a hospital and her +arm wouldn't heal. So somebody had to furnish some skin for a +skin-grafting job, and I did it. The piece they took had those claws +on it. That's what happened. I gave those eagle's claws to cure her, +and I've hung around her all these years like a faithful dog, and she +don't care a hang for me, and now she's going away. Go and collect for +those claws from her. I haven't got them. She's going to be rich; she +can pay you!" + +Simultaneously there was an exclamation from Mr. Medderbrook, a cry +from Syrilla, and a short, sharp yell from outside the tent. Mr. Gubb +entered, spurs first, creeping backward under the canvas. As he backed +from under the platform it was observed that he held a shoe--about No. +8 size--in one hand, and that a foot was in the shoe, and the foot on +a leg, and the leg on a short, plump, elderly German-American, who +yelled as he was dragged into the tent on his back. In one hand of the +German-American was a large silver golf cup with a deep dent on one +side. As Mr. Gubb arose to his feet, still holding the German-American +tattoo artist's foot in his hand, he said:-- + +"Mr. Medderbrook, the deteckative business is not always completely +satisfactory in all kinds of respects, and it looks as if it appeared +that the daughter I found for you is somebody else's, but if you will +look at the other end of the assaulter and batterer I have in hand, +you will see that I have recovered the silver golf cup trophy once +again for the second time." + +"And that," said Mr. Medderbrook as he took the cup from the +German-American's hand, "is remarkable work. The ordinary detective is +usually satisfied to recover stolen property once, but you have +recovered this cup twice." + +"The motto of my deteckative business," said Mr. Gubb modestly, "is +'Perfection, no matter how many times.'" + +Mr. Gubb might have said more, but he was interrupted by Princess +Zozo, the Snake Charmer, who had walked around Syrilla and unhooked +two of the hooks at the top of Syrilla's low-necked gown. + +"Look!" she exclaimed, and she pointed to a second pair of eagle's +claws tattooed between Syrilla's shoulder blades. Without a word Mr. +Medderbrook took five hundred dollars from his purse and handed them +to Mr. Schreckenheim. + +"That pays you for the cup," he said. And then, turning to Syrilla: +"Come to my arms, my long-lost daughter!" + +After Syrilla had hugged her father affectionately, Mr. Gubb and the +freaks laid him on the ground and, by fanning him vigorously, were +able to bring him back to life. Mr. Medderbrook's first act upon +opening his eyes was to hold out his hand to Mr. Gubb. + +"Thank you, Gubb," he panted. "It's a big price, but I'll keep my +word. The ten thousand dollars shall be yours." + +"Into ordinary circumstances," said Mr. Gubb gravely, "ten thousand +dollars would be a largely big price to pay for recovering back a lost +daughter, Mr. Medderbrook, but into the present case it don't amount +to more than ten dollars per pound of daughter, which ain't a largely +great rate per pound." + + + + +THE OUBLIETTE + + +The discovery that Syrilla was the daughter of Jonas Medderbrook (born +Jones) was a great triumph for Philo Gubb, but while the "Riverbank +Eagle" made a great hurrah about it, Philo Gubb was not entirely happy +over the matter. Having won a reward of ten thousand dollars for +discovering Syrilla and five hundred dollars for recovering Mr. +Medderbrook's golf cup, Mr. Gubb might have ventured to tell Syrilla +of his love for her but for three reasons. + +The first reason was that Mr. Gubb was so bashful that it was +impossible for him to speak his love openly and immediately. If +Syrilla had returned to Riverbank with her father, Mr. Gubb would have +courted her by degrees, or if Syrilla had weighed only two hundred +pounds, Mr. Gubb might have had the bravery to propose to her +instantly, but she weighed one thousand pounds, and it required five +times the bravery to propose to a thousand pounds that was required to +propose to two hundred pounds. + +The second reason was that Mr. Dorgan, the manager of the side-show, +would not release Syrilla from her contract. + +"She's a beauty of a Fat Lady," said Mr. Dorgan, "and I've got a +five-year contract with her and I'm going to hold her to it." + +Mr. Medderbrook and Mr. Gubb would have been quite hopeless when Mr. +Dorgan said this if Syrilla had not taken them to one side. + +"Listen, dearies," she said, "he's a mean, old brute, but don't you +fret! I got a hunch how to make him cancel my contract in a perfectly +refined an' ladylike manner. Right now I start in bantin' and dietin' +in the scientific-est manner an' the way I can lose three or four +hundred pounds when I set out to do it is something grand. It won't be +no time at all until I'm thin and wisp-like, an' Mr. Dorgan will be +glad to get rid of me." + +This information greatly cheered Mr. Gubb. While he admired Syrilla +just as she was, a rapid mental calculation assured him that she would +still be quite plump at seven hundred pounds and he knew he could love +seven tenths of Syrilla more than he could love ten tenths of any +other lady in the world. + +The third reason had to do with the ten-thousand-dollar reward. When +Mr. Gubb and Mr. Medderbrook were proceeding homeward on the train, +Mr. Medderbrook brought up the subject of the reward again. + +"I'm going to pay you that ten thousand dollars, Gubb," he said, "but +I'm going to pay it so it will be worth a lot more than ten thousand +dollars to you." + +"You are very overly kind," said Mr. Gubb. + +"It's because I know you are fond of Syrilla," said Mr. Medderbrook. + +Mr. Gubb blushed. + +"So I ain't going to give you ten thousand dollars in cash," said Mr. +Medderbrook. "I'm going to do a lot better by you than that. I'm going +to give you gold-mine stock. The only trouble--" + +"Gold-mine stock sounds quite elegantly nice," said Mr. Gubb. + +"The only trouble," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is that the gold-mine stock +I want to give you is in a block of twenty-five thousand dollars. It's +nice stock. It's as neatly engraved as any stock I ever saw, and it is +genuine common stock in the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine Company." + +"The name sounds sort of unhopeful," ventured Mr. Gubb timidly. + +"That shows you don't know anything about gold mines," said Mr. +Medderbrook cheerfully. "The reason I--the reason the miners gave it +that name is because this mine lies right between two of the best +gold-mines in Minnesota. One of them is the Utterly Good Gold-Mine, +and the other is the Far-From-Hopeless. So when I--so when the miners +named this mine they took part of the names of the two others and +called this one the Utterly Hopeless. That's the way I--the way it is +always done." + +"It's very cleverly bright," said Mr. Gubb. + +"It's an old trick--I should say an old and approved method," said +Mr. Medderbrook. "So what I'm going to do, Mr. Gubb, is to let you in +on the ground floor on this mine. It's a chance I wouldn't offer to +everybody. This mine hasn't paid out all its money in dividends. I +tell you as an actual fact, Mr. Gubb, that so far it hasn't paid out a +cent in dividends, not even to the preferred stock. No, sir! And it +ain't one of these mines that has been mined until all the gold is +mined out of it. No, sir! Not an ounce of gold has ever been taken out +of the Utterly Hopeless Mine. Not an ounce." + +"It is all there yet!" exclaimed Mr. Gubb. + +"All there ever was," said Mr. Medderbrook. "Yes, sir! If you want me +to I'll give you a written guarantee that the Utterly Hopeless Mine +has never paid a cent in dividends and that not an ounce of gold has +ever been taken out of the mine. That shows you I'm square about this. +So what I'm going to do," he said impressively, "is to turn over to +you a block of twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock and apply the ten thousand dollars I owe you as part +of the purchase price. All you need to do then is to pay me the other +fifteen thousand dollars as rapidly as you can." + +"That's very kindly generous of you," said Mr. Gubb gratefully. + +"And that isn't all," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I own every single share +of the stock of that mine, Mr. Gubb, and as soon as you get the +fifteen thousand dollars paid up I'll advance the price of that stock +one hundred per cent! Yes, sir, I'll double the price of the stock, +and what you own will be worth fifty thousand dollars!" + +There were tears in Philo Gubb's eyes as he grasped Mr. Medderbrook's +hand. + +"And all I ask," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is that you hustle up and pay +that fifteen thousand dollars as quick as you can. So that," he added, +"you'll be worth fifty thousand dollars all the sooner." + +Upon reaching Riverbank Mr. Medderbrook took Mr. Gubb to his home and +turned over to him the stock in the Utterly Hopeless Mine. + +"And here," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is a receipt for ten thousand five +hundred dollars, and you can give me back that five hundred I paid you +for recovering of my golf cup. That's to show you everything is fair +and square when you deal with me. Now you owe me only fourteen +thousand five hundred dollars." + +While Mr. Gubb was handing the five hundred dollars back to Mr. +Medderbrook the colored butler entered with a telegram. Mr. +Medderbrook tore it open hastily. + +"Good news already," he said and handed it to Mr. Gubb. It was from +Syrilla and said:-- + + Be brave. Have lost four ounces already. Kind regards and + best love to Mr. Gubb. + +With only partial satisfaction Mr. Gubb left Mr. Medderbrook and +proceeded downtown. He now had a double incentive for seeking the +rewards that fall to detectives, for he had Syrilla to win and the +Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock to pay for. He started for the +Pie-Wagon, for he was hungry, but on the way certain suspicious +actions of Joe Henry (the liveryman who had twice beaten him up while +he was working on the dynamiter case), stopped him, and it was much +later when he entered the Pie-Wagon. + +As Philo Gubb entered, Billy Getz sat on one of the stools and stirred +his coffee. He held a dime novel with his other hand, reading; but +Pie-Wagon Pete kept an eye on him. He knew Billy Getz and his +practical jokes. If unwatched for a moment, the young whipper-snapper +might empty the salt into the sugar-bowl, or play some other prank +that came under his idea of fun. + +Billy Getz was a good example of the spoiled only son. He went in for +all the vice there was in town, and to occupy his spare time he +planned practical jokes. He was thirty years old, rather bald, had a +pale and leathery skin, and a preternaturally serious expression. In +his pranks he was aided by the group of young poker-playing, +cigarette-smoking fellows known as the "Kidders." + +Billy Getz, as he read the last line of the thrilling tale of "The +Pale Avengers," tucked the book in his pocket, and looked up and saw +Philo Gubb. The hawk-eyes of Billy Getz sparkled. + +"Hello, detective!" he cried. "Sit down and have something! You're +just the man I've been lookin' for. Was askin' Pete about you not a +minute ago--wasn't I, Pete?" + +Pie-Wagon Pete nodded. + +"Yes, sir," said Billy Getz eagerly, "I've got something right in your +line--something big; mighty big--and--say, detective, have you ever +read 'The Pale Avengers'?" + +"I ain't had that pleasure, Mr. Getz," said Philo Gubb, straddling a +stool. + +"What's the matter? You're out of breath," said Pie-Wagon. + +"I been runnin'," said Philo Gubb. "I had to run a little. +Deteckatives have to run at times occasionally." + +"You bet they do," said Billy Getz earnestly. "You ain't been after +the dynamiters, have you?" + +"I am from time to time working upon that case," said Philo Gubb with +dignity. + +"Well, you be careful. You be mighty careful! We can't afford to lose +a man like you," said Billy Getz. "You can't be too careful. Got any +of the ghouls yet?" + +"Not yet," said Philo Gubb stiffly. "It's a difficult case for one +that's just graduated out of a deteckative school. It's like Lesson +Nine says--I got to proceed cautiously when workin' in the dark." + +"Or they'll get you before you get them," said Billy Getz. "Like in +'The Pale Avengers.' Here, I want you to read this book. It'll teach +you some things you don't know about crooks, maybe." + +"Thank you," said Philo Gubb, taking the dime novel. "Anything that +can help me in my deteckative career is real welcome. I'll read it, +Mr. Getz, and--Look out!" he shouted, and in one leap was over the +counter and crouching behind it. + +Billy Getz turned toward the door, where a short, red-faced man was +standing with a pine slab held in his hand. Intense anger glittered in +his eyes, and he darted to the counter and, leaning over, brought the +slab down on Philo Gubb's back with a resounding whack. + +"Here! Here! None o' that stuff in here, Joe," cried Pie-Wagon Pete, +grasping the intruder's arm. + +"I'll kill him, that's what I'll do!" shouted the intruder. "Snoopin' +around my place, and follerin' me up an' down all the time! I told him +I wasn't goin' to have him doggin' me an' pesterin' me. I've beat him +up twice, an' now I'm goin' to give him the worst lickin' he ever had. +Come out of there, you half-baked ostrich, you." + +"Now, you stop that," said Pie-Wagon Pete sternly. "You're goin' to be +sorry if you beat him up. He don't mean no harm. He's just foolish. He +don't know no better. All you got to do is to explain it to him +right." + +"Explain?" said Joe Henry. "I'd look nice explainin' anything, +wouldn't I? Hand him over here, Pete." + +"Now, listen," shouted Pie-Wagon Pete angrily. "You ain't everything. +I'm your pardner, ain't I? Well, you let me fix this." He winked at +Joe Henry. "You let me explain to Mr. Gubb, an' if he ain't satisfied, +why--all right." + +For a moment Joe Henry studied Pie-Wagon's face, and then he put down +the slab. + +"All right, you explain," he said ungraciously, and Philo Gubb raised +his white face above the counter. + + * * * * * + +Upon the passage of the State prohibitory law every saloon in +Riverbank had been closed and there had been growlings from the saloon +element. Five of the leading prohibitionists had received threatening +letters and, a few nights later, the houses of four of the five were +blown up. Kegs of powder had been placed in the cellar windows of each +of the four houses, wrecking them, and the fifth house was saved only +because the fuse there was damp. Luckily no one was killed, but that +was not the fault of the "dynamiters," as every one called them. + +The town and State immediately offered a reward of five thousand +dollars for the arrest and conviction of the dynamiters, and +detectives flocked to Riverbank. Real detectives came to try for the +noble prize. Amateur detectives came in hordes. Citizens who were not +detectives at all tried their hands at the work. + +For the first few days rumors of the immediate capture of the "ghouls" +were flying everywhere, but day followed day and week followed week, +and no one was incarcerated. The citizen-detectives went back to their +ordinary occupations, the amateur detectives went home, the real +detectives were called off on other and more promising jobs, and soon +the field was left clear for Philo Gubb. + +Not that he made much progress. Each night he hid himself in the dark +doorway of Willcox Hall waiting to pick up (Lesson Four, Rule Four) +some suspicious-looking person, and having picked him up, he proceeded +to trail and shadow him (Lesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen). Six +times--twice by Joe Henry--he was well beaten by those he followed. It +became such a nuisance to be followed by Philo Gubb in false mustache +or whiskers, that it was a public relief when Billy Getz and other +young fellows took upon themselves the duty of being shadowed. With +hats pulled over their eyes and coat-collars turned up, they would +pass the dark doorway of Willcox Hall, let themselves be picked up, +and then lead poor Detective Gubb across rubbish-encumbered vacant +lots, over mud flats or among dark lumber piles, only to give him the +slip with infinite ease when they tired of the game. + +But Philo Gubb was back the next night, waiting in the shadow of the +doorway of Willcox Hall. He did not progress very rapidly toward the +goal of the reward, but he counted it all good practice. + +But being beaten twice in succession by Joe Henry aroused his +suspicion. + +Joe Henry ran a small carting business. He had three teams and three +drays, and a small stable on Locust Street, on the alley corner. He +was a great friend of Pie-Wagon Pete and he ate at the Pie-Wagon. + +Philo Gubb, after leaving Mr. Medderbrook, had not intentionally +picked up Joe Henry. On his way to the Pie-Wagon it had been necessary +for him to pass the alley opposite Joe Henry's stable and his +detective instinct told him to hide himself behind a manure bin in the +alley and watch the stable. In the warm June dusk he had crouched +there, watching and waiting. + +Mr. Gubb could see into the stable, but there was not much to see. The +stable boy sat at the door, his chair tipped back, until a few minutes +after eleven, when one of Joe Henry's drays drove up with a load of +baled hay. + +Philo Gubb heard the voices of the men as they hoisted the hay to the +hay-loft, and he saw Joe Henry helping with the hoisting-rope. The hay +was water-soaked. Water dripped from it onto the floor of the stable. + +But nothing exciting occurred, and Philo Gubb was about to consider +this a dull evening's work, when Joe Henry appeared in the doorway, a +pitchfork in one hand and the slab of pine in the other. He looked up +and down the street and then, with surprising agility, sprang across +the street toward where Philo Gubb lay hid. With a wild cry, Philo +Gubb fled. The pitchfork clattered at his feet, but missed him, and +he had every advantage of long legs and speed. His heels clattered on +the alley pave, and Joe Henry's clattered farther and farther behind +at each leap of the Correspondence School detective. + + * * * * * + +"All right, you explain," said Joe Henry sullenly. + +"Now you ain't to breathe a word of this, cross-your-heart, +hope-to-die, Philo Gubb. Nor you neither, Billy," said Pie-Wagon Pete. +"Listen! Me an' Joe Henry ain't what we let on to be. That's why we +don't want to be follered. We're detectives. Reg'lar detectives. From +Chicago. An' we're hired by the Law an' Order League to run down them +gools. We're right clost onto 'em now, ain't we, Joe? An' that's why +we don't want to have no one botherin' us. You wouldn't want no one +shadowin' you when you was on a trail, would you, Gubby?" + +"No, I don't feel like I would," admitted Philo Gubb. + +"That's right," said Pie-Wagon Pete approvingly. "An' when these here +dynamite gools is the kind of murderers they is, an' me and Joe is +expectin' to be murdered by them any minute, it makes Joe nervous to +be follered an' spied on, don't it, Joe?" + +"You bet," said Joe. "I'm liable to turn an' maller up anybody I see +sneakin' on me. I can't take chances." + +"So you won't interfere with Joe in the pursoot of his dooty no more, +will you, Gubby?" said Pie-Wagon Pete. + +"I don't aim to interfere with nobody, Peter," said Philo Gubb. "I +just want to pursoo my own dooty, as I see it. I won't foller Mr. +Henry no more, if he don't like it; but I got a dooty to do, as a full +graduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School +of Deteckating. I got to do my level best to catch them dynamiters +myself." + +Joe Henry frowned, and Pie-Wagon Pete shook his head. + +"If you'll take my advice, Gubby," he said, "you'll drop that case +right here an' now. You don't know what dangerous characters them +gools are. If they start to get you--" + +"You want to read that book--'The Pale Avengers'--I just gave you," +said Billy Getz, "and then you'll know more." + +"Well, I won't interfere with you, Mr. Henry," said Philo Gubb. "But +I'll do my dooty as I see it. Fear don't frighten me. The first words +in Lesson One is these: 'The deteckative must be a man devoid of +fear.' I can't go back on that. If them gools want to kill me, I can't +object. Deteckating is a dangerous employment, and I know it." + +He went out and closed the door. + +"There," said Pie-Wagon Pete. "Ain't that better than beatin' him up?" + +"Maybe," said Joe Henry grudgingly. "Chances are--he's such a +dummy--he'll go right ahead follerin' me. He needs a good scare +thrown into him." + +Billy Getz slid from his stool and ran his hands deep into his +pockets, jingling a few coins and a bunch of keys. + +"Want me to scare him?" he asked pleasantly. + +"Say! You can do it, too!" said Joe Henry eagerly. "You're the feller +that can kid him to death. Go ahead. If you do, I'll give you a case +of Six Star. Ain't that so, Pete?" + +"Absolutely," said Pie-Wagon. + +"That's a bet," said Billy Getz pleasantly. "Leave it to the Kidders." + +Philo Gubb went straight to his room at the Widow Murphy's, and having +taken off his shoes and coat, leaned back in his chair with his feet +on the bed, and opened "The Pale Avengers." He had never before read a +dime novel, and this opened a new world to him. He read breathlessly. +The style of the story was somewhat like this:-- + + The picture on the wall swung aside and Detective Brown + stared into the muzzles of two revolvers and the sharp eyes + of the youngest of the Pale Avengers. A thrill of horror + swept through the detective. He felt his doom was at hand. + But he did not cringe. + + "Your time has come!" said the Avenger. + + "Be not too sure," said Detective Brown haughtily. + + "Are you ready to die?" + + "Ever ready!" + + The detective extended his hand toward the table, on which + his revolver lay. A cruel laugh greeted him. It was the + last human voice he was to hear. As if by magic the floor + under his feet gave way. Down, down, down, a thousand feet + he was precipitated. He tried to grasp the well-like walls + of masonry, but in vain. Nothing could stay him. As he + plunged into the deep water of the oubliette a fiendish + laugh echoed in his ears. The Pale Avengers had destroyed + one more of their adversaries. + +Until he read this thrilling tale, Philo Gubb had not guessed the +fiendishness of malefactors when brought to bay, and yet here it was +in black and white. The oubliette--a dark, dank dungeon hidden beneath +the ground--was a favorite method of killing detectives, it seemed. +Generally speaking, the oubliette seemed to be the prevailing fashion +in vengeful murder. Sometimes the bed sank into the oubliette; +sometimes the floor gave way and cast the victim into the oubliette; +sometimes the whole room sank slowly into the oubliette; but death for +the victim always lurked in the pit. + +Before getting into bed Philo Gubb examined the walls, the floor, and +the ceiling of his room. They seemed safe and secure, but twice during +the night he awoke with a cry, imagining himself sinking through the +floor. + +Three nights later, as Philo Gubb stood in the dark doorway of the +Willcox Building waiting to pick up any suspicious character, Billy +Getz slipped in beside him and drew him hastily to the back of the +entry. + +"Hush! Not a word!" he whispered. "Did you see a man in the window +across the street? The third window on the top floor?" + +"No," whispered Philo Gubb. "Was--was there one?" + +"With a rifle!" whispered Billy Getz. "Ready to pick you off. Come! It +is suicide for you to try to go out the front way now. Follow me; I +have news for you. Step quietly!" + +He led the paper-hanger through the back corridor to the open air and +up the outside back stairs to the third floor and into the building. +He tapped lightly on a door and it was opened the merest crack. + +"Friends," whispered Billy Getz, and the door opened wide and admitted +them. + +The room was the club-room of the Kidders, where they gathered night +after night to play cards and drink illicit whiskey. Green shades over +which were hung heavy curtains protected the windows. A large, round +table stood in the middle of the floor under the gas-lights; a couch +was in one corner of the room; and these, with the chairs and a +formless heap in a far corner, over which a couch-cover was thrown, +constituted all the furniture, except for the iron cuspidors. Here the +young fellows came for their sport, feeling safe from intrusion, for +the possession of whiskey was against the law. There was a fine of +five hundred dollars--one half to the informer--for the misdemeanor of +having whiskey in one's possession, but the Kidders had no fear. They +knew each other. + +For the moment the cards were put away and the couch-cover hid the +four cases of Six Star that represented the club's stock of liquor. +The five young men already in the room were sitting around the table. + +"Sit down, Detective Gubb," said Billy Getz. "Here we are safe. Here +we may talk freely. And we have something big to talk to-night." + +Philo Gubb moved a chair to the table. He had to push one of the +cuspidors aside to make room, and as he pushed it with his foot he saw +an oblong of paper lying in it among the sand and cigar stubs. It was +a Six Star whiskey label. He turned his head from it with his +bird-like twist of the neck and let his eyes rest on Billy Getz. + +"We know who dynamited those houses!" said Billy Getz suddenly. "Do +you know Jack Harburger?" + +"No," said Philo Gubb. "I don't know him." + +"Well, we do," said Billy Getz. "He's the slickest ever. He was the +boss of the gang. Read this!" + +He slid a sheet of note-paper across to Philo Gubb, and the detective +read it slowly:-- + + Billy: Send me five hundred dollars quick. I've got to get + away from here. J. H. + +"And we made him our friend," said Billy Getz resentfully. "Why, he +was here the night of the dynamiting--wasn't he, boys?" + +"He sure was," said the Kidders. + +"Now, he's nothing to us," said Billy Getz. "Now, what do you say, +Detective Gubb? If we fix it so you can grab him, will you split the +reward with us?" + +"Half for you and half for me?" asked Philo Gubb, his eyes as big as +poker chips. + +"Three thousand for you and two for us, was what we figured was fair," +said Billy Getz. "You ought to have the most. You put in your +experience and your education in detective work." + +"And that ought to be worth something," admitted Philo Gubb. + +So it was agreed. They explained to Philo Gubb that Jack Harburger was +the son of old Harburger of the Harburger House at Derlingport, and +that they could count on the clerk of that hotel to help them. Billy +Getz would go up and get things ready, and the next day Philo Gubb +would appear at the hotel--in disguise, of course--and do his part. +The clerk would give him a room next to Jack Harburger's room, and see +that there was a hidden opening in the partition; and Billy Getz, +pretending he was bringing the money, would wring a full confession +from Jack Harburger. Then Philo Gubb need only step into the room and +snap the handcuffs on Jack Harburger and collect the reward. + +They shook hands all 'round, finally, and Billy Getz went to the +window to see that no ghoul was lurking in the street, ready to murder +Philo Gubb when he went out. As he turned away from the window the +toe of his shoe caught in the fringe of the couch-cover and dragged it +partially from the odd-shaped pile in the corner. With a quick sweep +of his hand Billy Getz replaced the cover, but not before Philo Gubb +had seen the necks of a full case of bottles and had caught the glint +of the label on one of them, bearing the six silver stars, like that +in the cuspidor. Billy Getz cast a quick glance at the Correspondence +School detective's face, but Philo Gubb, his head well back on his +stiff neck, was already gazing at the door. + +Two days later Philo Gubb, with his telescope valise in his hand, +boarded the morning train for Derlingport. The river was on one of its +"rampages" and the water came close to the tracks. Here and there, on +the way to Derlingport, the water was over the tracks, and in many +places the wagon-road, which followed the railway, was completely +swamped, and the passing vehicles sank in the muddy water to their +hubs. The year is still known as the "year of the big flood." In +Riverbank the water had flooded the Front Street cellars, and in +Derlingport the sewers had backed up, flooding the entire lower part +of the town. + +When the train reached Derlingport Philo Gubb, with his telescope +valise, which contained his twelve Correspondence School lessons, "The +Pale Avengers," a pair of handcuffs, his revolver, and three extra +disguises, walked toward the Harburger House. He was already +thoroughly disguised, wearing a coal-black beard and a red mustache +and an iron-gray wig with long hair. Luckily he passed no one. With +that disguise he would have drawn an immense crowd. Nothing like it +had ever been seen on the streets of Derlingport--or elsewhere, for +that matter. + +A full block away Philo Gubb saw the sign of the hotel, and he +immediately became cautious, as a detective should. He crossed the +street and observed the exits. There was a main entrance on the +corner, a "Ladies' Entrance" at the side, and an entrance to what had +once been the bar-room. From the fire-escape one could drop to the +street without great injury. + +Philo Gubb noted all these, and then walked to the alley. There were +two doors opening on the alley--one a cook's door, and the other +evidently leading to the cellar. At the latter a dray stood, and as +Philo Gubb paused there, two men came from this door and laid a bale +of hay on the dray, pushing it forward carefully. They did not toss it +carelessly onto the dray but slid it onto the dray. And the hay was +wet. Moreover, the two men were two of Joe Henry's men, and that was +odd. It was odd that Joe Henry should send a dray the full thirty +miles to Derlingport to get a load of wet hay, when he could get all +the dry hay he wanted in Riverbank. But it did not impress Philo Gubb. +He hurried to the main entrance of the hotel, and entered. + +The lobby of the Harburger House was large, and gloomy in its +old-fashioned black-walnut woodwork. Except for one man sitting at a +desk by the window and writing industriously, and the clerk behind the +counter, the lobby was untenanted. To the left a huge stairway led to +the gloom above, for the hotel boasted no elevator except the huge +"baggage lift," which had been put in in the palmy days of the house, +when the great river packets were still a business factor. + +Philo Gubb walked across the lobby to the clerk's desk. The +industrious penman by the window glanced over his shoulder. He looked +more like a hotel clerk than like a traveling salesman, but Philo Gubb +gave this no thought. The clerk behind the desk put his fingers on his +lips. + +"Sh!" he whispered. "Are you Detective Gubb? Good! I've been expecting +you. Have you a gun?" + +"In my telescope case," whispered Philo Gubb. + +"Take this one," said the clerk, handing the paper-hanger-detective a +glittering revolver. "Be careful. Come--I'll show you the room." + +He came from behind the desk and picked up Philo Gubb's telescope +valise and led the way up the dingy stairway. Luckily for Billy Getz's +great practical joke, Philo Gubb had never seen Jack Harburger, or he +would have recognized him in the plump little man carrying his +telescope valise. Up three flights of dark stairs, Jack Harburger led +Philo Gubb, and at the landing of the fourth floor he stopped. + +[Illustration: "THESE HERE IS FALSE WHISKERS AND HAIR"] + +"You were taking a risk--a big risk--coming undisguised," he said. + +"But I am disguised," said Philo Gubb. "These here is false whiskers +and hair." + +"What!" exclaimed Jack Harburger. "Wonderful work! A splendid make-up, +detective! You fooled me with it, and I was on my guard. You'll do. +Bend down like an old man. That's it! Now, listen: I have cut a hole +through the wall from your room into Jack's. You can hear every word +he speaks. Have you pencil and paper? Good! Jot down every word you +hear. And don't make a sound. If you are discovered--well, they're a +desperate gang. Come!" + +He led the way through a long, dark corridor that turned and twisted. +At the extreme end he stopped, put down the telescope valise, and drew +a key from his pocket. + +"That's Jack's room," he breathed softly, "and you go in here. Sorry +it isn't a better room. We had to use it, and you won't be here long, +anyway." + +He opened the door. It was a large door that swung outward, and it +occupied one half of one side of the room. The floor of the room was +carpeted, and the walls were papered, as was the ceiling. There was no +window, but an electric light burned in the center of the ceiling. +Across the far side of the room stood a narrow iron bed, with a small +bureau beside it. Jack Harburger pointed to a hole in the wall-paper. + +"That's your ear-hole," he whispered, and Philo Gubb stepped into the +room. Instantly the door slammed behind him, the key turned in the +lock, and he heard a heavy iron bar clank as it fell into place +outside. He was a prisoner, caught like a rat in a trap, and he knew +it! He threw himself against the door, but it did not give. The +electric light above his head went dark. He put out his hand, and the +wall gave slightly. He drew the revolver and waited, dreading what +might next occur. He heard soft footsteps outside the door, and, +raising the revolver, pulled the trigger. The trigger snapped +harmlessly. He had been tricked, tricked all around. + +"Is the oubliette prepared?" whispered a voice outside. + +"All ready for him. Twelve feet of water. He'll drown like a rat." + +"Good. A slow death, like a rat in a trap--like we served the other +two. Then get rid of his body the same way." + +"A stone on it, and the river?" + +"Yes. They never come up again." + +The voices died away along the corridor, and Philo Gubb was left in +utter silence. Oubliette! The fate of the detectives of "The Pale +Avengers" was to be his! Suddenly the room began to quiver. The floor +and the walls trembled and creaked, and Philo Gubb threw himself once +more against the door. He shouted and beat upon it with his hands. +Inch by inch, creaking and swaying, the room glided downward. The +door seemed to glide upward beyond the ceiling, giving place to a +solid wall. He turned and beat on the side of the room, and it gave +forth a hollow sound. As he moved, the room swayed under his feet. He +was doomed! + +Alone in the darkness, his fear suddenly gave way to a feeling of +pride. He was dangerous enough, then, to be thought worthy of death? +His last drop of doubt oozed out of his mind. He was--he must be--a +great detective, or such means would not have been taken to get rid of +him. He felt a sort of calm joy in this. His murderers knew his +prowess. + +Locked in the room, going down to certain death, he exulted. And if he +was as great as all that, it could not be that his position was +hopeless. Time and again Carl Carroll, the Boy Detective, had been in +equally precarious positions, but in the end he had brought the Pale +Avengers low. And what a boy, untrained, could do, a graduate of the +Rising Sun Correspondence School of Detecting ought to be able to do! +He drew his knife from his pocket and cut into the wall-paper of the +side wall. + +Being a paper-hanger, the first touch of his hand against the side +wall had told him the wall-paper was pasted on canvas and not on a +solid wall, and now he ripped the canvas away. The wall was of rough +boards, scarred and marred. The opposite wall was the same. He kneeled +on the bed and tried the rear wall. He felt the plastered wall gliding +upward. He stood on the bed and ripped the canvas ceiling away. + +As he ripped the ceiling away, light entered the cage from a dirty +skylight far above. Just over his head a heavy iron grating covered +the cage, barring him in, but high up he could see the great drum, +from which the cable slowly unwound as the car descended. He was in an +elevator, but this knowledge gave him small comfort. Cage, room, or +elevator--call it what he chose--it was relentlessly descending into +the flooded cellar. He watched the drum with fascinated eyes, as the +wire cable unwound itself. He lay back on the bed, his feet hanging to +the floor, and stared upward. He could not take his eyes from the +revolving drum. It was like a clock, marking the moments he still had +to live. + +But suddenly he was galvanized into action. Over his feet something +cold ran, making him jerk them from the floor. It was the water of the +oubliette, and he gazed on it with horror as it rose, inch by inch, +toward him. Slowly, as the car dropped, the water crept up. It reached +the first drawer of the small bureau. It crept up to the side rails of +the bed. It wet the mattress--and still it rose. He stood on the bed +and grasped the iron grating above his head. + +"Stop!" whispered a voice above his head, and the creaking cage +stopped. + +"Gubb! Detective Gubb!" whispered the voice, and Philo Gubb looked +upward. "Listen, Detective Gubb," said the voice. "One touch of my +hand on the lever, and you will be dropped beneath the waters, never +to appear again, except dead. One only chance remains for your life, +and, blackened with crime though we are, we offer you that chance. If +you will swear to leave the State, never to return, we will spare you. +What say you, Philo Gubb?" + +It was an offer no mortal could refuse. Life, after all, is sweet. +Philo Gubb, the relentless Correspondence School detective, opened his +mouth, but as he turned his head upward, he closed it again and licked +his lips twice. + +"No, durn ye!" he shouted angrily. "I won't never do no such thing!" + +There was a hurried whispering of many voices above him. + +"Think well," said the voice again. "We will give you until midnight +to reconsider your rashness. Until midnight, Detective Gubb!" + +"You can't scare _me_!" shouted Philo Gubb. + +"Until midnight!" repeated the voice, and then there was silence. + +Philo Gubb immediately drew his heavy pocket-knife from his pocket and +began cutting out one of the panels of the door that shut him in on +one side. He did not work hurriedly. He was not at all frightened. +Looking up, he had seen the drum, and there was no more cable on the +drum to be unwound. The car could descend no farther. His feet were as +wet as they could get. Unless the river rose to unbelievable height, +he could not be drowned in the makeshift oubliette, unless he +voluntarily lay down in the shallow water and inhaled it. He worked on +the panel slowly, but with the earnestness of a very angry victim of a +hoax. The panel fell outward with a splash, and floated away. Philo +Gubb bent sideways and squeezed out of the small opening into the +cellar. + +The huge cellar was dusky in the dim light that entered through the +cobwebbed panes, high in the wall. It was an immense place, and now +knee-deep in water, except for a gangway of boards laid on low +trestles, which led from one side of the cellar to the cellar door. +There were coal-bins and vegetable-bins, like watery bays leading from +the general cellar sea, and--strange appliance to discover in a hotel +cellar--a small hay-baling press stood on an extemporized platform +against one wall, and alongside it, on a long table, such as are seen +in factories, bales of hay, some complete and some torn open--and +cases! The cases were labeled "Blue River Canned Tomatoes," but one, +split across the end, gave evidence that their contents were not +canned tomatoes at all. Through the crack in the case glittered the +six silver stars of the Six Star whiskey. There were twenty-six of the +cases. + +Philo Gubb waded to the raised gangway and walked to the cellar door. +It was double-barred on the inside, and he lifted the bars cautiously +and stepped into the alley, closing the door carefully behind him. He +pulled his false whiskers and wig from his face and stuffed them in +his pockets and hurried down the alley. + +When he returned, Billy Getz, Jack Harburger, and six of the Kidders +were holding high revel in the closed bar-room of the Harburger House, +but they all fell silent when the door opened and the Sheriff of +Derling County entered, with Philo Gubb and three deputies in company. +It was evident that the Sheriff did not consider Philo Gubb a joke. + +"Search-warrant, Jack," he said to Harburger. "Detective Gubb, of +Riverbank, has been doing some sleuthing in your hotel, he says. We +want to have a look at the cellar." + +The next morning the "Riverbank Eagle" was full of Philo Gubb again. +Through the superb acumen of that wonderful detective, three stores of +whiskey had been discovered and confiscated--one in the cellar of the +Harburger House at Derlingport; one in Joe Henry's stable at +Riverbank; and a smaller one in the room in the Willcox Building +frequented by the "Kidders." + +"How I done it?" said Philo Gubb to one of his admirers. "I done it +like a deteckative does it--a deteckative that wants to detect--picks +up some feller that looks suspicious-like, like it says in Lesson +Four, Rule Four. And then he shadows and trails him, like it says in +Lesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen. And then somethin's bound to +happen." + +"But how can you tell what's goin' to happen?" asked his admirer. + +"Well, sir," said Philo Gubb, "that's the beauty of the deteckative +business. You don't ever know what's goin' to happen until it +happens." + + + + +THE UN-BURGLARS + + +Although Detective Gubb's experience with the oubliette-elevator did +not lead to the detection of the dynamiters for whom a reward of five +thousand dollars was offered, it resulted in the payment to him of one +half of three fines of five hundred dollars for each of the three +stores of whiskey he had unearthed. With this money, amounting to +seven hundred and fifty dollars, Mr. Gubb went to the home of Jonas +Medderbrook and paid that gentleman the entire amount. + +"That there payment," Mr. Gubb said, "deducted from what I owe onto +them shares of Perfectly Worthless Gold-Mine Stock--" + +"The name of the mine, if you please, is Utterly Hopeless and not +Perfectly Worthless," said Mr. Medderbrook severely. + +"Just so," said Mr. Gubb apologetically. "You must excuse me, Mr. +Medderbrook. I ain't no expert onto gold-mines' names and, offhand, +them two names seem about the same to me. But my remark was to be that +the indebtedness of the liability I now owe you is only thirteen +thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars." + +"And the sooner you get it paid up the better it will suit me," said +Mr. Medderbrook. + +"Yes, sir," said Mr. Gubb, and hesitated. Then, assuming an air of +little concern, he asked: "It ain't likely to suppose we've had any +word from Miss Syrilla, is it, Mr. Medderbrook?" + +For answer Mr. Medderbrook went to his desk and brought Mr. Gubb a +telegram. It was from Syrilla. It said:-- + + Eating no potatoes, drinking no water. Have lost eight + pounds. Kind love to Mr. Gubb. + +"She's wore herself down to nine hundred and ninety-two pounds, +according to that," said Mr. Gubb. "She has only got to wear off two +hundred and ninety-two pounds more before Mr. Dorgan will discharge +her away from the side-show." + +"And at the rate she is wearing herself away," said Mr. Medderbrook, +"that will be in about ten years! What interests me more is that the +telegram came collect and cost me forty cents. If you want to do the +square thing, Mr. Gubb, you'll pay me twenty cents for your share of +that telegram." + +Mr. Gubb immediately gave Mr. Medderbrook twenty cents and Mr. +Medderbrook kindly allowed him to keep the telegram. Mr. Gubb placed +it in the pocket nearest his heart and proceeded to a house on Tenth +Street where he had a job of paper-hanging. + +At about this same time Smith Wittaker, the Riverbank Marshal--or +Chief of Police, as he would have been called in a larger +city--knocked the ashes from his pipe against the edge of his +much-whittled desk in the dingy Marshal's room on the ground floor of +the City Hall, and grinned at Mr. Griscom, one of Riverbank's +citizens. + +"Well, I don't know," he said with a grin. "I don't know but what I'd +be glad to be un-burgled like that. I guess it was just somebody +playing a joke on you." + +"If it was," said Mr. Griscom, "I am ready to do a little joking +myself. I'm just enough of a joker to want to see whoever it was in +jail. My house is my house--it is my castle, as the saying is--and I +don't want strangers wandering in and out of it, whether they come to +take away my property, or leave property that is not mine. Is there, +or is there not, a law against such things as happened at my house?" + +"Oh, there's a law all right," said Marshal Wittaker. "It's burglary, +whether the burglar breaks into your house or breaks out of it. How do +you know he broke out?" + +"Well, my wife and I went to the Riverbank Theater last night," said +Mr. Griscom, "and when I got home and went to put the key in the +keyhole, there was another key in it. Here are the two keys." + +Marshal Wittaker took the two keys and examined them. One was an old +doorkey, much worn, and the other a new key, evidently the work of an +amateur key-maker. + +"All right," said Marshal Wittaker, when he had examined the keys. +"This new one was made out of an old spoon. Go ahead." + +"We never had a key like that in the house," said Mr. Griscom. "But +when we reached home last night, this nickel-silver key was sticking +in the lock of the front door, on the outside, and the door was +unlocked and standing ajar." + +"Just as if some one had gone in at the front door and left it +unlocked," said Mr. Wittaker. + +"Exactly!" said Mr. Griscom. "So the first thing we thought was +'Burglars!' and the first place my wife looked was the sideboard, in +the dining-room, and there--" + +"Yes," said Mr. Wittaker. "There, on the sideboard, were a dozen solid +silver spoons you had never seen before." + +"And marked with my wife's initials--understand!" said Mr. Griscom. +"And the cellar window--the one on the east side of the house--had +been broken out of." + +"Why not broken into?" asked the Marshal. + +"Well, I'm not quite a fool," said Mr. Griscom with some heat. "I know +because of the marks his jimmy made on the sill." + +"Some one has been playing a joke on you," said Mr. Wittaker. "You +wait, and you'll see. You won't be offended if I ask you a question?" + +"My wife knows no more about it than I do," said Mr. Griscom hotly. + +"Now, now," said Mr. Wittaker soothingly. "I didn't mean that. What +are your own spoons, solid or plated?" + +"Plated," said Mr. Griscom. + +"Well," said Mr. Wittaker, "there's where to look for the joke. Try to +think who would consider it a joke to send you solid silver spoons." + +"Billy Getz!" exclaimed Mr. Griscom, mentioning the town joker. + +"That's the man I had in mind," said Mr. Wittaker. "Now, I guess you +can handle this alone, Mr. Griscom." + +"I guess I can," agreed Mr. Griscom. And he went out. + +The Marshal chuckled. + +"Un-burgled!" he said to himself. "That's a new one for sure! That's +the sort of burglary to set Philo Gubb, the un-detective, on." + +He was still grinning as he went out, but he tried to hide the grin +when he met Billy Getz on Main Street. Billy uttered a hasty "Can't +stop now, Wittaker!" but the head of the Riverbank police grasped his +arm. + +"What's your rush? I've got some fun for you," said Wittaker. + +"Some other time," said Billy. "I just borrowed this from Doc Mortimer +and promised to take it back quick." + +"What is it?" asked the Marshal, gazing at the curious affair Billy +had in his hands. It looked very much like a coffeepot, and on the lid +was a wheel, like a small tin windmill. Just below the lid, and above +the spout, was a hole as large as a dime. + +"Lung-tester," said Billy, trying to pull away. "Let me go, will you, +Wittaker? I'm in a hurry. Just borrowed it to settle a bet with Sam +Simmons. I show two pounds more lung pressure than he does. Twenty-six +pounds." + +"You?" scoffed Wittaker. "I bet I can show twenty-eight, if you can +show twenty-six." + +"Oh, well! I suppose I can't get away until baby tries the new toy. +But hurry up, will you?" + +The Marshal put his lips to the spout and blew. Instantly, from the +hole under the lid, a great cloud of flour shot out, covering his face +and head, and deluging his garments. From up and down the street came +shouts of joy, and the Marshal, brushing at his face, grinned. + +"One on me, Billy," he said, good-naturedly, patting the flour out of +his hair, "and just when I was coming to put you onto some fun, too. +What do you know about the Griscom un-burglary?" + +"Not a thing!" Billy said. "Tell me." + +"I didn't expect you would know anything about it," said the Marshal +with a wink. "But how about putting Correspondence School Detective +Gubb onto the job?" + +"Fine!" said Billy. "Tell me what the un-burgled Griscom thing is, and +I'll do the rest." + +Billy found Philo Gubb at work in the house on Tenth Street, hanging +paper on the second floor, and the lank detective looked at Billy +solemnly as the story of the Griscom affair was explained to him. + +"When I started in takin' lessons from the Rising Sun Deteckative +Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating," said Mr. Gubb +solemnly, "I aimed to do a strictly retail business in deteckating, +and let the wholesale alone." + +"Seeing that you learned by mail," said Billy Getz, "I should think +you'd be better fitted to do a mail-order business." + +"Them terms of retail and wholesale is my own," said Mr. Gubb. + +"You don't believe anybody would un-burgle a house, I guess," said +Billy. + +"Yes, I do," Philo Gubb said. "A fellow can tie a knot, or he can +un-tie it, can't he? He can hitch a horse, or he can un-hitch it. And +if a man can burgle, he can un-burgle. A mercenary burglar would +naturally burgle things out of a house after he had burgled himself +in, but a generous-hearted burglar would just as naturally un-burgle +things into a house and then un-burgle himself out. That stands to +reason." + +"Of course it does," said Billy Getz. "And I knew you would see it +that way." + +"I see things reasonable," said Philo Gubb. "But I guess I won't take +up the case; un-burgling ain't no common crime. It ain't mentioned in +the twelve lessons I got from the Rising Sun Correspondence School. I +wouldn't hardly know how to go about catching an un-burglar--" + +"Just do the opposite from what it says to do to catch a burglar," +said Billy Getz. "Common sense would tell you that, wouldn't it? But, +listen, Mr. Gubb: I'd let Wittaker catch his own burglars. The reason +I ask you to take this case is because I know you have a good heart." + +"It's good, but it's hard," said Philo Gubb. "A deteckative has to +have a hard heart." + +"All right! Here is this man, un-burgling houses. For all we know he +is honest and upright," said Billy Getz. "He continues un-burgling +houses. The habit grows. Each house he un-burgles tempts him to +un-burgle two. Each set of spoons he leaves in a house tempts him to +leave two sets in the next house, or four sets, or a solid silver +punch-bowl. In a short time he wipes out his little fortune. He +borrows. He begs. At last he steals! In order to un-burgle one house +he burgles another. He leads a dual life, a sort of Jekyll-Hyde +life--" + +"But what if I caught him?" said Mr. Gubb. + +"Oh, you won't catch--I mean, we will leave that to you. Frighten him +out of the un-burgling habit. I'll tell Marshal Wittaker you will get +on the trail?" + +"Yes," said Philo Gubb. "I feel sorry for the feller. Maybe he's +lettin' his wife and children suffer for food whilst he un-burgles +away his substance." + +"Then," said Billy Getz, taking up his lung-tester, "suppose you stop +in at the Marshal's office to-night at eight-thirty. Wittaker will +tell you all about it." + +Philo Gubb waited until Billy was well out of the house, and then he +said: "He done it, and I know he done it, and he done it to make a +fool out of me, but I guess I owe Billy Getz a scare, and if I can +prove that un-burglary onto him, he'll get the scare all right!" + +Detective Gubb, when it was time to go to the Marshal's office, pinned +his large nickel-plated star on his vest, put three false beards in +his pocket, and went. + +The Marshal received him cordially. Billy Getz was there. + +"You understand," said Wittaker, "I have nothing to do with putting +you on this case. But I want to ask you to report to me every +evening." + +"I could write out a docket," said Philo Gubb. "That's what them +French deteckatives did always." + +"Good idea!" said Wittaker. "Write out a docket, and bring it in every +night. Now, I'll go over this Griscom case, so you'll understand how +to go at it. Here, for instance, is the house--" + +The clock on the Marshal's desk marked ten before they were aware. +Billy had arisen from his chair, for he had a poker game waiting for +him at the Kidders' Club, when the telephone bell rang. The Marshal +drew the 'phone toward him. + +"Yes!" he said, into the telephone. "Yes, this is Marshal Wittaker. +Mr. Millbrook? Yes, I know--765 Locust Avenue. Broken into? What? Oh, +broken out of! While you were out at dinner. Yes. Opened the front +door with a key. Yes. What kind of a key, Mr. Millbrook? Thin, +nickel-silver key. Nothing taken? What's that? Left a dozen solid +silver spoons engraved with your wife's initials? I see. And broke out +through a cellar window. Yes, I understand. No, it doesn't seem +possible, but such things have happened. I'll send--" + +He looked around, but Philo Gubb, who had heard the name and address, +was already gone. + +"I'll attend to it at once," he concluded, and hung up the receiver. +He turned to Billy Getz. "Billy," he said severely, "is this another +of your jokes?" + +"Wittaker," said Billy, "I give you my word I had nothing to do with +this." + +"Well, I'll believe you," said Wittaker rather reluctantly. "I thought +it was you. Who do you suppose is trying to take the honor of town +cut-up from you?" + +"I can't imagine," said Billy. "Are you going to leave the thing in +Gubb's hands?" + +"That mail-order detective? Not much! It is getting serious. I'll send +Purcell up to look the ground over. A man can't make nickel-silver +keys, and break out of houses and leave engraved spoons and forks +around without leaving plenty of traces. We'll have the man to-morrow, +and give him a good scare." + +Detective Gubb in the meanwhile had gone directly to Mr. Millbrook's +un-burgled house at 765 Locust Avenue. Mr. Millbrook, a short, stout +man with a husky voice that gurgled when he was excited, opened the +door. + +"I'm Deteckative Gubb, of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's +Correspondence School of Deteckating, come to see about your +un-burglary," said Philo Gubb, opening his coat to show his badge. +"This is a most peculiar case." + +"I never heard anything like it in my life!" gurgled Mr. Millbrook. +"Didn't take a thing. Left a dozen spoons. Came in at the front door +and broke out through the cellar window." + +"How long have you been married?" asked Mr. Gubb, seating himself on +the edge of a chair and drawing out a notebook and pencil. + +"Married? Married? What's that got to do with it?" asked Mr. +Millbrook. "Twenty years next June, if you want to know." + +"That makes it a difficult case," said Philo Gubb. "If you was a bride +and a groom it would be easier, but I guess maybe you can tell me the +names of some of the folks you've had to dinner." + +"Dinner?" gurgled Mr. Millbrook. "Dinner? When?" + +"Since you were married," said Mr. Gubb. + +"My dear man," exclaimed Mr. Millbrook, "we've had thousands to +dinner! Dining out and giving dinners is our favorite amusement. I +can't see what you mean. I can't understand you." + +"Well, you got plated spoons and forks, ain't you?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"What if we have?" gurgled Mr. Millbrook. "That's our affair, ain't +it?" + +"It's my affair too," said Detective Gubb. "Mr. Griscom's house was +un-burgled last night, and he had plated spoons. The un-burglar left +solid ones on him, like he did on you. Now, I reason induc-i-tively, +like Sherlock Holmes. You both got plated spoons. An un-burglar leaves +you solid ones. So he must have known you had plated ones and needed +solid ones. So it must be some one who has had dinner with you." + +"My dear man," gurgled Mr. Millbrook, "we never have had a plated +spoon in this house! Who sent you here, anyway?" + +"Nobody," said Philo Gubb. "I come of myself." + +"Well, you can go of yourself!" gurgled Mr. Millbrook angrily. +"There's the door. Get out!" + +On his way out Mr. Gubb met Patrolman Purcell coming in. + +[Illustration: "WHO SENT YOU HERE, ANYWAY?"] + +Detective Gubb, outside the house, examined the cellar window as well +as he could. There was not a mark to be seen from the outside, but a +pansy-bed bore the marks of the un-burglar's exit. To get out of the +cellar, the un-burglar had had to wiggle himself out of the small +window, and had crushed the pansies flat. Detective Gubb felt +carefully among the crushed pansies, and his hand found something hard +and round. It was the drumstick bone of a chicken's leg. Detective +Gubb threw it away. Even an un-burglar would not have chosen a +chicken's leg bone as a weapon. Evidently Billy Getz had not left any +clue in the pansy-bed. + +Philo Gubb had no doubt that Billy was putting up a joke on him. The +detective decided that his best method would be to shadow Billy Getz +from sundown each day, until he caught him un-burgling another house, +or found something to connect him with the un-burglaries. So he went +home. It was eleven when he began to undress. + +It was then he first realized that the knees of his light trousers +were damp from kneeling in the pansy-bed, and he looked at them +ruefully. The knees were stained like Joseph's coat of many colors, +and they were his best trousers. He hung them carefully over the back +of his chair, and went to bed. + +The next morning he rolled the trousers in a bundle and took them with +him on his way to his paper-hanging job. On Main Street he stopped at +Frank the Tailor's--"Pants Cleaned and Pressed, 35 Cents." He unrolled +the trousers and laid them across the counter. + +"Can you remove those stains?" he asked. + +"Oh, sure I couldt!" said Frank. "I make me no droubles by dot, Mister +Gupp. Shust dis morning alretty I didt it der same ding. You fall ofer +der vire too, yes?" + +"Certainly. I expect it was the same wire. Into a flower-bed." + +"Chess," said Frank. "Like Misder Vestcote, yes? Cudding across der +corner, yes, und didn't see der vire?" + +"That so?" said Detective Gubb. "You don't mean old Mr. Westcote, do +you?" + +"Sure, yes!" said Frank. "He falls by der flower-bed in, und stains +his knees alretty, shust like dot. Vell, I have me dese pants retty by +you dis efenings. You vant dem pressed too?" + +"Press 'em, an' clean 'em, an' make 'em nice," said Philo Gubb, and +went out. + +[Illustration: UNDER HIS ARM HE CARRIED A SMALL BUNDLE] + +Old John Westcote, and pansy stains on his trouser knees, was it? The +thing seemed impossible, but so did un-burglary, for that matter. Old +John Westcote was one of the richest men in Riverbank. He was a +retired merchant and as mean as sin. He was the last man in Riverbank +any one would suspect of leaving spoons and forks in other people's +houses. But how did it come that he had pansy stains on the knees of +his trousers? Philo Gubb thought of old John Westcote all day, and +toward night he hit on a solution. Wedding presents! From what he had +heard, old John was--or had been--the sort of man to accept a wedding +invitation, go to the reception and eat his fill, and never send the +bride so much as a black wire hairpin. And now, grown old, his +conscience might be hurting him. He might be in that semi-senile state +when restitution becomes a craze, and the ungiven wedding presents +might press upon his conscience. It was not at all unlikely that he +had chosen the un-burglary method of giving the presents at this +late date. The form of the un-burgled goods--forks and spoons--and the +initials engraved upon them, made this more likely. + +That night Detective Gubb did not report in person or by docket to +Marshal Wittaker. At seven o'clock he was hiding in the hazel brush +opposite old John Westcote's lonely house on Pottex Lane. At +seven-fifteen the old man tottered from his gate and tottered down the +lane toward the more thickly settled part of the town. Under his arm +he carried a small bundle--a bundle wrapped in newspaper! + +Detective Gubb waited until the old man was well in advance, and then +slipped from the hazel brush and followed him, observing all the rules +for Shadowing and Trailing as taught by the Rising Sun Detective +Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting. For three hours the old +man wandered the streets. Now he walked along Main Street, peering +anxiously into the faces of the pedestrians, with purblind eyes, and +now walking the residence streets. Detective Gubb kept close behind. + +As ten o'clock struck from the clock in the High School tower, old +John Westcote quickened his steps a little and walked toward the +opposite end of the town, where the lumber-yards are. Down the hill +into the lumber district he walked, and Detective Gubb dodged from +tree to tree. Halfway down the hill the old man hesitated. He glanced +around. At his side was a mass of lilac bushes, seeming strangely out +of place among the huge piles of lumber. Without stopping, the old man +let the bundle slide from under his arm and fall on the walk. For a +moment it lay like a white spot on the walk, and then it moved rapidly +out of sight into the bushes. + +Bundles do not move thus, unless assisted, but Philo Gubb was too far +away to see the hand he knew must have reached out for the bundle. He +ran rapidly, keeping in the sawdust that formed the unfruitful soil of +the lumber-yard, until he dared come no nearer, and then he climbed to +the top of the tallest lumber-pile and lay flat. He commanded every +side of the hillside lumber-yard, and he did not have long to wait. +From the lower side of the yard he saw a black figure emerge, cross +the street and disappear over the bank into the railway switch-yard +below. Mr. Gubb scrambled down and followed. + +At the bank above the switch-yard he paused, keeping in a shadow, and +looked here and there. Flat cars and box cars stood on the tracks in +great numbers, most of them closed and sealed--some partly open. He +heard a car door grate as it was closed. He slipped down the bank and +crept on his hands and knees. He was halfway down the line of cars +when he heard a voice. It came from car 7887, C. B. & Q. + +"Run all the breath out of me," said the voice in a wheeze. + +"Well, did you get it?" whispered another voice. + +"Sure I got it! Got something, anyway. Strike a match, Bill, and let's +see if he put up a job on us. If he did, we'll blow him up to-morrow +night, hey?" + +"That's right. We got a can o' powder left under the pile by the +laylocks. How much is it?" + +"We tol' him one thousand, didn't we? Same as he give the Law and +Order to help grab us. Now, listen! You take half of this and go one +way, an' I'll take half an' go the other. We can get away with five +hundred apiece." + +"And we got the five hundred apiece we got for doin' the dynamite job, +too. Say, I never thought to have a thousand dollars at once in me +life. What's that?" + +It was Philo Gubb, slipping the car door latch over the staple and +hammering home the hasp with a rock. It was the engine, backing +against the long row of cars to make a coupling, and then moving +slowly forward toward Derlingport as the heavy train got under way. +The two rascals hammered on the side of the car with their fists. They +swore. They kicked against the doors. Philo Gubb drew himself into the +next open car as the train moved away. + +About the same time, Officer Purcell entered the Marshal's office, +where Wittaker and Billy Getz sat awaiting the coming of Philo Gubb. +Purcell led John Gutman, the town half-wit. + +"I got him," he said proudly. "Caught him comin' out of Sam Wentz's +cellar window. Says he didn't mean no harm. Had a dream he was to +leave spoons on all the society folks an' he'd be invited to all their +parties." + +"Did he fight you?" asked Wittaker. "Your pants is all stained up." + +"Fight? No, he wouldn't fight a sheep. I tripped over a wire fence +cuttin' a corner an' fell into a flower-bed. Got Hail Columbia from +the lady, too. She said old man Westcote fell into the flowers +yesterday, and she didn't mean to have her flower-bed used as no +landin' place. Heard from Detective Gubb yet?" + +Wittaker grinned. "We ought to hear from him soon. And I reckon he'll +be worth waiting to hear from." + +And he was. Word came from him about an hour later. It was a telegram +from the Sheriff of Derling County:-- + + Detective Gubb captured two of the dynamiters to-night. Have + their confession. Arrest Pie-Wagon Pete, Long Sam Underbury, + and Shorty Billings. All implicated. + +"An' the rewards tot up to five thousand dollars," said Officer +Purcell. "Let's hustle out an' nab the other three, an' maybe we can +split it with Gubb." + +"And us sitting here thinking we had a joke on him!" exclaimed Marshal +Wittaker with disgust. "It makes me sick!" + +"Well, I feel a little bilious myself," said Billy Getz. + + + + +THE TWO-CENT STAMP + + +The house in Tenth Street where Philo Gubb was doing a job of +paper-hanging when he made the happy error of capturing the dynamiters +while seeking the un-burglars was the home of Aunt Martha Turner, a +member of the Ladies' Temperance League of Riverbank. + +The members of the Ladies' Temperance League--and Aunt Martha Turner +particularly--had recently begun a movement to have City Attorney +Mullen impeached and thrown out of office, for they claimed that while +he had been elected by the Prohibition-Republican Party, and had +pledged himself to close every saloon, he had not closed one single +saloon. Aunt Martha Turner and her associates believed this was +because Attorney Mullen was himself a drinker of beer, and it was to +get proof of this that the hot-headed ladies had engaged a youth named +Slippery Williams to make a raid on his home. + +Detective Gubb was, however, quite unconscious of all this when he +proceeded to the home of Aunt Martha to complete his work there. He +was in an unhappy frame of mind, for he had in his pocket nothing but +one two-cent stamp and he had immediate need for one hundred dollars. + +Mr. Gubb had, early that morning, visited the home of Mr. +Medderbrook, from whom he hoped to have news of Syrilla, but the +colored butler informed him that Mr. Medderbrook had been called to +Chicago. + +"He done lef word, howsomedever," said the butler, "dat ef you come +an' was willin' to pay thutty cents you could have dis telegraf whut +come from Mis' Syrilla. An' he lef dis note fo' you, whut you can have +whever you pay or not." + +Mr. Gubb quite willingly gave the negro thirty cents, the very last +money he possessed, and read the telegram. It said:-- + + Hope on, hope ever. Have given up wheat bread, corn bread, + rye bread, home-made bread, bakers' bread, biscuit and + rolls. Have lost six pounds more. Love to Gubby. + +This would have sent Mr. Gubb to his work in a happy frame of mind, +had it not been for the note Mr. Medderbrook had left. This note +said:-- + + Called to Chicago suddenly. I must have one hundred dollars + payment on account of the gold stock immediately. Cannot let + my daughter marry a man who puts off paying for gold stock + forever. Unless I hear from you with money to-morrow, all is + over between us. + +Such a letter would have made any lover sad. Mr. Gubb had no idea +where he could raise one hundred dollars during the day and he saw his +promising romance cut short just when Syrilla was beginning to lose +weight handsomely. The greeting he received when he reached Aunt +Martha Turner's was not of a sort to cheer him. Mrs. Turner met him +with a sour face. + +"No, you can't go ahead with puttin' the wall-paper on this kitchen +ceilin' to-day, Mr. Gubb," she said. + +"I'd like to, if I could," said Philo Gubb wistfully. "My financial +condition ain't such as to allow me to waste a day. I'm very low in a +monetary shape, right now." + +Aunt Martha Turner seemed worried. + +"Well," she said reluctantly, "I guess if that's the case you might as +well go ahead. I expect I'll have to be out of the house 'most all +day. If you get done before I get back, lock the kitchen door and put +the key behind a shutter." + +She departed, and Philo Gubb set up his trestle, unrolled and trimmed +a strip of ceiling-paper, pasted it, and climbed his ladder. At the +top he seated himself a moment and shook his head. + +He sighed and picked up the paste-covered strip of ceiling-paper, but +before he could get to his feet the kitchen door opened and "Snooks" +Turner put his head in cautiously. + +"Say, Gubb, where's Aunt Martha?" he asked in a whisper. + +"She's gone out," said Philo Gubb. "She won't be back for quite some +time, I guess, Snooksy." + +"Good!" said Snooks, and he entered the kitchen. Some weeks before he +had met Nan Kilfillan. He was deeply in love with Nan, and Nan was a +good girl, although Aunt Martha Turner did not approve of her, because +she was "hired girl" to City Attorney Mullen. Before she had met +Snooks Nan had done her best to "make something" of "Slippery" +Williams, who was courting her then, but that task was beyond even +Nan's powers. + +Snooks held a job on the "Eagle" as city reporter, with the dignified +title of City Editor, and he was making good. He got the news. He +seemed able to smell news. When there was big news in the air he would +become uneasy and feel nervous. + +"I got the twitches again," he would say to the editor of the "Eagle." +"There's some big item around. I've got to get it." And he would get +it. + +"She's gone out, has she?" said Snooks, when he had entered his aunt's +kitchen and asked Philo Gubb about Aunt Martha. "That's good. I wanted +to see you on a matter of business--detective business." + +He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small roll of bills. He +was not the usually neat Snooks. One eye was blackened and one side of +his face was scratched. His clothes were badly torn and soiled. He +looked as if some one had tried to murder him. + +"There!" he said, holding the bills up to Philo Gubb after counting +them. "There's twenty-five dollars. You take that and find out what I +have done, and what's the matter with me, and all about it." + +"What do you want me to find out?" asked Mr. Gubb, fondling the bills. + +"If I knew, I wouldn't ask you," said Snooks peevishly. "I don't know +what it is. I'd go and find out myself, but I'm in jail." + +"Where did you say you was?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"In jail," said Snooks. "I'm in jail, and I'm in bad. When the marshal +put me in last night I gave him my word I'd stay in all day to-day, +and it ain't right for me to be here now. + +"'Dog-gone you, Snooks!' he says, 'you ain't got no consideration for +me at all. Here I figgered that there wouldn't be no wave of crime +strike town for some days, and I went and took the jail door down to +the blacksmith to have a panel put in where the one rusted out, and my +wife made me promise to drive out to the farm with her to-morrow, and +now you come and spoil everything. I got to stay in town and watch +you.' + +"'Go on,' I says, 'and take your drive. I'll stay in jail. I got a +strong imagination. I'll imagine there's a door.' + +"'Honor bright?' he says. + +"'Yes, honor bright,' I says. + +"So he went," said Snooks, "and he's trusting me, and here I am. You +can see it wouldn't do for me to be running all over town when, by +rights, I'm locked and barred and bolted in jail. I'm locked and +barred and bolted in jail, and well started on my way to the +penitentiary as a burglar." + +"As a burglar!" exclaimed Gubb. + +"That's it!" said Snooks. "I can't see head or tail of it. You got to +help me out, Gubb. See if you can make any sense of this:-- + +"Last night I went out for a walk with Nan. She's my girl, you know, +and she's going to marry me. Maybe she won't now, but she was going +to. She works for Mullen. We got back to Mullen's house about eleven +o'clock, and Mrs. Mullen always locks the door at half-past ten, +whether Nan is in or not. So, being late, we had to ring the doorbell, +and Mr. Mullen came to the door to let Nan in, and when he saw I was +with her he shook hands with me and asked me to come in and have a +cigar, and sit awhile, but I told him I had to hustle up some news for +to-day's paper, and he let me go. That's how pleasant he was. So I +went downtown, and the first fellow I met was Sammy Wilmerton." + +"Widow Wilmerton's boy?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Exactly!" said Snooks, feeling his eye with his finger. "And he says, +'Snooks, did you hear what the Ladies' Temperance League did last +night?' I hadn't heard. 'I heard ma say,' says Sammy, 'but don't say I +told you. They got up a petition to have City Attorney Mullen +impeached by the City Council.' + +"Well, that was news! I went into the 'Eagle' office and called up +Mullen. + +"'Hello! Is that Attorney Mullen?' I says. + +"'Yes,' he says. + +"'Well, something happened last night,' I says, 'and I'd like to see +you about it.' + +"'How do you know what happened?' he says. + +"'No matter,' I says; 'can I come up?' + +"After a half a minute he says, 'Oh, yes! Come up. Come right away. +I'll be waiting for you.' + +"So I went." + +"Nothing strange about that," said Philo Gubb, shifting himself on the +ladder. + +"So I went," continued Snooks. "I rang the doorbell and, the moment it +rang, the door flew open and--_bliff!_--down came a bed-blanket over +me and somebody grabbed me in his arms and lugged me into the house. I +guess it was Attorney Mullen--you know how big and husky he is. But I +couldn't see him. I couldn't see anything. Only, every two seconds, +bump! he hit at my head through the blanket. That's how I got this +eye. And, all the time, he was talking to me, mad as a hatter, and I +couldn't hear a word he said. But I could hear his wife screaming at +the top of the stairs, and I could hear Nan screaming, and I heard a +window go up. + +"'Stop that yelling!' says Mullen, in a voice I _could_ hear, and then +he picked me up again and carried me to the back door, and opened it +and threw me all the way down the eight steps. I chucked off the +blanket, and I was going up the steps again, to show him he couldn't +treat me that way, when--_bing!_--somebody next door took a shot at me +with a revolver. Thought I was a burglar, I guess. I started to run +for the back gate, when--_bing!_--somebody shot at me from the other +house. What do you think of that? For a few minutes it sounded like +the battle of San Juan, and I can't understand yet why I didn't suffer +an awful loss of life." + +"But you didn't?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"No, siree! I made a dive for the cellar door, just as they got the +range. I stayed in the cellarway, with the bullets pattering on it +like hail, until the cop came. Tim Fogarty was the cop. He ordered +'Cease firing!' and the shower stopped, and I let him capture me. He +took me to the calaboose, and this morning, early, he had me before +the judge, and I'm held for the grand jury, and the charge is burglary +and petit larceny. Now what is the answer?" + +"Being pulled into a house and thrown out the other door isn't +burglary," said Philo Gubb. "Burglary is breaking in or breaking out. +Maybe Attorney Mullen mistook you for some one else." + +"Mistook nothing!" said Snooks. "He was in the court-room this +morning. He handled the case against me. Who is that?" + +Some one was climbing the back steps, and Snooks made one dive for the +cellar door, and slipped inside. He knew how to get out through the +cellar, for he was familiar with it. He did not wait now, but opened +the outside cellar door, and after looking to see that the way was +clear, hurried back to the jail. + +Philo Gubb did not have time to descend from his ladder before the +kitchen door opened. The visitor was Policeman Fogarty. + +"Mawrnin'!" he said, removing his hat and wiping the sweat-band with +his red handkerchief. "Don't ye get down, Misther Gubb, sor. I want +but a wurrd with ye. I seen Snooksy Tur-rner here but a sicond ago, me +lookin' in at the windy, an' you an' him conversin'. Mayhap he was +speakin' t' ye iv his arrist?" + +"He was conversing with me of that occurrence," said Philo Gubb. "He +was consulting me in my professional capacity." + +"An' a fine young lad he is!" said Policeman Fogarty, reaching into +his pocket. "I got th' divvil for arristin' him. 'Twas that dark, ye +see, Misther Gubb, I cud not see who I was arristin'. Maybe he was +consultin' ye about gettin' clear iv th' charge ag'inst him?" + +"He retained my deteckative services," said Philo Gubb. + +"Poor young man!" said Fogarty. "I'll warrant he has none too much +money. Me hear-rt bleeds for him. Ye'll have no ind iv trailin' an' +shadowin' an' other detective wurrk to do awn th' case, no doubt. 'Tis +ixpinsive wurrk, that! I was thinkin' maybe ye'd permit me t' +contribute a five-dollar bill t' th' wurrk, for I'm that sad t' have +had a hand in arristin' him." + +Fogarty held up the bill and Philo Gubb took it. + +"Contingent expenses are always numerously present in deteckative +operations," he said. + +"Right ye ar-re!" said Fogarty. "An' ye'll remimber, if anny wan asks +ye, that I ixprissed me contrition for arristin' Snooksy. Whist!" he +said, putting his hand alongside his mouth and whispering: "Some wan +wanted me t' search th' house here t' see did Snooksy have sivin +bottles iv beer an' a silver beer-opener in his room." + +Philo Gubb sat on the ladder and contemplated the five-dollar bill +until he heard Fogarty returning. + +"Hist!" Fogarty said. "I did not see him, mind ye!" + +Fogarty slipped out of the back door and was gone, and Philo Gubb, +after a thoughtful moment, decided that the five-dollar bill was +rightfully his, and slipped it into his pocket. To earn it, however, +he must get to work on the case. He raised the pasted strip of paper, +but before he could place the loose end on the ceiling, some one +tapped at the kitchen door. + +"Come in!" he called, and the door opened. + +"Slippery" Williams glided into the room. His crafty eyes sought Philo +Gubb. + +"'Lo, Gubby! Watcha doin' up there? Where's Miss Turner?" he asked. + +"Miss Turner is out on business, I presume," said the Correspondence +School detective coldly, "and I am pursuing my professional duties in +the deteckating line." + +"Yar, hey?" said Slippery. "Who you detectin' for now?" + +"Snooks Turner," said Philo Gubb. "I'm solving a case for him." + +Instantly Slippery's manner changed. From rough he became smooth. From +bold he became cringing. + +"Why, I'm Snooksy's friend," he said. "You know me and Snooksy was +always chums, don't you, Gubby? Yes, sir, I think a lot of Snooksy. He +says, 'Slippery, you go up to my room and get me a bundle of clean +clothes--these are all torn and dirty, and--' Well, I guess I'll get +'em, and get back. Snooks is waitin' for me." + +He turned to the hall, but Philo Gubb called him back. + +"You can't go up there," said Philo Gubb, from his ladder-top. +"There's been enough folks up there already." + +"Who was up?" asked Slippery hastily. + +"Policeman Fogarty was," said Philo Gubb. + +"What'd he find up there?" asked Slippery anxiously. + +"Nothin'," said Philo Gubb. "He told me he couldn't find seven bottles +of beer and a beer-opener." + +"Look here!" said Slippery sweetly. "If I gave you five dollars to +hire you to hunt for them, could you find them seven bottles of beer +and that beer-opener, for me? Straight detective work? Could you?" + +"I could try to find them," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, that's all I want," said Slippery. "I don't want to do nothin' +with them. All I want to know is--where are they? Here's five +dollars." + +Philo Gubb took the money. + +"All right," said Slippery, "now, you find them. They're upstairs in +Mrs. Turner's bed, between the quilt and the mattress. Go find them." + +"Not until Miss Turner comes home," said Philo firmly. "It's her +house." + +"Why, you long-legged stork you!" said Slippery, "she knows I'm here +for that beer. She sent me." + +"I thought you said Snooks sent you for his clothes," said Philo. + +"Never you mind who sent me for what!" said Slippery, angrily. "You're +a dandy detective, ain't you? Sittin' on top of a ladder, and not +lettin' a friend of Snooks help him out. Say, listen, Gubby! +Everybody's goin' to get into worse trouble if I don't get away with +that beer. Understand? Come on! Let me take it away!" + +"When Miss Turner comes back!" said Philo Gubb. + +A new knock on the door interrupted them, and Slippery glided to the +cellar door, through which Snooks had so recently fled. The kitchen +door opened to admit Attorney Smith. He was a thin man, but +intelligent-looking, as thin men quite frequently are. + +"Don't get down, Mr. Gubb, don't get down!" he said. "I came in the +back way, hoping to find Miss Turner. She is not here?" + +"She's out," said Philo. + +"Too bad!" said Attorney Smith. "I wanted to see her about her nephew. +You have heard he is in jail?" + +"Why, yes," said Philo, crossing one leg over the other. "He hired me +to do some deteckating. I'm sort of in charge of that case. I'm just +going to start in looking it up." + +Attorney Smith took a turn to the end of the room and back. He was +known in Riverbank as the unsuccessful competitor against Attorney +Mullen for the City Attorneyship, and was supposed to be the counselor +of the liquor interests. + +"You have done nothing yet?" he asked suddenly, stopping below Philo +Gubb's elevated seat. + +"No, I'm just about beginning to commence," said Philo. + +"Then you know nothing regarding the--the articles young Turner is +charged with stealing?" + +"Well, maybe I do know something about that," said Philo. "If you mean +seven bottles of beer and a beer-opener, I do." + +"Where are they?" asked Attorney Smith in the sharp tone he used in +addressing a witness for the other side when he was trying a case. + +"I guess I've told about all I'm going to tell about them," said Philo +thoughtfully. "I don't want to be disobliging, Mister Smith, but I +look on them bottles of beer as a clue, and that beer-opener as a +clue, and they're about the only clue I've got. I got to save up my +clues." + +"Are they in this house?" asked Mr. Smith sharply. + +"If they ain't, they're somewheres else," said Philo. + +"Mr. Gubb," said Mr. Smith impressively "there are large interests +at stake in this case. Larger interests than you imagine. We are +all interested at this moment in clearing your client of the +suspicion--which I hope is an unjust suspicion--now resting over and +upon him. I need not say what the interests are, but they are very +powerful. I feel confident that those interests could succeed in +clearing Snooks Turner." + +"Well, I guess, if I was left alone long enough to get down from this +ladder, I could clear him myself. I didn't study in the Rising Sun +Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating for +nothing," said Philo Gubb. "Snooks hired me--" + +"And he did well!" said Attorney Smith heartily. "I praise his acumen. +I wonder if I might be permitted, on behalf of the powerful interests +I represent, to contribute to the expense of the work you will do?" + +"I guess you might," said Philo Gubb. "Deteckating runs into money." + +"The interests I represent," said Mr. Smith, taking out his wallet, +"will contribute ten dollars." + +And they did. They put a crisp ten-dollar bill in Philo Gubb's hands. + +"And now, having shown our unity of interest with young Mr. Turner, +there can be no harm in telling us where that beer is, can there?" + +He turned toward the kitchen door--for Nan Kilfillan stood there. Her +eyes were red and swollen. Attorney Smith hastily excused himself and +went away, and Nan came into the kitchen. + +"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she exclaimed. "You _will_ get Snooks out of jail, +won't you? It would break my heart if he was sent to the penitentiary, +and I _know_ he has done nothing wrong! He is depending on you, Mr. +Gubb. I brought you ten dollars--it is all I have left of last month's +wages, but it will help a little, won't it?" + +"Thank you," said Philo Gubb, taking the money. "I cannot estimate in +advance what the cost of his clearance will be. It may be more, and it +may be less. It is a complicated case. I am just about going to get +down from this ladder and start working on it vigorously. If you--" + +He stopped. + +"If you wish to help us in this case, Miss Kilfillan," he said, "will +you go to the jail and ask Snooks where is the beer and the +beer-opener?" + +"Where is--" Her face went white. "What beer and what beer-opener?" +she asked tensely. + +"Seven bottles and a beer-opener," said Philo Gubb. + +"Oh!" she moaned. "And he said he didn't do it! He swore he didn't do +it! Oh, Snooks, how could you--how could you!" + +"Now, don't you weep like that," said Philo Gubb soothingly. "You go +and ask him. I'll have my things ready for my immediate departure onto +the case by the time you get back." + +Nan hurried away, and Philo Gubb waited only to count the money he had +so far received. It amounted to fifty-five dollars. He slipped it into +his pocket and stood up on the stepladder. He had even proceeded so +far as to put one foot on a lower step, when Mrs. Wilmerton entered +the kitchen. + +She was a stout woman, and she was almost out of breath. She had to +stand a minute before she could speak, but as she stood she made +gestures with her hands, as if _that_ much of her delivery could be +given, at any rate, and the words might catch up with their +appropriate gestures if they could. + +"Mister Gubb! Mister Gubb!" she gasped. "Oh, this is terrible! +Terrible! Miss Turner should never have dared it! Oh, my breath! Do +you--do you know where the beer is?" + +"I wouldn't advise you to take beer for shortness of the breath," said +Philo Gubb. "Just rest a minute." + +"But," gasped poor Mrs. Wilmerton, "I _told_ Miss Turner it was folly! +She's so stubborn! Ah--h! I thought I'd never get a full breath again +as long as I lived. How can we get rid of the beer?" + +[Illustration: SHE MADE GESTURES WITH HER HANDS] + +"There's plenty want to take it," said Mr. Gubb. "Attorney Smith--" + +"Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" moaned Mrs. Wilmerton. "He threatened it!" + +"Threatened what?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"That he would find the beer in this house!" cried Mrs. Wilmerton. "He +threatened Aunt Martha that if she did not give it to him freely, he +would have it found here, and make a scandal! Beer hidden between the +quilt and the mattress of Aunt Martha's bed, and she Secretary of the +Ladies' Temperance League! It's awful! Martha is so headstrong! She's +getting herself in an awful fix! She never should have had a thing to +do with that Slippery fellow!" + +"With who? With Slippery Williams?" asked Philo Gubb, intensely +surprised. "Aunt Martha Turner? What did she have to do with Slippery +Williams?" + +"Well, she had plenty, and enough, and more than that to do with him," +said Mrs. Wilmerton angrily. "Getting bottles of beer in her bed, and +robbing houses at her time of life, and wanting the Ladies' Temperance +League to have a special meeting this morning to approve of burglary +and larceny! At her age!" + +"Now, Miss Wilmerton," said Philo Gubb, from the top of the ladder, +"I'd ought to warn you, before you go any farther, that Snooks Turner +has engaged me and my services to detect for him in this burglar +case. If Aunt Martha Turner burgled the burglary that Snooks is in +jail for, maybe you ought not say anything about it to me. I got to do +what I can to free Snooksy, no matter who it gets into trouble." + +"Mr. Gubb!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton suddenly--"Mr. Gubb, I'm not +authorized so to do, but I'll warrant I'll get the other ladies to +authorize, or I'll know why. If I was to give you twenty dollars on +behalf of the Ladies' Temperance League to help get Snooksy out of +jail,--and land only knows why he is in jail,--would you be so kind as +to beg and plead with Snooksy to leave Attorney Mullen alone, in the +'Eagle,' after this?" + +She held four five-dollar bills up to Philo Gubb, and he took them. + +"From what I saw of his eye," said Mr. Gubb, "I guess Snooks will be +willing to leave Attorney Mullen alone in every shape and form from +now on. Now, maybe you can tell me how Snooks got into this business." + +"I haven't the slightest idea in the world!" said Mrs. Wilmerton. "All +I know about it is--" + +Both Mrs. Wilmerton and Philo Gubb turned their heads toward the door. +The greater duskiness of the kitchen was caused by the large form of +City Attorney Mullen. He bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Wilmerton, who +turned bright red with embarrassment, probably because of her part in +the efforts of the League to have Mr. Mullen impeached by the City +Council. Attorney Mullen was not, however, embarrassed. + +"I am glad you are here, Mrs. Wilmerton," he said, "for I wish a +witness. I do not wish to have any stigma of bribery rest on me. I +came here," he continued, taking a leather purse from the inner pocket +of his coat, "to give these twenty-five dollars to Mr. Gubb. Mr. Gubb, +I have just visited Snooks--so called--Turner at the jail. I went +there with the intention of bailing him out, pending the simple +process of his ultimate and speedy release from the charges against +him. I am convinced that I was wrong when I made the charge of +burglary against him. I am convinced that no burglary was ever +committed on my premises--" + +"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton. "Not even seven bottles of beer and a +beer-opener, I suppose!" + +Attorney Mullen turned on her like a flash. + +"What do you know about beer and beer-openers?" he snapped. + +"I may not know as much as Detective Gubb, but I know what I know!" +she answered, and Mr. Mullen restrained himself sufficiently to hide +the glare of hatred in his eyes by turning to Philo Gubb. + +"Exactly!" he said with forced calmness. "And perhaps I know more +about them than Mr. Gubb knows. In fact, I do know more about them. I +know they are upstairs between a blanket and a mattress. I know, Mrs. +Wilmerton," he almost shouted, turning on her with an accusing +forefinger, "that they were stolen from a house in this town by some +one representing the Ladies' Temperance League. I know that burglary +was committed by, or at the behest of, some one representing the +Ladies' Temperance League! I know that, if this matter is carried to +the end, a respectable old lady--a leader in the Ladies' Temperance +League--will go behind the bars, sentenced as a burglar! That's what I +know!" + +"Oh, my!" gasped Mrs. Wilmerton, and sank into a chair. + +"Now, then!" said Attorney Mullen, turning to Philo Gubb again, and +handing him the twenty-five dollars, "I give you this money as my +share of the fund that is to pay you for the work you do for Snooks +Turner. I make no request, because of the money. It is yours. But if +you love justice, for Heaven's sake, send word to him to come out of +jail!" + +"Won't he come out?" asked Philo Gubb, puzzled. + +"No, he won't!" said Attorney Mullen. "I begged him to, but he said, +'No! Not until Philo Gubb gets to the bottom of this case.' But should +we, as citizens, and as members of the Prohibition Party, permit you, +Mr. Gubb, to land Aunt Martha Turner in the calaboose?" + +"Well, if what I find out, when I get down from this ladder and start +to work, sends her there, I don't see that I can help it," said Philo +Gubb. "Deteckative work is a science, as operated by them that has +studied in the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School +of Deteckating--" + +"Snooks says he don't know anything about any beer," said Nan +Kilfillan, entering hastily, and then pausing, as she saw Mr. Mullen. + +"Did you tell him it was upstairs, in bed?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"In his room? In his bed?" said Attorney Mullen eagerly. "Why, that +puts an entirely different aspect on the matter! That gives me, as +City Attorney, all the proof I shall need to convict the respectable +Miss Martha Turner and her honorable nephew of the 'Eagle.' And, by +the gods! I _will_ convict them!" + +He glared at Mrs. Wilmerton. Nan broke into sobs. + +"Unless," he added gently, "this whole matter is dropped." + +Philo Gubb took out all the money he had received and counted it, +sitting cross-legged on the ladder. + +"I guess," he said thoughtfully, "you had better run up to the jail +and tell Snooksy I want to see him right away, Miss Kilfillan. Maybe +he can stretch the jail that much again. Tell him I'm just going to +get down from this ladder and start to work, and I want to ask his +advice." + +"What do you want to ask him?" inquired Attorney Mullen, as Nan +hurried away. + +"I want to ask him about those seven bottles of beer and that +beer-opener," said Philo Gubb. + +"Mr. Gubb," said the City Attorney, "I can tell you about those +bottles of beer. If those bottles of beer came from my house Aunt +Martha Turner goes to the penitentiary. If she does not go to the +penitentiary, there are no bottles of beer and there is no +beer-opener. And never were!" + +"I told her she had done a foolish, foolish thing!" exclaimed Mrs. +Wilmerton. + +"Just so! And it _was_ foolish," said Attorney Mullen, "_If_ it was +done. And, if it was done, and Snooks Turner telephoned, and I thought +he meant the burglary, I would, naturally, assault him." + +"You hurt him bad," said Philo Gubb. + +"And I meant to!" said Attorney Mullen. + +All turned toward the door, where Policeman Fogarty entered with +Snooksy and Nan. + +"I've done ivrything I cud t' quiet th' matter up," said Fogarty to +Mullen, thus explaining his interest in the affair. + +"I like jail," said Snooks cheerfully. "I'm going to stay in jail." + +Aunt Martha Turner interrupted him. She came into the kitchen like a +gust of wind, scattering the others like leaves, and threw her arms +around her nephew Snooksy. + +"Oh, my Snooksy! My Snooksy!" she moaned. "Don't you love your old +auntie any more? Won't you be a good boy for your poor old auntie? +Don't you love her at all any more?" + +"Sure," said Snooks happily. "A fellow can love you in jail, can't +he?" + +"But won't you come out?" she pleaded. "Everybody wants you to come +out, dear, dear boy. See--they all want you to come out. Every last +one of them. Please come out." + +"Oh, I like it in jail," said Snooks. "It gives me time for +meditation. Well, good-bye, folks, I'll be going back." + +His aunt grasped him firmly by the arm and wailed. So did Nan. + +"But, Snooksy," begged Mrs. Turner, "don't you know they'll send me to +the penitentiary if you go back to that old jail?" + +"Yes, but don't you care, auntie. They say the penitentiary is nicer +than the jail. Better doors. Nobody can break in and steal things from +you." + +"Snooks Turner!" said his aunt. "You know as well as I do that Mr. +Mullen will forgive and forget, if you will. Would you rather see me +go to prison--suffer?" + +"No, of course not, auntie," said Snooks, laughing. "But you see, I've +hired Detective Gubb to work on this case, and if there's no case, it +will not be fair to him. He's all worked up about it. He's so eager to +be at it that he has almost come down from the top of that ladder. In +another day or two he would come all the way down, and then there's +no telling what would happen. No, I'm a newspaper man. I want Philo +Gubb to discover something we don't know anything about." + +"I might start in trailing and shadowing somebody that hasn't anything +to do with this case," suggested Philo Gubb. "That wouldn't discommode +none of you folks, and I'd sort of feel as if I was giving you your +money's worth. Somebody has been writin' on the front of the Methodist +Church with black chalk. I might try to detect who done that." + +"But that would be a very difficult job," said Snooks. + +"It would be some hard," admitted Philo Gubb. + +"Then you ought to have more money," said Snooks. "Aunt Martha ought +to contribute to the fund. If Aunt Martha contributes to the fund, +I'll be good. I'll come out of jail." + +Aunt Martha opened her shopping bag, and fumbled in it with her old +fingers. Philo Gubb took from his pocket the bills he had been given +during the morning. He counted them. He had exactly one hundred +dollars, just enough to send to Mr. Medderbrook. + +"How much should I give you, Mr. Gubb?" asked Aunt Martha tremulously, +and Philo Gubb stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes. +When he spoke, his words were cryptic to all those in the room. + +"Well, ma'am," he said, "I guess ten cents will be about enough. I've +got a two-cent postage stamp myself." + +"Ain't detectives wonderful?" whispered Nan, clinging to Snooks's arm. +"You can't ever tell what they really mean." + +Nobody seemed to care what Philo Gubb meant, but a week later Snooks +stopped him on the street and asked him why he had asked for ten +cents. + +"For to register a letter," said Philo Gubb. "A letter I had to send +off." + + + + +THE CHICKEN + + +Philo Gubb, with three rolls of wall-paper under his arm and a pail of +mixed paste in one hand, walked along Cherry Street near the +brick-yard. + +On this occasion Mr. Gubb was in a reasonably contented frame of mind, +for he had just received his share of the reward for capturing the +dynamiters and had this very morning paid the full amount to Mr. +Medderbrook, leaving but eleven thousand six hundred and fifty dollars +still to be paid that gentleman for the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine +Stock, and upon the further payment of seventy-five cents--half its +cost--Mr. Medderbrook gave him a telegram he had received from +Syrilla. The telegram was as follows:-- + + Rapidly shrinking. Have given up all soups, including tomato + soup, chicken soup, mulligatawny, mock turtle, green pea, + vegetable, gumbo, lentil, consommé, bouillon and clam broth. + Now weigh only nine hundred and fifty pounds. Wire at once + whether clam chowder is a soup or a food. Fond remembrances + to Gubby. + +Mr. Gubb was thinking of this telegram as he walked toward his work. +Just ahead of him a short lane led, between Mrs. Smith's house and the +Cherry Street Methodist Chapel, to the brick-yard. Mrs. Smith's +chicken coop stood on the fence line between her property and the +brick-yard! + +[Illustration: "DETECKATING IS MY AIM AND MY PROFESSION"] + +Philo Gubb had passed Mrs. Smith's front gate when Mrs. Smith waddled +to her fence and hailed him. + +"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she panted. "You got to excuse me for speakin' to you +when I don't know you. Mrs. Miffin says you're a detective." + +"Deteckating is my aim and my profession," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Well," said Mrs. Smith, "I want to ask a word of you about crime. +I've had a chicken stole." + +"Chicken-stealing is a crime if ever there was one," said Philo Gubb +seriously. "What was the chicken worth?" + +"Forty cents," said Mrs. Smith. + +"Well," said Philo Gubb, "it wouldn't hardly pay me." + +"It ain't much," admitted Mrs. Smith. + +"No. You're right, it ain't," said Philo Gubb. "Was this a rooster or +a hen?" + +"It was a hen," said Mrs. Smith. + +"Well," said Mr. Gubb, "if you was to offer a reward of a hundred +dollars for the capture of the thief--" + +"Oh, my land!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith. "It would be cheaper for me to +pay somebody five dollars to come and steal the rest of the chickens. +It seems to me, that you ought to make the thief pay. I ain't the one +that did the crime, am I? It's only right that a thief should pay for +the time and trouble he puts you to, ain't it?" + +"I never before looked at it that way," said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully, +"but it stands to reason." + +"Of course it does!" said Mrs. Smith. "You catch that thief and you +can offer yourself a million dollars reward if you want to. That's +none of my business." + +"Well," said Philo Gubb, picking up his paste-pail, "I guess if there +ain't any important murders or things turn up by seven to-night, I'll +start in to work for that reward. I guess I can't ask more than five +dollars reward." + +At seven the evening was still light, and Philo Gubb, to cover his +intentions and avert suspicion in case his interview with Mrs. Smith +had been observed by the thief, put a false beard in his pocket and a +revolver beside it and left his office in the Opera House Block +cautiously. He slipped into the alley and glided down it, keeping +close to the stables. A detective must be cautious. + +The abandoned brick-kilns offered admirable seclusion. A brick-kiln is +built entirely, or almost so, of the brick that are to be burned, and +the kilns are torn down and carted away as the brick are sold. The +over-structure of the kilns was a mere roof of half-inch planks laid +on timbers that were upheld by poles. + +A ladder leaning against one of the poles gave access to the roof. In +the darkness it was impossible for Philo Gubb to find a finger-print +of the culprit on the kilns, although he looked for one. He did not +even find the usual and highly helpful button, torn from its place in +the criminal's eagerness to depart. He found only an old horseshoe and +a broken tobacco pipe. As there were evidences that the pipe had been +abandoned on that spot several years earlier, neither of these was a +very valuable clue. + +Mr. Gubb next gave his attention to the chicken coop. It was +preëminently a hand-made chicken coop of the rough-and-ready variety. + +Philo Gubb entered the chicken-house and looked around, lighting his +dark lantern and throwing its rays here and there that he might see +better. The house was so low of roof that he had to stoop to avoid the +roosts, and the tails of the chickens brushed his hat. It needed +brushing, so this did no harm. The hens and the two roosters +complained gently of this interruption of their beauty sleep, and +moved along the roosts, and Mr. Gubb went outside again. It was quite +evident that the thief had had no great hardships to undergo in +robbing that roost. All he had to do was to enter the chicken-house, +choose a chicken, and walk away with it. + +Why had he not taken ten chickens? Mr. Gubb, as he put the keg hoop +over the end board of the gate, studied this. + +The theory that Mr. Gubb adopted was that the thief, coming for a raid +on the coop, had been surprised to find it so poorly guarded. It had +been so easy to enter the coop and steal the chicken that he had +decided it would be folly to take eight or ten chickens and thus +arouse instant suspicion and reprisal. Instead of this he had taken +but one, trusting that the loss of one would be unnoticed or laid to +rats or cats or weasels. Thus he would be able to return again and +again as fowl meat was needed or desired, and the chickens would be +like money in the bank--a fund on which to draw. This theory was so +sound that Mr. Gubb believed it would require nothing more than +patience to capture the criminal. The thief would come back for more +chickens! + +Philo Gubb looked around for an advantageous position in which to +await the coming of the thief, and be unseen himself, and the loose +board roof of the brick-kiln met his eye. No position could be better. +He climbed the ladder inside the kiln, pushed one of the boards aside +enough to permit him to squeeze through onto the roof, and creeping +carefully over the loose boards, reached the edge of the roof. Here he +stretched himself out flat on the boards, and waited. + +Nothing--absolutely nothing--happened! The mosquitoes, numerous indeed +because of the nearness of the pond, buzzed around his head and stung +him on the neck and hands, but he did not dare slap at them lest he +betray his hiding-place. Hour followed hour and no chicken thief +appeared. And when the first rays of the sun lighted the east he +climbed down and stalked stiffly away to a short hour of sleep. + +The next night the Correspondence School detective wasted no time in +preliminary observations of the lay of the land. He kept out of sight +until the sun had set and dusk covered the land with shade, and then +he went at once to the roof of the brick-kiln. This time he was +disguised in a red mustache, a pair of flowing white side-whiskers, +and a woolen cap. And he wore two revolvers--large ones--in a belt +about his waist. + +It was still too early for brisk business in chicken-stealing when +Philo Gubb climbed to the roof of the kiln and spread himself out +there, and he felt that he had time for a few minutes' sleep. + +He was tremendously sleepy. Sleep fairly pushed his eyelids down over +his eyes, and he put his crooked arm under his head and, after +thinking fondly of Syrilla for a few minutes, went to sleep so +suddenly that it was like falling off a cliff into dreamland. He +dreamed, uneasily, of having been captured by an array of forty +chicken thieves, of having been led in triumph before the Supreme +Court of the United States, and of having been condemned as a +Detective Trust on the charge of acting in restraint of trade--as +injuring the Chicken Stealers' Association's business--and required to +dissolve himself. + +The dream was agonizing as he tried one dissolvent after another +without success. Turpentine merely dissolved his skin; alcohol had no +effect whatever. He imagined himself in a long room in which stood +vast rows of vats bearing different labels, and in and out of these +he climbed, trying to obey the order of the court, but nothing seemed +capable of dissolving him, and he suddenly discovered that he was made +of rubber. He seemed to remember that rubber was soluble in benzine, +and he started on a tour of the vats, trying to find a benzine vat. + +He walked many miles. Sometimes he arose in the air, with ease and +grace, and flew a few miles. Finally he found the vat of benzine, +immersed himself in it, and began to dissolve calmly and with a +blessed sense of having done his duty. + +It was then that Philo Gubb entered the dreamless sleep of the utterly +weary, and, about the same time, two men slunk under the roof of the +brick-kiln and after looking carefully around took seats on the fallen +bricks, resting their backs against the partly demolished kiln. They +arranged the bricks as comfortably as possible before seating +themselves, and when they were seated, one of them drew a whiskey +bottle from his pocket and, after taking a good swig, offered it to +his partner. + +"Nope!" said he. "I'm going to steer clear of that stuff until I know +where I'm at, and you're a fool for not doing the same, Wixy. First +thing you know you'll be soused, and if you are, and anything turns +up, what'll I do? I got all I can do to take care of you sober." + +"Ah, turn up! What's goin' to turn up 'way out here?" asked Wixy. +"They ain't nobody follerin' us anyway. That's just a notion you got. +Your nerves has gone back on you, Sandlot." + +"My nerve is all right, and don't you worry about that," said Sandlot. +"I've got plenty of nerve so I don't have to brace it up with booze, +and you ain't. That's what's the matter with you. You saw that feller +as well as I did. Didn't you see him at Bureau?" + +"That feller with the white whiskers?" + +"Yes, him. And didn't you see him again at Derlingport? Well, what was +he follerin' us that way for when he told us at Joliet he was goin' +East?" + +"A tramp has as good a right to change his mind as what we have," said +Wixy. "Didn't we tell him we was goin' East ourselves? Maybe he ain't +lookin' for steady company any more than we be. Maybe he come this way +to get away from us, like we did to get away from--say!--Sandlot," he +said almost pleadingly, "you don't really think old White-Whiskers was +a-trailin' us, do you? You ain't got a notion he's a detective?" + +"How do I know what he is?" asked Sandlot. "All I know is that when I +see a feller like that once, and then again, and he looks like he was +tryin' to keep hid from us, I want to shake him off. I know that. And +I know I'm goin' to shake him off. And I know that if you get all +boozed up, and full of liquor, and can't walk, and that feller shows +up, I'm a-goin' to quit you and look out for myself. When a feller +steals something, or does any little harmless thing like that, it's +different. He can afford to stick to a pal, even if he gets nabbed. +But when it's a case of--" + +"Now, don't use that word!" said Wixy angrily. "It wasn't no more +murder than nothing. Was we going to let Chicago Chicken bash our +heads in just because we stood up for our rights? Him wantin' a full +half just because he put us onto the job! He'd ought to been killed +for askin' such a thing." + +"Well, he was, wasn't he?" asked Sandlot. "You killed him all right. +It was you swung on him with the rock, Wixy, remember that!" + +"Tryin' to put it off on me, ain't you!" said Wixy angrily. "Well, you +can't do it. If I hang, you hang. Maybe I did take a rock to him, but +you had him strangled to death before I ever hit him." + +"What's the use gabbin' about it?" said Sandlot. "He's dead, and we +made our get-away, and all we got to do is to keep got away. There +ain't anybody ever goin' to find him, not where we sunk him in that +deep water." + +"Ain't I been sayin' that right along?" asked Wixy. "Ain't I been +tellin' you you was a fool to be scared of an old feller like +White-Whiskers? Cuttin' across country this way when we might as well +be forty miles more down the Rock Island, travelin' along as nice as +you please in a box car." + +"Now, look here!" said Sandlot menacingly. "I ain't goin' to take no +abuse from you, drunk or sober. If you don't like my way, you go back +to the railroad and leave me go my own way. I'm goin' on across +country until I come to another railroad, I am. And if I come to a +river, and I run across a boat, I'm goin' to take that boat and float +a ways. When I says nobody is goin' to know anything about what we did +to the Chicken, over there in Chicago, I mean it. Nobody is. But +didn't Sal know all three of us was goin' out on that job that night? +And when the Chicken don't come back, ain't she goin' to guess +something happened to the Chicken?" + +"She's goin' to think he made a rich haul, like he did, and that he up +and quit her," said Wixy. "That's what she'll think." + +"And what if she does?" said Sandlot. "She and him has been boardin' +with Mother Smith, ain't they? Ain't Mother Smith been handin' the +Chicken money when he needed it, because he said he was workin' up +this job with us? I bet the Chicken owed Mother Smith a hundred +dollars, and when he don't come back, then what? Sal will say she +ain't got no money because the Chicken quit her, and Mother Smith +will--" + +"Well, what?" asked Wixy. + +"She'll send word to every crook in the country to spot the Chicken, +and you know it. And when word comes back that there ain't no trace of +him--" + +"You've lost your nerve, that's what ails you," said Wixy scornfully. + +"No, I ain't," Sandlot insisted. "I've heard plenty of fellers tell +how Mother Smith keeps tabs on anybody that tries to do her out of ten +cents even. Why, maybe the Chicken promised to come back that night +and pay up. I bet he did! And I bet he _was_ sour on Sal. And I bet +Mother Smith knew it all the time, and that when he didn't come back +that night she sent out word to spot him or us. I bet you!" + +"You've lost your nerve!" said Wixy drunkenly. "You never did have no +nerve. You're so scared you're seein' ghosts." + +"All right!" said Sandlot, rising. "I'll see ghosts, then. But I'll +see them by myself. You can go--" + +"Goo'-bye!" said Wixy carelessly, and finished the last drop in his +bottle. "Goo'-bye, ol' Sandlot! Goo'-bye!" + +Sandlot hesitated a moment and then arose and, after a parting glance +at Wixy, struck out across the drying floor of the brick-yard, and was +lost in the darkness. Wixy blinked and balanced the empty bottle in +his hand. + +"He's afraid!" he boasted to himself. "He's coward. 'Fraid of dark. +'Fraid of ghosts. Los' his nerve. I ain' 'fraid." + +He arose to his feet unsteadily. + +"Sandlot's coward!" he said, and threw down the empty bottle with a +motion of disgust at the cowardice of Sandlot. The bottle burst with a +jangling of glass. + +On the loose board roof Philo Gubb raised his head suddenly. For an +instant he imagined he was a disembodied spirit, his body having been +dissolved in benzine, but as he became wider awake he was conscious of +a noise beneath him. Wixy was shifting twenty or thirty bricks that +had fallen from the kiln upon a truss of straw, used the last winter +to cover new-moulded bricks to protect them from the frost against +their drying. He was preparing a bed. He muttered to himself as he +worked, and Philo Gubb, placing his eye to a crack between the boards +of the roof, tried to observe him. The darkness was so absolute he +could see nothing whatever. + +He heard Wixy stretch out on the straw, and in a minute more he heard +the heavy breathing of a sleeper. Wixy was not letting any cowardice +disturb his repose, at all events, and Philo Gubb considered how he +could best get himself off the roof. + +The sleeping man was immediately beneath him; the ladder was a full +ten yards away; every motion made the loose boards complain. Looking +down, Mr. Gubb saw that the top of the kiln reached within a few feet +of where he lay, and that the partially removed sides had left a +series of giant steps. + +Mr. Gubb loosened his pistols in his belt. Now that he had the chicken +thief so near, he meant to capture him. With the utmost care he slid +one of the boards of the roof aside and put his long legs into the +opening thus made, feeling for the kiln until he touched it, and when +he had a firm footing on it he lowered the upper part of his body +through the roof. + +Five feet away a cross-timber reached from one pillar of the roof to +another, and just below that was one of the steps of the kiln. Philo +Gubb lighted his dark lantern, and casting its ray, saw this +cross-piece. If he could jump and reach it he could drop to the lower +step and avoid the danger of bringing the side of the kiln down with +him. He slipped the lantern into his pocket, reached out his hands, +and jumped into the dark. + +For an instant his fingers grappled with the cross-piece; he struggled +to gain a firmer hold; and then he dropped straight upon the sleeping +Wixy. He alighted fair and square on the murderer's stomach, and the +air went out of Wixy in a sudden _whoof_! + +Philo Gubb, in the unreasoning excitement of the moment, grappled with +Wixy, but the unresistance of the man told that he was unconscious, +and the Correspondence School detective released him and stood up. He +uncovered the lens of his dark lantern and turned the ray on Wixy. + +The murderer lay flat on his back, his eyes closed and his mouth open. +Mr. Gubb put his hand on Wixy's heart. It still beat! The man was not +dead! + +[Illustration: WITH ANOTHER GROAN WIXY RAISED HIS HANDS] + +With the dark lantern in one hand and a rusty tin can in the other, +Mr. Gubb hurried to the pond and returned with the can full of water, +but even in this crisis he did not act thoughtlessly. He set the dark +lantern on a shelf of the kiln, so that its rays might illuminate +Wixy and himself alike, drew one of his pistols and pointed it full at +Wixy's head, and holding it so, he dashed the can of water in the face +of the unconscious man. Wixy moved uneasily. He emitted a long sigh +and opened his eyes. + +"I got you!" said Philo Gubb sternly. "There ain't no use to make a +move, because I'm a deteckative, and if you do I'll shoot this pistol +at you. If you're able so to do, just put up your hands." + +Wixy blinked in the strong light of the lantern. He groaned and placed +one of his hands on his stomach. + +"Put 'em up!" said Philo Gubb, and with another groan Wixy raised his +hands. He was still flat on his back. He looked as if he were doing +some sort of health exercise. In a minute the hands fell to the +ground. + +"I guess you'd better set up," said Philo Gubb. "You ain't goin' to be +able to hold up your hands if you lay down that way." + +As he helped Wixy to a sitting position, he kept his pistol against +the fellow's head. + +"Now, then," said Philo Gubb, when he had arranged his captive to suit +his taste, "what you got to say?" + +"I got to say I never done what you think I done, whatever it is," +said Wixy. "I don't know what it is, but I never done it. Some other +feller done it." + +"That don't bother me none," said Philo Gubb. "If you didn't do it, I +don't know who did. Just about the best thing you can do is to +account for the chicken and pay my expenses of getting you, and the +quicker you do it the better off you'll be." + +Pale as Wixy was, he turned still paler when Philo Gubb mentioned the +chicken. + +"I never killed the Chicken!" he almost shouted. "I never did it!" + +"I don't care whether you killed the chicken or not," said Philo Gubb +calmly. "The chicken is gone, and I reckon that's the end of the +chicken. But Mrs. Smith has got to be paid." + +"Did she send you?" asked Wixy, trembling. "Did Mother Smith put you +onto me?" + +"She did so," said the Correspondence School detective. "And you can +pay up or go to jail. How'd you like that?" + +Wixy studied the tall detective. + +"Look here," he said. "S'pose I give you fifty and we call it square." +He meant fifty dollars. + +"Maybe that would satisfy Mrs. Smith," said Philo Gubb, thinking of +fifty cents, "but it don't satisfy me. My time's valuable and it's got +to be paid for. Ten times fifty ain't a bit too much, and if it had +took longer to catch you I'd have asked more. If you want to give that +much, all right. And if you don't, all right too." + +Wixy studied the face of Philo Gubb carefully. There was no sign of +mercy in the bird-like face of the paper-hanger detective. Indeed, his +face was severe. It was relentless in its sternness. Five dollars was +little enough to ask for two nights of first-class Correspondence +School detective work. Rather than take less he would lead the chicken +thief to jail. And Wixy, with his third, and half of the Chicken's +third, of the proceeds of the criminal job that had led to the death +of the Chicken, knowing the relentlessness of Mother Smith, that +female Fagin of Chicago, considered that he would be doing well to +purchase his freedom for five hundred dollars. + +"All right, pal," he said suddenly. "You're on. It's a bet. Here you +are." + +He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a great roll of +money. With the muzzle of Philo Gubb's pistol hovering just out of +reach before him, he counted out five crisp one hundred dollar bills. +He held them out with a sickly grin. Philo Gubb took them and looked +at them, puzzled. + +"What's this for?" he asked, and Wixy suddenly blazed forth in anger. + +"Now, don't come any of that!" he cried. "A bargain is a bargain. +Don't you come a-pretendin' you didn't say you'd take five hundred, +and try to get more out of me! I won't give you no more--I won't! You +can jug me, if you want to. You can't prove nothin' on me, and you +know it. Have you found the body of the Chicken? Well, you got to have +the corpus what-you-call-it, ain't you? Huh? Ain't five hundred +enough? I bet the Chicken never cost Mother Smith more than a hundred +and fifty--" + +"I was only thinkin'--" began Philo Gubb. + +"Don't think, then," said Wixy. + +"Five hundred dollars seemed too--" Philo began again. + +"It's all you'll get, if I hang for it," said Wixy firmly. "You can +give Mother Smith what you want, and keep what you want. That's all +you'll get." + +Philo Gubb could not understand it. He tried to, but he could not +understand it at all. And then suddenly a great light dawned in his +brain. There was something this chicken thief knew that he and Mrs. +Smith did not know. The stolen chicken must have been of some rare and +much-sought strain. So it was all right. The thief was paying what the +chicken was worth, and not what Mrs. Smith thought it was worth in her +ignorance. He slipped the money into his pocket. + +"All right," he said. "I'm satisfied if you are. The chicken was a +fancy bird, ain't it so?" + +"The Chicken was a tough old rooster, that's what he was," said Wixy, +staggering to his feet. + +"I thought he was a hen," said Philo Gubb. "Mrs. Smith said he was a +hen." + +Wixy laughed a sickly laugh. + +"That ain't much of a joke. That's why everybody called him Chicken, +because his first name was Hen." + +Philo Gubb's mouth fell open. He was convinced now that he had to do +with an insane man. Wixy moved toward the open drying-floor. + +"Well, so 'long, pard," he said to Philo Gubb. "Give my regards to +Mother Smith. And say," he added, "if you see Sal, don't let her know +what happened to the Chicken. Don't say anybody made away with the +Chicken, see? Tell Sal the Chicken flew the coop himself, see?" + +"Who is Sal?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"You ask Mother Smith," said Wixy. "She'll tell you." And he went out +into the dark. Philo Gubb heard him shuffle across the drying-floor, +and when the sound had died away in the distance he put up his +revolver. + +"Five hundred dollars!" he said, and he routed Mrs. Smith out of bed. +He did not tell her the amount of reward he had made the chicken thief +pay. He asked her what the most expensive chicken in the world might +be worth, and she reluctantly accepted ten dollars as being far too +much. Then he asked her who Sal was. + +"Sal?" queried Mrs. Smith. + +"The chicken thief declared the statement that you would know," said +Mr. Gubb. "He said to tell her--" + +"Well, Mr. Gubb," said Mrs. Smith tartly, "I don't know any Sal, and +if I did I wouldn't carry messages to her for a chicken thief, and it +is past midnight, and the draught on my bare feet is giving me my +death of cold, and if you think this is a pink tea for me to stand +around and hold fool conversation at, I don't!" + +And she slammed the door. + + + + +THE DRAGON'S EYE + + +It was with great pleasure that Mr. Gubb carried four hundred and +ninety dollars to Mr. Medderbrook, and his intended father-in-law +received him quite graciously. + +"This is more like it, Gubb," he said. "Keep the money coming right +along and you'll find I'm a good friend and a faithful one." + +"I aim so to do to the best of my ability," said Mr. Gubb, delighted +to find Mr. Medderbrook in a good humor. "I hope to get the eleven +thousand two hundred and sixty dollars I owe you paid up--" + +"Where do you get that?" asked Mr. Medderbrook. "You owe me twelve +thousand dollars, Gubb." + +"It was eleven thousand seven hundred and fifty," said Mr. Gubb, "and +this here payment of four hundred and ninety--" + +"Ah!" said Mr. Medderbrook, "but the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine has +declared a dividend--" + +"But," ventured Mr. Gubb timidly, "I thought dividends was money that +came to the owner of the stock." + +"Often so," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I may say, not infrequently so. But +in this case it was a compound ten per cent reversible dividend, +cumulative and retroactive, payable to prior owners of the stock, on +account of the second mortgage debenture lien. In such a case," he +explained, "unless the priority is waived by the party of the first +part, you have to pay it to me." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Gubb. + +"Luckily," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I was able to prevail upon the +registrar of the company to make the dividend only ten cumulative per +cents instead of eleven retroactive geometrical per cents, or you +would now owe me thirteen thousand dollars." + +"Well, I'm sure I'm much obliged to you," said Mr. Gubb with sincere +gratitude. "I appreciate your kindness of good-will most greatly." + +He stood for a minute or two uneasily, while Mr. Medderbrook frowned +like a great financier burdened with cares. + +"I don't suppose," said Mr. Gubb, when he had screwed up his courage, +"you have had no telegraphic communications from Miss Syrilla?" + +"Why, yes, I have," said Mr. Medderbrook, taking a telegram from his +pocket, "and it will only cost you one dollar to read it. I paid two +dollars." + +Mr. Gubb was very glad to pay the small sum and he eagerly devoured +the telegram, which read:-- + + Oh be joyful! Have given up all meat diet. Have given up + beef, pork, lamb, mutton, veal, chicken, pigs' feet, bacon, + hash, corned beef, venison, bear steak, frogs' legs, + opossum, and fried snails. Weigh only nine hundred and forty + pounds. Affectionate thoughts to little Gubby. + +"I wish," said Mr. Gubb wistfully, when he had read the message, "that +Miss Syrilla could be here present this week in Riverbank whilst the +Carnival is going on." + +"She would draw a big crowd at twenty-five cents admission," said Mr. +Medderbrook. + +"I was thinking how pleasantly nice it would be for her to enjoy the +festivities of the occasion," said Mr. Gubb, but this was not quite +true. What he wished was that she could be present to see him in the +handsome disguise he had obtained for his work as Official Detective +of the Carnival, and which he was now about to don. + +This, the second day of the Third Riverbank Carnival, opened with a +sun hot enough to frizzle bacon, and the ladies in charge of the +lemonade, ice-cream and ice-cream cone booths were pleased, while the +committee from Riverbank Lodge P.& G. M., No. 788, selling broiled +frankfurters (known as "hot dogs"), groaned. It was no day for hot +food. But it was grand Carnival weather. + +The grounds opened at one-thirty and the amateur circus began at +two-thirty, but Philo Gubb, the detective, was on the grounds in full +regalia by ten o'clock in the morning. Through some awful error on the +part of the Chicago costumer, Philo Gubb's regalia had not arrived in +time for the first day of the Carnival, so he had absented himself +rather than let the crooks and thieves who were supposed to swarm the +grounds have an opportunity to become acquainted with his appearance +and thus be put on their guard against the famous Correspondence +School detective. + +When the Committee on Organization of the Third Carnival and Circus +for the benefit of the Riverbank Free Hospital held its first public +mass meeting in Willcox Hall, Philo Gubb had been there. Like all the +rest of Riverbank, he was willing to assist the good cause in any way +he could, and he had meant to donate his services as official +paper-hanger, but a grander opportunity offered. Mr. Beech, the +Chairman of the Committee on Peanuts and Police Protection, offered +Mr. Gubb the position of Official Detective. Mr. Gubb accepted +eagerly. + +During the weeks of preparation for the Carnival, a thousand plans for +getting the better of pickpockets and other crooks passed through +Philo Gubb's mind. He finally decided to disguise himself as Ali Baba. +He had a slight recollection that Ali Baba had something to do with +forty thieves. It seemed an appropriate _alias_. + +His disguise he ordered from the Supply Department of the Rising Sun +Detective Agency, where he bought all his disguises. It consisted of a +tall conical cap spangled with stars, a sort of red Mother-Hubbard +gown bespattered with black crescents, a small metal tube, and a wand. +With the metal tube came several hundred sheets of apparently blank +paper, but, when these were rolled into cylinders and inserted in the +metal tube for half a minute, characters appeared on the sheets. A +child could work the magic tube, and so could Philo Gubb. + +It was not until the second day that Mr. Beech thought of Mr. Gubb at +all. Then Mrs. Phillipetti, daughter-in-law of General Phillipetti, +who was Ambassador to Siberia in 1867, asked for Mr. Gubb. Mrs. +Phillipetti was in charge of the Hot Waffles Booth, No. 13, aided by +seventeen ladies of the highest society Riverbank could boast, and +they served hot waffles with their own fair hands to all who chose to +buy. The cooking of the waffles, being a warm task in late June, had +been turned over to three colored women, hired for the occasion, and +to complete the "ongsomble" and make things perfectly "apropos"--two +of Mrs. Phillipetti's favorite words--the three colored women had been +dressed as Turkish slaves, while Mrs. Phillipetti and her aides +dressed as Beauties of the Harem. + +To judge by Mrs. Phillipetti's costume, the Beauties of the Harem were +expensive to clothe. She had more silk, gold lace, and tinsel strung +upon her ample form than would set a theatrical costumer up in +business, but the star feature of her costume was her turban. It was a +gorgeous creation, and would have been a comfortable piece of headgear +in midwinter, although slightly heating for a hot June day, but it +came near being the talk of the Carnival, for in the center of the +front, just above her forehead, Mrs. Phillipetti had pinned the +celebrated brooch containing the Dragon's Eye--the priceless ruby +given to old General Phillipetti by the Dugosh of Zind after the old +diplomat had saved the worthless life of the old reprobate by +appealing to the Vice-Regent of Siberia in his behalf. + +The Dragon's Eye was about the size of a lemon and weighed nearly as +much as a pound of creamery butter, so it required considerable turban +to make it "apropos" and complete its "ongsomble." Pinned on her +shelf-like chest, Mrs. Phillipetti wore a small mirror somewhat +smaller than a tea saucer. By tipping the outer edge of the mirror +upward and glancing down into it, Mrs. Phillipetti had a good view of +the entire façade of her turban, reflected in the mirror, and she was +thus able to keep an eye on the Dragon's Eye. + +"Oh, Mr. Beech!" cried Mrs. Phillipetti, stopping him as he was +bustling past her booth, "_do_ you know where Mr. Gubb is?" + +"Gubb? Gubb?" said Mr. Beech. "Oh! that paper-hanger-detective fellow? +No, I don't know where he is. Why?" + +"It's gone! The Dragon's Eye is gone!" moaned Mrs. Phillipetti. + +Mr. Beech, although greatly concerned, tried to maintain his +composure. Mrs. Phillipetti explained that she had removed her turban +and placed it under a chair at the back of the booth. A little later +she had noticed that the turban, with the priceless Dragon's Eye, was +gone. + +"Now, this--now--was not wholly unexpected," Beech said. "It's +a--now--unfortunate thing, but it's the sort of thing that happens. +Now, Mrs. Phillipetti, just let me beg you not to say anything about +it to anybody, and I'll have Detective Gubb get right on the case. The +matter is in my hands. Rest easy! We will attend to it." + +"I--I hate to lose the Dragon's Eye," said Mrs. Phillipetti, wiping +her eyes, "but the worst is to have my turban stolen. Mr. Beech, I +will give one hundred dollars to whoever returns the Dragon's Eye to +me. The 'ongsomble' of my costume is ruined. I haven't anything else +'apropos' to wear on my head." + +"You look fine just as you are," said Mr. Beech. "But if you want +something to wear, you can get a Turkish hat at the Paper Hat Booth +for twenty-five cents." + +"Thank you!" said Mrs. Phillipetti scornfully. "I don't wear +twenty-five-cent hats!" + +Within twenty minutes the Boy Scouts, who were acting as Aides to the +Executive Committee, had tacked in ten prominent places ten hastily +daubed placards that read:-- + + Philo Gubb, please report at Executive Booth. + Beech, Chmn. Police Committee. + +And the members of the Board of Managers had, singly and by roundabout +routes, approached the scene of the theft and had studied it. + +[Illustration: "THE 'ONGSOMBLE' OF MY COSTUME IS RUINED"] + +To the left of Mrs. Phillipetti's booth was the Ethiopian Dip. Here, +some thirty feet back from a counter and shielded by a net, a negro +sat on an elevated perch just over a canvas tub full of water. In +front of the net was a small target, and if a patron of the game hit +the target with a baseball, the negro suddenly and unexpectedly +dropped into the tub of water. The price was three throws for five +cents. + +As Riverbank had some remarkably clever baseball throwers, the +Ethiopian was dipped quite frequently. As the water was cold and such +a bath an unusual luxury for the Riverbank Ethiopians, no one +Ethiopian cared to be dipped very often in succession. Therefore the +Committee of Seven of the Exempt Firemen's Association, which had the +Dip in charge, had arranged for a quick change of Ethiopians, and +while one sat on the perch to be dipped, three others lolled in +bathing costumes just back of Mrs. Phillipetti's booth. + +Mr. Beech questioned the colored men quietly. + +"Turbine?" said one of them. "We ain't seen no turbine. We ain't seen +nuffin'. We ain't done nuffin' but sit here an' play craps." + +"But you were here?" said Mr. Beech. + +"Yes, we was heah," said the blackest negro. "We was right heah all de +time. Dey ain't been no turbine took from nowhar whilst we was heah, +neither. Ain't been nobody back heah but us, an' we's been heah all de +time." + +"Well, perhaps you can tell how this board got pried loose, if you +were here all the time," said Mr. Beech. + +"It wa'n't pried loose," said the yellow negro. "Hit got kicked loose +f'om de hinside. I know dat much, annerways. I seen dat oc-cur. I seen +dat board bulge out an' bulge out an' bulge out twell hit bust out. +An' dey hain't no turbine come out, nuther. No, sah!" + +Mr. Beech went away. The detective business was not his business. He +specialized in coal and not in crime. But in going he passed by Mrs. +Phillipetti's booth and spoke to her. + +"It will be all right," he said reassuringly. "We are on the track." + +"Oh, thank you!" said Mrs. Phillipetti, who had completed the +"apropriety" of her "ongsomble" by wrapping a green silk handkerchief +about her head. + +"I hope to return the turban and the jewel sometime to-morrow," said +Mr. Beech, bluffing bravely. + +But Philo Gubb did not heed the notices posted to call him to the +Executive Booth. The evening passed and he did not appear, and Mr. +Beech, on his way home, stopped at the police station. It was after +midnight, but Chief of Police Wittaker was still on duty. He never +slept during the Carnival. + +Mr. Beech explained the loss of the turban and the Dragon's Eye, and +early the next morning the Chief himself took up the hunt. By three +o'clock in the afternoon he had discovered several things. He +discovered that the yellow man who had claimed to see the board pushed +out from the inside was the husband of one of the waffle cooks in Mrs. +Phillipetti's booth. He learned that the yellow man had been in jail. +He learned that for a few minutes the yellow negro had been alone +behind the waffle booth. The Chief thereupon arrested the yellow +negro. + +As he led the negro from the grounds by the back way, in order to +cause as little commotion as possible, he brushed by a strange +creature dressed as a wizard, who was standing by the rear entrance, +droning: "Tell your fortune, ten cents! Tell your fortune, ten cents!" +The wizard was tall and thin and wore a long white beard, a sort of +Mother-Hubbard gown, and a pointed cap. As the Chief passed with his +prisoner the wizard turned his eyes on the two, and then droned on. It +was Philo Gubb, the paper-hanger detective, on the job! + +Philo Gubb, having received his costume, had come to the Carnival +grounds the back way. He had wandered about the grounds, peeking and +peering, seeking malefactors unsuccessfully. He felt the whole weight +of the Carnival on his shoulders. When he suspected a youth he +followed him at a safe distance, stopping when he stopped, going on +when he went on. He was so intent on trailing and shadowing that he +did not even notice the placards calling him to the Executive Booth. +Every few minutes he had to stop and tell a fortune with the magic +tube. So far he had collected two dollars and sixty cents. + +The Chief, with his prisoner walking quietly by his side,--to avoid +unpleasant commotion in an otherwise orderly crowd,--had just passed +the wizard when he heard voices that made him look back. + +"There he is!" said one voice. "Kick him off the grounds!" + +"Here, you!" said another voice. "You've got to get out of here. And +you've got to give up the money you've taken. Quick now. We don't +allow any professionals on these grounds." + +The voices were those of Henry P. Cross, Officer of the Day for this +day of the Carnival, and Sam Green, Jr., Vice-Chairman of Police, and +they were speaking to the wizard. + +"Sh!" said the wizard, in a mysterious voice. "It's all right! Don't +make a fuss. It's all right!" + +"Let me kick him off the grounds!" said Mr. Cross. "All I want is a +chance to kick him off the grounds. The cheap professional fakir, +sneaking in to get money that ought to go to the Hospital! Let me +kick--" + +"Now, wait!" said Mr. Green irritably. "We want to make him disgorge +first, don't we? Just keep your head on, Cross. Let me handle this." + +"It's all right! Don't make a fuss," whispered the wizard. "I belong +here." + +"You belong nowhere!" shouted Mr. Cross. "You belong here, indeed! +Why, you couldn't tell that to a baby! I guess not! Telling fortunes +and putting the cash in your pocket. Don't the Ladies' Aid of the +Second Baptist Church have the exclusive fortune-telling privilege? +Didn't they put us onto you?" + +The Chief turned back. + +"What's up?" he asked. + +"Professional," said Mr. Green. "Some Chicago grafter trying to make +money out of our show." + +"I'm all right, I tell you," said Philo Gubb earnestly. "I'm no crook. +You see Beech. Ask Beech. Have Beech come here." + +Mr. Cross looked at Mr. Green. + +"You mean you fixed it with Beech so you could tell fortunes here?" +asked Mr. Cross. + +"Yes, that's what I mean," said Philo Gubb. "You get Beech." + +"Get Beech," said Mr. Green. "Beech will throw him out." + +"I'll watch him," said the Chief. "If he tries to move I'll club him." + +Mr. Cross and Mr. Green hurried away, and the Chief dangled his club +meaningly. The yellow man, who had been standing awaiting the end of +the controversy, seated himself on the grass and leaned his back +against a tree. Philo Gubb, as evidence that he did not mean to run, +also seated himself, and leaned back against the same tree. The Chief +stood a short distance away, his eyes keenly on them. + +"How about it, Chicago man?" asked the yellow man in a low tone, +bending down to pick a blade of grass. "Kin you he'p a feller out?" + +"How?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"I got in trouble," said the yellow man. "I'm gwine git hit in de neck +ef some one don't he'p me mighty quick. Ef I hand you somethin' is you +gwine take it?" + +"Sure," said Philo Gubb. + +"Grab it!" whispered the yellow man, and his hand slid the Dragon's +Eye into the hand of Philo Gubb. + +The Chief moved nearer. + +"I guess dey let me go whin dey git me to de calaboose," said the +yellow man in a louder voice. "Kaze I ain' done nuffin' nohow." + +"They'll let you go when we get that ruby," said the Chief meaningly; +"and if we can prove it on you, you go to the pen'." + +Mr. Cross and Mr. Green returned with Mr. Beech. + +"There he is," said Mr. Cross, pointing to the wizard Gubb. + +"Never saw him in my life!" said Mr. Beech. "Now, then, what is this +now? What's this story you--" + +The paper-hanger detective arose and leaned close to Mr. Beech's ear. +He whispered three words and Mr. Beech's attitude changed entirely. + +"Oh!" he said. "I wondered where--now--all right! It's all right! +It's all right, Cross. All right, Green. All right, Chief!" Then he +turned to Gubb. "We've been wanting you, detective. Put up placards +for you. Now, listen! Mrs. Phillipetti had a turban stolen from her +booth, and that infernal ton and a half or so of ruby was in it. The +Dragon's Eye, she calls it. Well, that turban was stolen--" + +"I am quite well acquainted with that fact," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, why don't you hunt for it, then?" asked Mr. Beech crossly. "I +thought you were going to be of some use. Fooling around here with +your silly ten-cent fortune-telling, having the time of your life +while all of us are worrying about that Dragon's Eye. Why don't you +hunt for it?" + +"It ain't hardly necessary to engage in deteckative exertions at the +present moment on account of that ruby," said Philo Gubb slowly, +"because when I want it, all I got to do is to consult the magic +deteckative tube." + +"You're crazy!" said Mr. Beech. "You're crazy as a loon!" + +"The usual price for consulting the oracle is ten cents," said Philo +Gubb, "but I'll make a special exception out of this time." + +He put the end of the magic tube to his ear and listened. + +"The genyi of the tube says I've got the Dragon's Eye into my pocket, +and if you ask this yellow negro black-man he'll tell you where the +turban is at." + +"Honest!" exclaimed Mr. Beech. "Gubb, you're a wonder!" + +The negro, thus trapped, told where he had hidden the turban, and in a +few minutes Mr. Beech, Mr. Cross, and Mr. Green returned with Mrs. +Phillipetti, on whose head again towered the turban with the Dragon's +Eye gleaming in it, making her "ongsomble" thoroughly "apropos." + +"Gubb," said Mr. Beech, "I want Mrs. Phillipetti to meet you. You +certainly are a wizard." + +"Yes, indeed!" said Mrs. Phillipetti. "The wizardry of your whole +ongsomble is completely apropos to your detective ability." + + + + +THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER + + +When Philo Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook the one hundred dollars he had +received for retrieving the Dragon's Eye, Mr. Medderbrook was not +extremely gracious. + +"I'll take it on account," he said grudgingly, "but it ought to be +more. It only brings what you owe me for that Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock down to eleven thousand nine hundred dollars and, at +this rate, you'll never get me paid up. I can't tell when there'll +come along another dividend of ten cumulative per cents on that stock, +that I will have to charge up against you. Unless you can do better I +have half a mind not to let you see the telegram I got from my +daughter Syrilla this morning." + +"Was the news into it good?" asked Mr. Gubb eagerly. + +"As good as gold," said Mr. Medderbrook. "As good as Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock." + +"What did Miss Syrilla convey the remark of?" asked the lovelorn +paper-hanger detective. + +"Well, now," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I went and paid two dollars and +fifty cents for that telegram. For one dollar and twenty-five cents +I'll give you the telegram, and you can read it from start to finish." + +Mr. Gubb, his heart palpitating as only a lover's heart can palpitate, +paid Mr. Medderbrook the sum he asked and eagerly read the telegram +from Syrilla. It said:-- + + Grand news! Have given up all fish diet. Have given up + codfish, weak fish, sole, flounder, shark's fins, bass, + trout, herring (dried, kippered, smoked, and fresh), finnan + haddie, perch, pike, pickerel, lobster, halibut, and stewed + eels. Gross weight now only nine hundred and thirty pounds + averdupois. Sweet thoughts to Gubby-lubby. + +"You are touched," said Mr. Medderbrook as Mr. Gubb put the dear +missive to his lips, "but unless I am mistaken you will be still more +deeply touched when you pay for--when you read Syrilla's next +telegram." + +"I so hope and trust," said Mr. Gubb, and he returned to his office in +the Opera House Block with a light heart. + + * * * * * + +With the increase of fame that came to him as a detective Mr. Gubb's +paper-hanging business had grown, and he had left Mrs. Murphy's house +and taken a room on the second floor of Opera House Block, near the +offices of ex-Judge Gilroy, attorney-at-law, and C. M. Dillman, loans +and real estate. The door now bore the sign + + PHILO GUBB + DETECKATIVE + Also Paper-hanging + +On this morning Detective Gubb had hardly reached his office when +Uncle Gabriel Hostetter, a shrewd smile on his face, opened Mr. Gubb's +door. + +Uncle Gabriel Hostetter was a round-shouldered old man with a long +white beard that came to a thin point. He wore old-fashioned +gold-rimmed spectacles, the rims forming irregular octagons, and on +his head he wore one of the grandest old silk hats that ever saw the +light of day in 1865. His principal garment was a frock coat, once +black, but now grayish green. He was the wealthiest man in town, and +it was said that when he once got his hands on a silver dollar he +squeezed it so hard that the bird of freedom on it uttered a squawk. + +He opened Philo Gubb's door hesitatingly. He expected to see an array +of mahogany desks and filing cabinets for which he would have to pay +every time the detective turned around. When he peered into the room +he saw a tall, thin man in white overalls with a bib, sitting on an +up-ended bundle of wall-paper, stirring a pail of paste with one hand +while he ate a ham sandwich by means of the other. + +"I guess I got in the wrong place," said Uncle Gabe. "Thought this was +a detective office. All right! All right!" + +"I'm him," said Philo Gubb, swallowing a hunk of sandwich with a gulp +and wiping his hand on his overalls. + +"You're who?" asked Uncle Gabe. + +"I'm the deteckative," said Philo Gubb. + +"You are, hey?" said Uncle Gabe. "All disguised up, I reckon." + +"Disguised up?" said Philo questioningly. "Oh, this here paper-hanging +and decorating stuff? No, this ain't no disguise. Even a deteckative +has got to earn a living while his practice is building up." + +"Humph!" said old Gabe. "Detecting ain't very good right now?" + +"It ain't, for a fact," said Philo. + +"Well, if that's so," said old Gabe, "maybe you and me could do +business. If you want to do a little detective work to sort of keep +your hand in, maybe we can do business." + +"I ought to git paid something," said Philo doubtfully. + +"Pay!" exclaimed old Gabe. "Pay for bein' allowed to sharpen up and +keep bright? Why, you'd ought to pay me for lettin' you have the +practice. It ain't goin' to do me no good, is it?" + +"I don't know what you want me to detect yet," said Philo. "I might +pay some if it was a case that would do me good to practice on. I +might pay a little." + +"I knew it," said old Gabe. "Now, this case of mine--What sort of a +case _would_ you pay to work on?" + +"Well," said Philo thoughtfully, "if I was to have a chance at a real +tough murder case, for instance." + +"Humph!" said old Gabe. "How much might you pay to be let work on a +case like that?" + +"Well, I dunno!" said Philo Gubb thoughtfully. "If it looked like a +mighty hard case I might pay a dollar a day--if it was a murder case." + +"This case of mine," said old Gabe, coming farther into the room, "is +just that sort of a case. And I'll let you work on it for a dollar and +a quatter a day." + +"Well, if it's that kind of a case," said Philo slowly, "I'll give you +a dollar a day, and I'll work on it hard and faithful." + +"A dollar and a quatter a day," insisted old Gabe. + +"No, sir, a dollar is all I can afford to pay," said Philo. + +"All right, I won't be mean," said old Gabe. "Make it a dollar an' +fifteen cents and we'll call it a go." + +"One dollar a day," said Philo. + +"A dollar, ten cents," urged old Gabe. + +"One dollar," said Philo. + +"Tell you what let's do," said old Gabe. "We ain't but ten cents +apart. You add on a nickel and I'll knock off a nickel, and we'll make +it a dollar five. What say? That's fair enough. You ain't come up any. +I come all the way down." + +"All right, then," said Philo. "It's a go. Now, who was murdered, and +when was he murdered, and why was he murdered? Them's the things I've +got to know first." + +"You pay me a dollar five for the first day's work, and I'll tell +you," said old Gabe. + +Philo dug into his pocket and drew out some money. "There," he said. +"There's two dollars and ten cents. That pays for two days. Now, go +ahead." + +He drew out his notebook and wet the end of a pencil and waited. + +"The reason this is such a hard case," said old Gabe slowly, and +choosing his words with care, "is because the murder ain't completed +yet. It's being did." + +"Right now?" exclaimed Philo excitedly. "Why, we oughtn't to be +sitting here like this. We ought--" + +"Now, don't be in such a hurry," said old Gabe. "If you mean we ought +to be where the victim of the murder is, we are. He's right here now. +I'm him. I'm the one that's being murdered. I'm being murdered by slow +murder. I'm liable to drop down dead any minute. But I don't want to +be murdered and not have the feller that murders me hang like he +ought. I can't be expected to. It ain't human nature." + +"No, it ain't," agreed Philo. "A man can't help feeling revengeful +against the man that murders him. If anybody murdered me I'd feel the +same way. How's he killing you? Slow poison?" + +"Gun-shot," said old Gabe. "Shootin' me to death with a gun." + +The correspondence school detective looked at old Gabe with amazement. + +"Shootin' you to death with a gun!" he exclaimed. "Ain't you told the +police?" + +"I come to you, didn't I?" asked old Gabe. "If I was to set the police +on the feller he might rouse up and shoot me to death all at once." + +"How is he shootin' you to death?" asked Philo. + +"By inches, b'gee," said old Gabe. "Yes, sir, by inches. Every once in +a while he takes a shot at me. Sometimes through the window of my +house, and sometimes when I'm walkin' on the street." + +"And he ain't ever hit you yet?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Hit me?" exclaimed old Gabe. "Why, he don't ever miss me. He hits me +every time. There ain't a day he don't shoot and hit me, and some days +he hits me two or three times. I dare say I'm almost dead now, if I +knowed it." + +Philo Gubb fondled his notebook uncertainly. + +"What--what does he shoot you with?" he asked. + +"Well, I dunno exactly," said old Gabe. "With a pea-shooter." + +Philo Gubb closed his notebook, and slipped it into his pocket. + +"If all you was after was to get that two dollars and ten cents, you +might have got it without wastin' so much of my time," he said +reproachfully. + +But old Gabe did not move. + +"What's the matter?" he asked. + +"Maybe I'm a fool," Gubb said bitterly, "but I ain't no such fool as +to think anybody is murdering nobody with a pea-shooter." + +"Was you ever shot with a cannon?" asked old Gabe calmly. + +"No, nor nobody ever tried to murder me with a pea-shooter," said +Philo Gubb. + +"If you ever _was_ shot by a thirteen-inch cannon ball," said old +Gabe, "you'd know it. When a thirteen-inch cannon ball hits you, there +ain't nothin' left of you at all. But when a one-inch cannon ball hits +you, you've got a chance to live a minute or two, maybe. That's the +difference between a thirteen-inch cannon ball shootin' you, and a +one-inch cannon ball shootin' you. And a rifle ball is different, +too." + +"I got a job of paper-hangin' as soon as I can get away from here," +said Philo Gubb meaningly. + +"You got a job of detectin' on hand now," said old Gabe. "And, as I +was sayin', a rifle ball acts different. Maybe it kills you the first +shot, and maybe you can hold three or four rifle bullets before you +die, but if they keep on shootin' at you, you get killed sooner or +later. Probably five shots is all any man could stand. I guess that's +about it. + +[Illustration: "THERE AIN'T A DAY HE DON'T SHOOT AND HIT ME"] + +"And then you come down to one of them little twenty-two caliber +revolvers. If he don't hit you in the heart, a murderer could easy +enough shoot at you twenty-five times with one of them little +twenty-two's before he killed you dead. But you'd be dead sooner or +later. It's just a matter of what a man shoots you with that makes the +difference in time. + +"Of course," he continued agreeably, "you don't expect no pea-shooter +to kill me as quick as a thirteen-inch gun would. If you expect that +you're unreasonable. But the principle is just the same. Shootin' is +shootin'. You know how that pome goes-- + + 'The constant drip of water + Wears away the hardest stone--' + +and that's just as true of murderin' a man with a pea-shooter. + +"And the beauty of it is that nobody knows you're committin' a murder. +If anybody catches you and asks you what you're doin' you just say, +'Oh, nothin'. Just shootin' peas.'" + +"Maybe that's so," agreed Philo Gubb. "It sounds reasonable. But the +thing for me to do is to wait until you're dead and then catch the +feller. It ain't a murder until you're dead." + +"It ain't, ain't it?" sneered old Gabe. "You'd wait until I am dead, I +suppose, and then start out to catch the feller. And you'd lose all +the help I can give you. It ain't often a detective can get the corpse +to help him like this." + +"No, it ain't," agreed Philo Gubb. + +"I got a suspicion who the feller is," said Gabe. + +"Who?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"You'll go ahead with the case? On the terms we settled on?" asked old +Gabe. + +Philo Gubb considered this carefully. + +"Why, yes," he said at length, "I will. Who is the feller you think is +doin' it?" + +"Farrin'ton Pierce, the cashier of the Farmers' and Citizens' Bank," +said old Gabe, his eyes shining with malice and shrewdness, as he +leaned forward and whispered the words. "My own son-in-law, he is. An' +I'll tell you why he's tryin' it. For my money. So his wife'll get it, +an' he can be president of the bank in my place." + +"You've seen him have a pea-shooter?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"No, sir!" said old Gabe. "And I never seen one of the peas. All I +ever felt was the sting of it when it hit me." + +"Maybe," said Philo Gubb eagerly, "maybe it ain't a pea-shooter. Maybe +it's a twenty-two short pistol with a silencer onto it. Maybe it's +only because he's been afraid to come nigh enough to you that he ain't +killed you yet. It don't seem to me that any man would try to murder +any one with a pea-shooter." + +"Humph!" said old Gabe. "Maybe you are right, at that. That's +something I never thought of. It sounds likely, too." + +"A deteckative has to think of all them things," said Philo simply. +"If I was you I'd be more careful." + +"I will!" said old Gabe. "See here, if he's shootin' at me like that, +it ain't no joke, is it? Tell you what I'll do. I'll let you off from +payin' me that dollar five a day. Just you hustle onto this case and +keep at it, and I'll leave you work on it for nothin'. All I want is +that you should send me word reg'lar of what you find out." + +"It is the custom of all the graduates of the Rising Sun +Correspondence School deteckatives to make reg'lar reports in +writing," said Philo Gubb. "I'll start right in shadowing and trailing +Mister Farrington Pierce, according to Lessons Three and Four, and +I'll report reg'lar every day." + +"Everything you find out," said old Gabe. "Don't leave out a thing. +And particularly at night. That's when he shoots me the most." + +"I won't leave him a minute," said Philo Gubb. "I've got a man I hire +to help me on my paper-hangin', and I'll get him to finish up this +job. I'll start trailin' and shadowin' Farry Pierce right away." + +Old Gabe shook hands with Philo and went out. When the door was closed +behind him he chuckled, and all the way home his face was creased in a +grin. He felt that he had done a good bit of business and saved +himself a good sum of money. Philo Gubb, in the meantime, having put a +false beard and a wig in his pocket, went out. + +Across the street from the bank was Grammill's Cigar Store, where the +idler men of the town loafed when they had nothing better on hand, +and Philo Gubb entered and bought a cigar and took an easy loafing +position near the front window. He commanded a view of the only +entrance to the bank, and here he waited. At fifteen minutes after +three Farry Pierce came out of the bank. + +"There's a man with an easy job," said one of the loafers. "That Farry +Pierce. Nothing to do till to-morrow." + +"Too much time on his hands, I guess," said another, who--by the +way--had more spare time than Farry Pierce. "From what I hear he'd be +better off if he had to work all day _and_ all night." + +"The widow?" asked the first speaker. + +"That's what they say," said the second. "They tell me he's blowing +all his salary and more on that widow. Must make old Gabe crazy to see +any of his kin spend money that way. Or any way. He's a close one, old +Gabe is." + +"What you hear about Farry and the widow?" asked the first. + +"Makes old Gabe crazy, they tell me. He wants his girl to get a +divorce." + +"Who told you that?" + +"My girl. My girl is workin' for his girl. Fr'm what she tells me old +Gabe is pretty well worked up about it. Said he'd get a spotter to +foller Farry and get some evidence on him if it didn't cost so blame +much. I bet the' won't be any divorces in that family if old Gabe has +to pay out any money." + +"I bet they won't. And the' ain't no detectives workin' for nothin' so +far as I hear. Not this year." + +"No, nor next year, neither," said the other; and as this was in the +nature of a joke they both laughed. + +But Philo Gubb did not join their laughter. He felt his face grow red. +His lean hands folded and unfolded as he watched Farry Pierce +disappear around the corner of the bank building. If any one felt like +murdering old Gabe with a pea-shooter at that moment, Philo Gubb did. +Shadow and trail Farry Pierce! The old skin-flint, coming with a fairy +tale and getting the only fully graduated deteckative in Riverbank to +shadow and trail a son-in-law and report daily! Divorce case evidence, +hey? Talking murderer and working a deteckative into doing scandal +sleuthing free of charge! Philo Gubb's face reddened again with new +anger as he put his hand in his pocket and touched the beard and wig +he had placed there. But for this chance conversation he would have +been following Farry Pierce now, and making a fool of himself. But for +this chance conversation he would not have lost sight of Farry Pierce +by day or by night. He went back to his office, put on his overalls, +and went to his work on a paper-hanging job. + +At six he started for home. A block down the street he met one of the +loafers he had heard speaking in Grammill's Cigar Store. + +"What do you think about it?" he asked Philo Gubb. + +"About what?" asked Philo in return. + +"Ain't you heerd?" asked the man. "Why, it's all over town by now. +Farry Pierce murdered old Gabe Hostetter not more'n twenty minutes +after we seen him comin' out of the bank. Shot him. Killed him first +shot. Yes, sir! Killed him instantly with a little mite of a pistol +with about as much carry as a pea-shooter. Must have hit him in just +the right spot." + +"Did you see the pistol?" asked Philo Gubb nervously. + +"No, I didn't," said his informant, "but that's what the feller told +me. 'Killed him instantly with one of these here little pea-shooters,' +was what he said. What you lookin' so funny about?" + +"If you insist to wish to know," said Philo Gubb, "Mr. Gabe Hostetter +wasn't murdered instantly at all. He was progressively murdered by +inches over a long considerable period of time, like little drops of +water." + +For a minute the loafer stared at Mr. Gubb. Then he laughed. + +"Crazy!" he scoffed. "Crazy as a loon!" and he walked away and left +Mr. Gubb struggling for a suitably crushing retort. + + + + +THE MISSING MR. MASTER + + +That evening Mr. Gubb received a short note from Mr. Medderbrook that +was in the form of a bill or statement. It read: "Due from P. Gubb to +J. Medderbrook, $11,900. Please remit,"--so he put on his hat and +walked to Mr. Medderbrook's elegant home. + +"I want you to hurry up with what you owe me," said Mr. Medderbrook, +when Mr. Gubb explained that he could pay nothing on the Utterly +Hopeless Gold-Mine stock at the moment, "because I know you are soft +on Syrilla, and from a telegram I got from her to-day it looks as if +it would be no time at all before she reduced her weight down to seven +hundred pounds and Mr. Dorgan of the side-show broke his contract with +her. And if you want to read the telegram you can do so by paying half +what it cost me, which was three dollars." + +Mr. Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook one dollar and a half, as any lover +would, and read the telegram from Syrilla. It said:-- + + Love is triumphing. Have given up all cereal diet. Have + given up oatmeal, rice, farina, puffed wheat, corn flakes, + hominy, shredded wheat, force, cream of wheat, grapenuts, + boiled barley, popcorn, flour paste, and rice powder. Weigh + now only nine hundred and twenty-five pounds. Soft thoughts + to dearest Gubby. + +Mr. Gubb hesitated a moment and then said:-- + +"Far be it from me to say aught or anything, Mr. Medderbrook, but I +would wish the cost of telegrams would reduce themselves down a +little. This one is marked onto its upper corner 'PAID'--" + +"Yes, the telegraph boy said that was a mistake," said Mr. Medderbrook +hastily. + +"And very likely so," said Mr. Gubb, "but for a reduction of five +pounds one dollar fifty is a highish price to pay. Thirty cents a +pound is too much." + +"Well," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I don't want to have any quarrel with +you, so I'll do this for you: I will make you a flat price of +twenty-five cents per pound." + +"Which is a fair and reasonable price for glad tidings to a fond +heart," said Mr. Gubb, and this matter having been amicably settled, +he returned to his office. + +That evening he sat on the edge of his cot bed minus his coat, vest, +and trousers, with his bare feet comfortably extended. At his back a +pillow made a back-rest, and a bundle of wall-paper served as a rather +lofty footstool. He was deeply immersed in Lesson Eleven, his +bird-like face screwed into tensity. From time to time he wiggled one +toe or another as a fly alighted on it. Sometimes, when more than one +fly alighted on his toes at once, he wiggled all ten toes +simultaneously. + +A trunk, a varnished oak washstand and a cot showed that the room was +not only a decorator's shop, but a living-place; and that this was +the office of Philo Gubb, detective, was shown by a row of hooks from +which hung various disguises used by the celebrated detective, by a +portrait of William J. Burns, cut from a magazine and pasted on the +wall, and by a placard which read, "P. Gubb, Graduate and Diploma-ist +of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of +Detecting. Detecting done by the Day or Job. Terms on Application." + +On the cot at Philo Gubb's side lay a copy of that day's morning +Chicago paper, with a two-column spread headline reading, "Wife Offers +$5000 Reward," and it was this that had driven Philo Gubb, the +paper-hanger detective, to renewed study of Lesson Eleven--"Procedure +in Abduction and Missing Men Cases." + +Mr. Custer Master, of Chicago, had mysteriously disappeared. One +paragraph in the article had caught Mr. Gubb's particular attention:-- + + Mrs. Master feels that her husband is still alive, and + insists that Mr. Master will be found in one of the Iowa + towns on the Mississippi River. The police of these towns + have been notified, and detectives have gone to investigate. + The Masters stand high in South-Side society. Mr. Master, it + is understood, recently inherited $450,000 from a maternal + uncle. At the time the will was probated considerable + interest was aroused by the fact that the legacy was to go + to Mr. Master only on condition that he carried out certain + provisions contained in a sealed envelope, to be read only + by the executors and Mr. Master. + +And so on. The paper pointed out that Mr. Master had been a sufferer +from dyspepsia for many years, but this had not had a permanently +depressing effect on his mind. His home relations were most +satisfactory. His own business--he was a dealer in laundry supplies +and laundry machinery--was doing well, and no trace of outside +troubles could be discovered. + +On the morning of his disappearance, Mr. Master had shown some signs +of mental eccentricity. A neighbor, happening to be at her window, saw +Mr. Master come hurriedly from the door of his house. An hour later a +friend passed him as he was standing on a corner six blocks from home. +Mr. Master seemed greatly distressed. + +"I can't do it! It kills me; I can't do it!" he was muttering to +himself. "I never could do it. I said so." + +The next news of Mr. Master was gained from the keeper of a bath-house +and swimming-pool known as the Imperial Natatorium. About ten o'clock, +Mr. Master entered the Natatorium hurriedly, asked the price of baths, +and chose to pay for a plunge in the big swimming-pool. He paid in +advance, removed his garments in one of the small dressing-rooms, put +on a swimming-suit and went to the edge of the big pool. Here he +grasped the rail and extended one foot until his toes touched the cold +water, when he uttered a cry, rushed to the dressing-room, and, as +soon as he had thrown on his clothes, dashed from the building. That +was the last seen of Mr. Master. + +Philo Gubb, having finished reading Lesson Eleven for the third time, +had picked up the Chicago paper when the silence of the Opera House +Building was disturbed by the sound of feet ascending the brass-clad +stairs. + +The nocturnal visitors seemed unacquainted with the building, for, +after two or three steps had been taken, one lighted a match. It was +evident to the detective that these visitors were reading the names on +the doors as they progressed along the corridor, and he was about to +extinguish his lamp and prepare for the worst, when the two men +stopped again, struck a match, and, after an instant's hesitation, +rapped sharply upon his door. + +"Come in!" called Philo Gubb, at the same time drawing his bed-sheet +over his scantily clad legs. He knotted the sheet behind, like an +apron, and arose to greet the comers. They were two. One of them Mr. +Gubb recognized at once; he was Billy Gribble, proprietor of the Gold +Star Hand Laundry, just across the way on Main Street. The other man +was a stranger. + +Under his arm, Billy Gribble carried a long, cylindrical parcel +enclosed in heavy wrapping paper. The parcel was about six feet long +and nearly as large around as Billy himself. Under his other arm, +Billy carried a second parcel. This was about three feet square. The +trained eye of Detective Gubb noted all this at a glance. Billy +Gribble dropped the two parcels on the floor. + +"Gubby, old sport!" he said in his noisy way, "this is--" + +"Now, now!" said the stranger irritably. "Now, wait! I said I would +talk to him, didn't I? What do you mean by--if you'll please let--you +are Detective Gubb, are you not?" he asked. + +Philo Gubb gazed at the man. The man was tall and thin, taller and +thinner than Mr. Gubb himself. He was clean-shaven and his face showed +deep lines about the mouth and nose. His hair was closely clipped, +making his head seem pea-like in its smallness. + +But Mr. Gubb was not gazing at these things. His bird-like eyes were +fastened on the end of the suitcase the stranger still held in his +hand. On the end of the case were painted in black the letters "C. M." +and the word "Chicago." The stranger glanced down at the suitcase and +put it on the floor with a suddenness that brought forth a thumping +sound. + +"Clue!" he said, and he kicked the suitcase. + +"I presume the honor of this call at this late hour of time," said +Philo Gubb, shifting his sheet a little, "is on a matter of business. +If it is of a social, society sort, I'll have to ask to be kindly +excused whilst I assume my pants." + +"Business call, business call entirely, Mr. Gubb," said the tall +stranger. "Don't put anything on. If--if you feel embarrassed I'll +take some off. My name is--is--" + +"Phineas Burke," said Billy Gribble, in a loud whisper. + +"Can't you keep still?" asked the stranger crossly. "Don't you think I +know my own name? Phineas--that's my name, and I know it as well as +you do. Phineas Burns." + +"Burke, not Burns," whispered Billy Gribble. + +The stranger turned red with exasperation. + +"Look here! Don't I know my own name?" he asked angrily. "My name is +Phineas Burns." + +"All right! All right!" said Billy Gribble. "Have it your own way. You +ought to know. Only--you said Burke over at my place." + +Mr. Burke-Burns glared at Billy Gribble. + +"Now! There, now!" he cried. "Just for that I'll tell you you don't +know anything about it. My name isn't Burke, and it isn't Burns. +It's--it's Charles Augustus Witzel. Mr. Gubb, my name is Charles +Augustus Witzel." + +"Glad to know your acquaintance, sir," said Philo Gubb. "Won't you be +seated upon one of them bundles of wall-paper?" + +"I'm a detective," said Mr. Charles Augustus Witzel. "Tell him about +me, Gribble." + +"Well, he--whatever his name is, but Burke was what he told me--is a +Chicago detective," said Billy Gribble. "Yes, sir, Mr. Gubb, Mr.--ah, +what is it?" + +"Witzel," said Mr. Witzel. + +"Mr. Witzel is one of the celebratedest Chicago detectives," said Mr. +Gribble, "and he's come over here to hunt up this man Master that's +disappeared. See? So when he strikes town he comes straight to me. +That's how it is, ain't it?" + +"Ex-act-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. + +"Yes, sir," said Billy Gribble. "So he comes to my laundry, and I'm in +the washroom--" + +"You ain't!" said Mr. Witzel. "You're out, and you know you're out!" + +"And I'm out," said Billy Gribble. "Maybe I was in the washroom and +went out the back way. Anyway, I'm out. Say," he said, as Mr. Witzel +squirmed, "if you don't like the way I'm telling this, tell it +yourself." + +"I entered Mr. Gribble's laundry," said Mr. Witzel. "You'll +understand, being a detective, Mr. Gubb. I entered the laundry. Here +is the counter. I walked up to the counter. I leaned over and spoke to +the girl there. 'My dear young lady,' I said, 'is Mr. Gribble in?' +'Out,' she says. Naturally, I looked down. A detective observes +everything. My toe has hit a suitcase. On the end of the suitcase are +the initials 'C. M.' and 'Chicago.' In other words, 'Custer Master, +Chicago,'--the man I'm looking for." + +"And did you get him?" asked Philo Gubb tensely. + +"Gone! Gone like a bird!" said Mr. Witzel. "I waited for Gribble. I +questioned Gribble. I asked him if Mr. Master had been there--" + +"Hold on!" said Mr. Gribble, and then, "Oh, all right!" + +"And he said, 'No,'" said Mr. Witzel, frowning. "'Very well,' I said +to Gribble, 'he'll be back. He'll come back after the suitcase.' So +Gribble hid me in his private office. I waited." + +"And he came back?" asked Detective Gubb eagerly. + +"He did not," said Mr. Witzel. + +Philo Gubb sighed with relief. "Then I've got a chance at an +opportunity to get that five thousand dollars," he said. + +"Mr. Gubb," said Mr. Witzel, "you have a chance to get twenty-five +hundred. It was to offer you the chance to get twenty-five hundred +that I came here. What did I say to you, Gribble?" + +"You go ahead and tell it, if you want it told," said Gribble. "You +don't like the way I tell things. Tell 'em yourself." + +"I said to Gribble," said Mr. Witzel slowly, "'Gribble, is this the +town where a detective by the name of Grubb lives?'" + +"Gubb is the name," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Gubb. That's what I said," said Mr. Witzel. "That made me think a +bit. 'Gribble,' I says, 'by to-morrow there will be forty Chicago +detectives in his town, all looking for Master. And I don't care a +whoop for any of them,' I says. 'I'm the leader of them all, as +anybody who has read the exploits of--of George Augustus Wechsler--.'" + +"Charles Augustus Witzel," said Gribble, correctingly. + +"I have so many _aliases_ I forget them," said Mr. Witzel to Mr. Gubb. +"You'll understand that perfectly. You are a detective, and I'm a +detective, Witzel or Wotzel or Wutzel--who cares? We understand each +other. Don't we?" + +"I presume to suppose we will do so in the course of time," said Philo +Gubb politely. + +"Pre-cise-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. "So I said to Gribble, 'I'm afraid of +Gubb! He's the man who will find Master, if I don't. But I've got an +advantage. I've got the clue.'" + +He pointed to the suitcase. + +"So Gribble says to me," said Mr. Witzel, "'Why don't you and Gubb +combine?' 'Great idea!' I says, and--here I am. How about it, Mr. +Gobb?" + +"Gubb is the name I adhere to when not deteckating," said Mr. Gubb +kindly. "And as to how about it, I wouldn't want to enter into a +combination shutting me out from using the ability taught to me in +Chapters One to Twelve inclusive, of the Correspondence course. For +the twenty-five hundred which would fall to my share, I should expect +to detect to some considerable extent." + +"Quite right! _Quite_ right!" said Mr. Witzel promptly. "That meets my +plans entirely. I make my headquarters here, I give you a free hand. +I am a--an inductive detective." + +"Yes, sir. A Sherlock Holmes deteckative," said Philo Gubb. + +"Ex-act-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. "I think things out. But you go out. You +shadow and snoop and trail. I remain here. For you see," he added, +"I'm so well known that if Master saw me he would disappear instantly. +Instantly!" + +"I'm willing to transact it as a business bargain onto them terms," +said Philo Gubb, and it was agreed. + +Mr. Gribble immediately cut the cords that bound the two bundles, and +released a canvas cot and a bundle of bedding. Then he said good-night +and withdrew, closing the door behind him. + +Mr. Gubb waited until he heard Mr. Gribble's footsteps on the +brass-clad stairs. + +"That Gribble man ain't what I'd term by name of a--of a--" He +hesitated. "He's not known as a strictly reliable citizen in any +respect," he ended. "I wouldn't trust him any more than need be +necessary." + +"Thank you," said Mr. Witzel, who was already removing his garments. +"I don't mean to. And now, if you don't mind, I'll retire. Let's see +if Mr. Master has a night-shirt in his suitcase. I think it helps the +inductive mind to sleep in the night-shirt of the man it is hunting." + +He opened the suitcase, using--oddly enough a key from his own bunch +of keys. He found a night-shirt and put it on. To his surprise it +fitted him exactly, which was odd, for Mr. Witzel was an unusually +tall and thin man. Without wasting time, he climbed into the cot and +closed his eyes. Mr. Gubb also retired. + +Philo Gubb, from his cot, watched Mr. Witzel until he was sure he was +thoroughly asleep. Then the Correspondence School detective slipped +out of bed and knelt over the suitcase. + +The suitcase contained linen all plainly marked. The name "C. Master" +was written in indelible ink on each piece. An extra suit of outer +garments was marked with Mr. Master's name. There were silver-backed +toilet articles, engraved with Mr. Master's name, and these Mr. Gubb +examined closely, but what caught and held his interest most was a +folded document, covered in light-blue paper and endorsed, "Last Will +and Testament of Orlando J. Higgins. Copy." + +The will began with the usual preamble, but the clause that caught +Philo Gubb's bird-like eye, and held it, was the next. + +"To my nephew, Custer Master," this clause said, "I give and bequeath +$450,000; but, be it understood, my said nephew, Custer Master, shall +benefit by this clause only in case he faithfully carries out the +instructions contained in the sealed envelope attached hereto, the +contents of said envelope to be read by my hereinafter named +Executors, and the said Custer Master, and not by any other persons +whatsoever; the said Executors are to be the sole judges of whether +the said Custer Master has carried out the instructions therein +contained." + +This document was worn at the corners of the folds, and slightly +soiled, as if Mr. Master had carried it in his pocket some time before +dropping it in his suitcase. + +With the same caution, and following closely Lesson Three and its +directions for "Searching Occupied Apartments, Etc.," Mr. Gubb +examined the articles of dress the Chicago detective had cast aside. +All were marked "C. Master" or "C. M." or with a monogram composed of +the letters "C. M." interwoven. + +As cautiously as he could, Philo Gubb crossed to his trunk and took +from the left-hand compartment of the tray his trusty pistol. It was a +large and deadly looking pistol, about a foot and a half long, with a +small ramrod beneath the barrel. It was a muzzle-loader of the crop of +1854, and carried a bullet the size of a well-matured cherry. It was +as heavy as a vitrified paving-brick. Its efficiency as a firearm was +unknown, as Mr. Gubb had never discharged it, but it looked dangerous. +A man, facing Philo Gubb's trusty weapon, felt that if the gun went +off he would be utterly and disastrously blown to flinders. Mr. Gubb +pointed it at the sleeping Mr. Witzel, using both hands, and sighting +along the barrel. + +"Wake up!" he exclaimed sternly. + +Mr. Witzel sat straight up on the cot. For an instant he was still +dazed with sleep and did not seem to know where he was; then a look of +joy spread over his face and he jumped from the cot and, with both +hands extended, moved toward Detective Gubb. + +"Superb!" he exclaimed. "A perfect specimen! Wonderfully preserved!" + +"Go back!" said Philo Gubb sternly. "This article is a loaded pistol +gun, prepared for momentary explosion at any time at all. Go back!" + +"Remarkable!" cried Mr. Witzel joyously. "A superb specimen. Let me +see it. Let me look at it." + +He walked up to the gun and peered into its muzzle with one eye. He +bent his head to read the engraving on the top of the barrel. + +"A real Briggs & Bolton 53-1/2 caliber, muzzle-loading, 1854!" he +exclaimed rapturously. + +Mr. Gubb pushed him away with one hand. + +"Go back there into range," he said sternly. "In shooting I aim to +kill, but not to blow into particles of pieces." + +"But, my dear sir!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "Do you know what you have +there?" + +"It's a pistol gun," said Philo Gubb. "If you don't stand back, I'll +shoot you anyway." + +"It's a Briggs & Bolton," said Mr. Witzel. "That's what it is. It is +the only well-preserved specimen of Briggs & Bolton I ever saw." + +Mr. Gubb shook off the hand that clasped his arm. + +"I don't care what it is," said Mr. Gubb. "It's a pistol gun, and it's +bung full of powder and bullet, and when I point it at you I mean that +if you make a move I'm a-going to shoot." + +"And I don't care what you mean," said Mr. Witzel. "It's a Briggs & +Bolton, and I warn you that you have that gun so full of powder that +if you pull that trigger you'll blow it to bits and ruin the only +perfect specimen of that gun I ever saw!" + +"And I tell _you_," said Philo Gubb sternly, "that I can't shoot you +whilst you're rubbing your nose right into this gun. Go back there +where I can shoot you." + +"I won't!" said Mr. Witzel angrily. + +Philo Gubb was slow to anger, but he was sorely pressed now, and his +temper failed him. + +"Look here," he said to Mr. Witzel. "If you don't go back where I can +get a shot at you, I'll--I'll smack you on the face." + +"If you shoot off that gun, and bust it," said Mr. Witzel, with equal +anger, "I'll--I'll hit you on the head." + +"Go back!" cried Philo Gubb menacingly. "One!" + +"I'll give you fifty dollars for that gun, just as she is," said Mr. +Witzel. + +"Two!" said Mr. Gubb. + +"Sixty dollars!" said Mr. Witzel. + +"Th--" said the paper-hanger detective, stepping backward to get room +to sight along the long barrel. Unfortunately the trunk was just +behind him and as he stepped back he tripped over it and fell +backward, doubling up like a jack-knife. But he kept his presence of +mind. The long barrel of the Briggs & Bolton protruded from between +the soles of Philo Gubb's feet in Mr. Witzel's direction. + +"Hands up!" he said. + +Instantly Mr. Witzel raised his hands in the air. + +"I'll give you seventy dollars," he said. + +"Make it seventy-five," said Mr. Gubb, "and as soon as I'm done with +it, you can have it." + +"It's a bargain!" said Mr. Witzel happily. "It's my pistol. Now, +what's all this nonsense about shooting me?" + +"_Nonsense_ is an insufficient word to use in relation to this here +case," said Philo Gubb grimly. "It won't be nonsense for you when you +get through with it. What did you do with the corpse?" + +"With the--with the _what_?" cried Mr. Witzel. + +"The remains," said Mr. Gubb. "What did you do with them?" + +"The remains of what?" asked Mr. Witzel. + +"Of Mister Custer Master," said Philo Gubb, easing himself a little by +shifting one waving foot. "There is no need to pretend to play +innocent. Where is the body?" + +"My dear Mr. Detective Gubb!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "I know nothing +about any body. I am George Augustus Wetzler--" + +"Maybe you are," said Philo Gubb. "Maybe so. But your clothes ain't. +Your clothes are the clothes of Mister Custer Master. The question is, +'Did you murder him alone, or did you and William Gribble murder him +together?'" + +Mr. Witzel-Wetzel-Wetzler's mouth fell open. + +"Murder him!" he exclaimed aghast. "But--but--" + +"In the name of the law," said Philo Gubb, "I take you into custody +for the murder and disappearing bodyliness of Mister Custer Master. +Turn your back and keep your hands up until I get from behind this +trunk, and I'll put handcuffs on you in proper shape and manner. +Turn!" + +Mr. Witzel turned--all but his head. He kept his face toward the +priceless (or, more properly) seventy-five-dollar Briggs & Bolton. + +"Mr. Gubb," he said, "you are making a serious mistake. I am a +detective." + +"You ain't!" said Philo Gubb. "I searched all your things and you +ain't got a silver badge nor a false mustache nowhere. I'm going to +turn you right over to the police to-morrow morning." + +"To the police!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "Don't do that! Whatever you +do, don't do that!" And suddenly, like a nervous dyspeptic suddenly +overwrought, Mr. Witzel broke down and, falling on the cot, began to +sob. Philo Gubb looked at him a moment with amazement. Then he dug a +pair of handcuffs out of his trunk and, walking to where Mr. Witzel +lay, prodded him in the back with the muzzle of the pistol. Mr. Witzel +turned quickly, rolling over like an eel. + +"Stop it! You're tickling me. I can't stand tickling!" he cried. "I--I +can't stand lots of things. I'm--I'm the most sensitive man in the +world. I--I can't stand cold water at all." + +"Well, nobody is cold-watering you," said Philo Gubb. "Handcuffs ain't +cold water." + +"But cold water is," said Mr. Witzel. "Cold water kills me! It makes +me shiver, and turn blue, and goose-fleshy, and gives me cramps in the +palms of my hands and the soles of my feet. I--listen: my doctor says +cold baths will kill me. The shock of 'em. Bad heart, you understand." + +Philo Gubb's eyes blinked. + +"I'll tell _you_," said Mr. Witzel, grasping Mr. Gubb's hand. "I can't +_stand_ cold baths. They'd kill me, you understand. It would be +suicide! So--so I knew Billy Gribble. Didn't I set him up in business +here, to get rid of him? Don't he owe me a good turn?" + +"Does he?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Hasn't he two bathrooms in connection with his laundry. 'Hot and Cold +Baths, All hours. Ladies Tuesdays and Wednesdays Only?'" asked Mr. +Witzel. "Mr. Gubb, I will be frank. I am Custer Master!" + +[Illustration: THE MISSING MR. MASTER] + +"The reward for who--for who the reward," said Philo Gubb, seeking a +grammatical form that would sound right, "for information as to +which five thousand dollars reward is offered!" + +"Exactly!" said Mr. Master. "And I will make it six thousand if you do +not give information. I admit I am Master. I am Custer Master. Here, +read this!" + +He reached for his vest and from the pocket took a slip of paper. It +was typewritten and headed "Secret Stipulation Regarding Custer Master +Clause of Orlando J. Higgins Will. Copy":-- + + Being a firm believer in the efficacy of cold baths for the + cure of dyspepsia and having been laughed at for same by my + nephew, Custer Master, and feeling that a course of ice-cold + baths would cure him, I make it a part of my will and + testament that the sum or sums bequeathed to him shall be + given to him only after he has faithfully, and upon the + sworn testimony of an eye-witness, bathed for twelve + minutes, every morning for one month of thirty days, in + ice-cold water. + +"Cleanliness may be next to godliness," said Mr. Master, "but +ice-water baths are my shortest road to a future state, and I'm not +ready for that yet. Still, I did not like to give up $450,000. To +Billy Gribble," he added, with a meaning smile, "all baths are cold +baths. I hold a mortgage on his laundry machinery." + +"And so you came up here to my office to hide whilst bathing in +so-called ice-water at Mister Gribble's?" said Philo Gubb. + +"Exactly!" said Mr. Master. + +"If you ain't got six thousand and seventy-five dollars by you," said +Philo Gubb simply, "you can give me a check for the whole amount in +the morning, but if you go to take the bullet out of this pistol +you'll have to get an auger. I made the bullet myself and it was too +big, and I had to pound it into the gun with a hammer and +screw-driver. It's in good and safe." + +"And you would have dared to pull the trigger?" asked Mr. Master. + +"I would have dared so to do," said Mr. Gubb. + +"It would have blown the pistol to atoms!" exclaimed Mr. Master. + +"It would so have done," said Mr. Gubb, "except for the time I loaded +it being the first beginning time I ever loaded a pistol. In loading a +Briggs & Bolton, I have since subsequently learned, the powder ought +to go into it first, and the bullet second. I put the bullet in +first." + +"Well, bless my stars!" exclaimed Mr. Master. "Bless my stars! If that +is the case--if that is the case, I'm going to bed again. I have to +get up before daylight to take a bath." + + + + +WAFFLES AND MUSTARD + + +It would not be true to say that Mr. Gubb had become suspicious of Mr. +Medderbrook's honesty. The fact that the cashier of the Riverbank +National Bank told him the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock was not +worth the paper it was printed on did pain him, however. + +It pained Mr. Gubb to think his father-in-law-to-be might be guilty of +even unconscious duplicity, and when Mr. Master paid him the six +thousand and seventy-five dollars Mr. Gubb decided that only three +thousand dollars of it should pass immediately into Mr. Medderbrook's +hands. Mr. Gubb put two thousand dollars in the bank and invested the +balance in furniture for his office and in articles and instruments +that were needed for his detective career. The three thousand dollars +he took to Mr. Medderbrook and paid it to him, leaving only eight +thousand nine hundred dollars unpaid. + +Mr. Medderbrook was greatly pleased with this and told Mr. Gubb so. + +"This is a bully payment on account," he said, "and if you keep on +this way you'll soon be all paid up, but you don't want to let that +worry you, for I'm having a brand-new lot of stock in a brand-new mine +printed, and I'll sell you a whole lot of it as soon as we are +square. I'm going to call it the Little Syrilla Gold-Mine--" + +"I don't think I'll buy any more gold-mine stock after the present lot +is paid up completely full," said Mr. Gubb. + +"That's all right," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I haven't given the printer +final orders yet and if you prefer something else I'll make it +Oil-Well stock. It is all the same to me. The property will produce +just as much oil as it will gold. Every bit!" + +"Have you heard from Miss Syrilla recently of late?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Yes, I have," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I have heard two dollars and a +half's worth." + +The telegram, which Mr. Medderbrook permitted Mr. Gubb to read after +he had paid the cash in hand, said:-- + + Heaven smiles on us. Have given up all vegetable diet. Have + given up potatoes, beets, artichokes, fried parsnips, Swiss + chard, turnips, squash, kohl-rabi, boiled radishes, sugar + beets, corn on the cob, cow pumpkin, mushrooms, string + beans, asparagus, spinach, and canned and fresh tomatoes. + Have lost ten pounds more. Weight now only nine hundred and + fifteen pounds. Dorgan worried. I dream of Gubby and love. + +Mr. Gubb sighed happily. "I suppose," he said blissfully, "that by the +present moment of time Miss Syrilla has only got left a remainder of +six double chins out of seven, dear little one!" And he went back to +his office feeling that it would not be long now before the apple of +his eye was released from her side-show contract. + +The next day Mr. Gubb had begun his labors on a new and interesting +case when the door opened. + +"Gubb, come across the hall here!" + +Gubb looked up from the labor in which he was engaged and blinked at +Lawyer Higgins. + +"At the present time I am momently engaged upon a case," said Mr. +Gubb. "As soon as I am disengaged away from what I am at, I expect to +be engaged at the next thing I have to do. I shouldn't wish to assume +to be rude, Mr. Higgins, but when a deteckative is working up a case, +and has a sign on his door 'Out--Back at Midnight,' he generally means +he ain't receiving callers on no account." + +"That's all right," said Higgins briskly, "but this is business. I've +got a real job for you." + +"I am engaged upon a real job now," said Philo Gubb. + +"This is a detective job," said Mr. Higgins. "We want you to find a +man, and if you find him, there's two hundred dollars in it for you. +What sort of a job is it you have on hand?" + +"I am searching out the whereabouts of a lost party," said Gubb +earnestly. "I'm investigating clues at the present time and moment." + +Higgins stepped inside the door. He walked to where Philo Gubb sat at +an elaborate mahogany desk, and looked at the apparatus Mr. Gubb was +using. + +"What the dickens?" he asked. + +On the slide of the desk were grouped a number of small articles, and +a large and powerful microscope. Through the lens of the microscope +Mr. Gubb was inspecting something that looked like frayed yellow-brown +wool yarn. + +"You don't expect to find your missing party in that wad of wool, do +you, Gubb?" asked Mr. Higgins jestingly. + +"Maybe I do, and maybe the operations of the deteckative mind are none +of your particular affair when conducted in the private seclusion of +my laboratory," said Gubb. + +"Now, don't get mad," said Higgins. "It just struck me as funny. Looks +as if you were hunting for fleas in a wisp of dog hair." + +Philo Gubb looked up quickly. As a matter of fact, he had but a +moment before found a flea in the wool he was examining, and the +wool was indeed a wisp of dog hair. The party Mr. Gubb had been +engaged to find was a dog, and Mr. Gubb was--by the inductive method +of detecting--trying to reason out the location of the dog. By the aid +of the microscope, Mr. Gubb was searching for the slight indications +that mean so much to detectives. Unfortunately, however, Mr. Gubb had +not yet found anything from which he could deduce anything whatever, +unless the flea in the wool might lead to the conclusion that the dog +now, or once, had fleas. + +"Tell you what I want," said Mr. Higgins: "I want you to find +Mustard." + +Detective Gubb swung suddenly in his chair and faced Mr. Higgins. + +"I don't want nothing more to do with that will!" he said. + +"I'm with you there!" said Higgins, laughing. "When O'Hara made his +will so that my client couldn't get her rights at once he did a mean +trick, and I dare say Mrs. Doblin will think so when she gets my bill. +But, just the same, Gubb, you're in the detective business more or +less, and it strikes me you ought to take a job when it's offered to +you. You signed the will as a witness, and this man Bilton, commonly +known as Mustard on account of his yellow complexion and hair, was the +other witness, wasn't he? Now, if you can't give us the information we +want, and Mustard can, it looks to me as if it was your duty, as a +fellow witness, to hunt him up. But we don't ask that. We're willing +to pay you if you find him." + +"Are you prepared to contract to say you'll pay me just for hunting +for him?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"We'll give you two hundred dollars if you can produce Mustard here in +Riverbank," said Higgins. + +"The job I've took on to hunt up another missing party will occupy me +for quite a while, I guess," said Gubb, "but maybe I might put in what +extra time I can spare looking for your party." + +"Do it!" said Higgins. "I don't say you're the best detective in the +world, Gubb, but you do have luck. You must have a magic talisman." + +"The operation of the deteckative mind is always like magic to the +common folks," said Gubb gravely. + +"All right, then," said Higgins. "Two hundred if you find him. And +now, will you just come across the hall for one minute?" + +Gubb left his microscope reluctantly. He was sick and tired of the +O'Hara will, but he followed Mr. Higgins. + +The second floor of the Opera House Block was laid out in small +offices arranged on two sides of a corridor. One of these offices had +been for many years the office of Haddon O'Hara, who specialized in +commercial law, collections, and jokes, and he had accumulated a snug +little fortune. It was said he could draw a contract no one could +break except himself. + +On the streets and in his home and at his office--except when at work +on some especially difficult case--his face always wore a quizzical +smile. O'Hara seemed to enjoy himself every moment. Walking along the +street he would suddenly stop some citizen, enunciate a dozen or +twenty cryptic words, laugh, and proceed on his way, leaving the +citizen to puzzle over the affair, lose interest in it and forget it. +A week, a month, or a year later O'Hara would stop the same citizen +and utter ten more words, the key to the cryptic joke. Then, +chuckling, he would hurry away. He had a lot of fun. His keen brain +felt equal to making fun of the whole town and not letting the town +know it. Money came to him easily; he had no wife; his pleasure was in +his books--and he was probably a happy man. But he died. He died and +left a will. + +For some years O'Hara lived with his niece, an orphan. She was +eighteen, and there might have been some gossip, but O'Hara +forestalled it by hiring old Mrs. Mullarky. + +O'Hara bought his niece a pup and had a dog-house built and put in the +yard. He christened the pup himself, naming it Waffles, because, he +said, the minute he saw the pup it reminded him of Dolly. The pup was +just the color of the waffles Dolly baked--"baked" is O'Hara's word. +So he bought Waffles and brought him home to Dolly, and the girl loved +the dog from the first minute. Then, just as the dog had outgrown +puppyhood, O'Hara died. + +His will was found in the safe in his office. Old Judge Mackinnon, who +shared the office with O'Hara, found the will the day after O'Hara +died. It was in a white legal envelope endorsed, "My Will, Haddon +O'Hara." The Judge opened the envelope--it was not sealed--and took +out the will. The will was not filled in on a printed form--it was a +holograph will, written in O'Hara's own hand. It began in the usual +formal manner and there were two bequests. The first read: "To my +niece, Dorothy O'Hara, since she is so extremely fond of her dog +Waffles, I give and bequeath the dog-house now on my property at 342 +Locust Street, Riverbank, Iowa." The second read: "Secondly, to my +cousin Ardelia Doblin I bequeath the entire remainder and residue of +my estate," etc. + +Judge Mackinnon frowned as he read these two bequests. He knew Ardelia +Doblin as a spiteful, scandal-mongering woman. To cut off Dolly O'Hara +with a dog-house and give his entire estate to Ardelia Doblin might be +O'Hara's idea of a joke, but the Judge did not like it. He read the +final clause, appointing him sole executor without bond. O'Hara's +signature was correctly appended. The will was dated July 1, 1913. It +was witnessed by Philo Gubb and Max Bilton. The Judge knew both +witnesses. Gubb was the eccentric paper-hanger who thought he was a +detective because he had taken a correspondence course, and Bilton was +a jaundiced loafer, commonly called Mustard. The good old man sighed +and was about to put the will back in the envelope when he noticed +three letters at the bottom of the sheet. They were "P.T.O." Now +"P.T.O." is an English abbreviation that means "Please Turn Over." The +Judge turned the paper over. + +Suddenly he smiled. Then he looked grave again. And then he grinned. +After which he shook his head. + +The reverse of the sheet contained a will exactly like that on the +obverse. Word for word it was the same. Line for line, punctuation +mark for punctuation mark, the two wills on the opposite sides of the +sheet were identical except for two words. In the will the Judge was +now reading, the name Sarah P. Kinsey was substituted for the name +Ardelia Doblin. The date was the same. The witnesses were the same. +There were two wills, one written on one side of the sheet and the +other written on the other side of the sheet, of the same date, with +the same signature, and with the same witnesses. O'Hara had joked to +the last. + +"This is a dickens of a joke!" exclaimed Judge Mackinnon. "O'Hara +should not have done this!" + +He saw the property of Haddon O'Hara being dissipated in lawsuits over +this remarkable will. He knew Sarah P. Kinsey as well as he knew +Ardelia Doblin, and she was just such another mean cantankerous +individual. + +"A joke's a joke, but you shouldn't have done this, O'Hara!" said the +Judge. + +There was nothing to do but notify the parties concerned. He went to +see Dolly O'Hara first and told her, as gently as he could, about the +will. She cried a little, softly, at first, and then she smiled +bravely. + +"You mustn't worry about it, Judge Mackinnon," she said. "I--of course +I never thought what Uncle Haddon would do with his money. And--and we +used to joke about the dog-house. He always said he would leave it to +me in his will. Uncle Haddon loved to joke, Judge Mackinnon." + +"He was a joking jackanapes!" said Judge Mackinnon angrily. + +Ardelia Doblin and Sarah P. Kinsey took the matter in quite a +different spirit. Mrs. Doblin could hardly wait until Judge Mackinnon +was out of the house before she hurried down to see Lawyer Higgins, +and Mrs. Kinsey did not wait until the Judge was ready to go, but put +on her hat in his presence, so eager was she to hurry down to see +Lawyer Burch. + +Ten hours later the O'Hara will was the one matter talked about in +Riverbank. Evidently there must be some clue leading to the solution +of the mystery--some well-hidden, cleverly planned key such as Haddon +O'Hara would undoubtedly have left in perpetrating such a joke. Common +sense was sufficient to tell any one that O'Hara could not have +written both wills simultaneously, that he had written one will on one +side of the paper, after which he had turned the paper over and had +written the other will on the other side of the paper. The difficulty +was to tell which side he had written last. + +Lawyer Higgins, Lawyer Burch, and Judge Mackinnon went over both sides +of the paper with a microscope. The same ink had been used on both +sides. O'Hara's writing was the same on both sides. Often, in writing +as many words as occupied both sides of the paper in question, a man's +hand grows involuntarily weary. There was nothing of this sort. There +seemed to be absolutely nothing on which the greatest penmanship +expert could base a plea that either side was, in fact, the _last_ +will of Haddon O'Hara. Either might be the last. + +Nothing was left untested by Higgins and Burch. The two sides of the +paper on which the wills were written were subjected to the minutest +scrutiny. + +Each will was witnessed by the same pair of witnesses, and these were +Philo Gubb and Max Bilton. It was no trouble to get Philo Gubb to tell +about signing the will. Judge Mackinnon crossed the hall and brought +Philo Gubb to the office. + +"Yes, sir," said Mr. Gubb. "I signed my signature onto that document +two times as requested so to do by the late deceased. He come over to +my official deteckative headquarters and asked me to step across and +do him the pleasure of a small favor and I done so. Yes, sir, that's +my signed signature. And that's my signed signature also likewise." + +"Did he say anything, Mr. Gubb?" asked the Judge. + +"He says, 'Gubb, this is my last will and testament, and I wish you to +sign your signature onto it as a witness.' So he put the paper in +front of me. 'Where'll I sign it?' I says. 'Sign it right here under +Mr. Bilton's name,' he says. So I signed my signature like he told +me." + +"Yes," said the Judge, "and Mr. O'Hara blotted it with a piece of +blotting-paper, did he not?" + +"He so done," said Mr. Gubb. + +"And then what?" + +"Then he turned the paper over," said Mr. Gubb, "and he says, 'Now, +please sign this one.' So I signed it." + +"Under Mr. Bilton's name again?" said the Judge. + +"Why, no," said the paper-hanger detective. "Not under it, because it +wasn't located nowhere to have an under to it. Mr. Bilton hadn't +signed on that side yet." + +There was an instant sensation. + +"Bilton hadn't signed that side?" said Mr. Higgins. "Which side hadn't +he signed?" + +"The other side from the side he had signed," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Did you notice which side he had not signed?" insisted Mr. Higgins. +"Was it this side that mentions Mrs. Doblin, or this side that +mentions Mrs. Kinsey? Which was it?" + +Mr. Gubb took the paper and examined it carefully. He turned it over +and over. + +"Couldn't say," he said briefly. + +"In other words," said Mr. Burch, "you signed one side before Mr. +Bilton signed and one side after he signed, but you don't know which?" + +"Yes, sir, I don't," said Mr. Gubb. + +"So," said Judge Mackinnon, with a smile, "you can swear you signed +both these wills as witness, but you have no idea which you signed +last, Mr. Gubb." + +"E-zactly so!" said Mr. Gubb with emphasis. + +"Now, just a minute," said Mr. Burch. "One of these Bilton signatures +is 'M. Bilton' and the other is 'Max Bilton.' You don't recall which +was on the paper when you signed, do you?" + +"Mr. Burch," said Mr. Gubb, "I wasn't taking no extra time to find out +if a no-account feller like Mustard Bilton signed his name M. or Max +or Methuselah. No, sir." + +"Do you know where Mustard Bilton is now?" asked Judge Mackinnon. + +"Don't know," said Mr. Gubb. + +The three lawyers consulted for a minute or two. Then the Judge turned +to Gubb again. + +"And did Mr. O'Hara say anything more on the occasion when you signed +the will?" asked the Judge. + +"He said, 'Thank you,'" said Mr. Gubb. "He said, 'Thank you, Sherlock +Holmes.'" + +Higgins and Burch laughed, and even the Judge smiled, and they told +Mr. Gubb he could go. + +An hour or three quarters of an hour after he had been called to +identify his signature to the wills, a gentle tap at Mr. Gubb's door +caused him to look up from the pamphlet--Lesson Four, Rising Sun +Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting--he was reading. + +"Come on right in," he called, and in answer the door opened and a +young woman entered. She was a sweet-faced, modest-appearing girl, and +when she pushed back her veil, Mr. Gubb saw she had been weeping, for +her eyes were red. Mr. Gubb hastily pulled out his desk chair. + +"Take a seat and set down, ma'am," he said politely. "Is there +anything in my lines I can be doing for you to-day?" + +"Are you Mr. Philo Gubb?" she asked, seating herself. + +"Yes'm, paper-hanging and deteckating done," he said. + +"It's about a dog, my dog," said the young woman. "He's lost, or +stolen, and--" + +Emotion choked her words. + +"I know it sounds foolish to ask a detective to look for a dog," she +said with a poor attempt at a smile, "but--" + +"In the deteckative line nothing sounds foolish," said Mr. Gubb with +politeness. + +"But Uncle Haddon told me once that if ever I needed a--a detective I +should come to you," the young woman continued. "You knew Uncle +Haddon, Mr. Gubb?" + +"I had the pleasure of being known to and knowing of him," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"My name is Dolly O'Hara! I am his niece." + +"Glad to make your acquaintance, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, and he shook +hands gravely. + +"He gave me my dog," said Miss O'Hara. "He gave him to me when the dog +was just a puppy, and he called him Waffles. He used to joke about my +loving the dog more than I loved him. He used to say--" + +Miss O'Hara wiped her eyes. For a moment she could not speak. + +"He used to say," she continued in a moment, "that I'd never break my +heart over a lost uncle, but that if I lost Waffles I'd die of grief. +It wasn't so, of course. But I'm heart-broken to have Waffles gone. He +is all I'll have to remember Uncle Haddon by. And then--to have +him--go!" + +"I should take it a pleasure to be employed upon a case to fetch him +back," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Oh, would you?" cried Miss O'Hara. "I'm so glad! I was afraid a--a +real detective might not want to bother with a dog. Of course I'll +pay--" + +"The remuneration will be minimum on account of the smallness of the +crime under the statutes made and provided," said Mr. Gubb. + +"But you must let me pay!" urged Miss O'Hara. "One of the things Uncle +Haddon said was, 'If you ever lose that dog, Dolly, hire Detective +Gubb. Understand? He's a wonderful detective. He'll leave no stone +unturned. He'll find your dog. He'll pry the roof off the dog-house to +find a flea, and when he's found the flea he'll hunt up a blond dog to +match it. Remember,' he said, 'if you lose the dog, get Gubb.'" + +"I consider the compliment the highest form of flattery," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"So I want you to try to find Waffles, please, if it isn't beneath you +to hunt a dog," said Miss O'Hara. "How much will you charge to find +Waffles, Mr. Gubb?" + +"I'd ought to have five dollars--" Mr. Gubb began doubtfully. + +"Of course!" exclaimed Miss O'Hara. "Why, I expected to pay far more." + +"Well and good," said Mr. Gubb. "And now, how aged was the dog when he +was purloined away from you?" + +Philo Gubb secured a complete history of the dog. Miss O'Hara had +brought, also, two photographs of Waffles in pleasing poses, and when +she left, Mr. Gubb accompanied her to the late home of Waffles. It was +there he gathered the clues over which he was poring with his +microscope when Mr. Higgins came to ask him to step across the hall +and to offer him two hundred dollars if he could produce Mustard +Bilton. Mr. Gubb went across the hall. + +"Gubb," said Judge Mackinnon, when he had introduced the detective to +Mrs. Kinsey and Mrs. Doblin, "was Mustard Bilton in this office when +you signed your name to these wills?" + +"No, sir, he was not present in person," said Mr. Gubb. "He was +elsewhere." + +"Well, ladies," said the Judge, "it seems to me that until we can find +Mustard we cannot proceed. Mr. O'Hara's last will--whichever it +is--must be probated. If I took this will to the courthouse, whichever +side happened to be uppermost would be probated first and the other +side would naturally appear on the record as the latest will. It is a +responsibility I do not care to undertake. If you will not agree to +compromise and divide the estate--" + +"Never!" said both ladies. + +"We must find Mustard!" said the Judge. + +Mr. Gubb went into the hall, but Lawyer Burch followed him. + +"Gubb," he said, "just a word! Find Mustard for me. Now, don't +talk--find him. Bring Mustard to Judge Mackinnon's office and I'll put +two hundred dollars in your hand! That's all!" + +Detective Gubb returned to his office and resumed his work on his lost +dog clues. One by one he submitted the clues to inspection under the +microscope. He tried the five processes of the Sherlock Holmes +inductive method on them. By some strange quirk, quite out of keeping +with the usual detective-story logic, he could make nothing of them. +Even the flea in the bit of dog hair did not point direct to the +location of the dog. They were blind clues. Mr. Gubb swept them into +an empty envelope, sealed the envelope, put on his hat and went out. + +On the stair he met Judge Mackinnon. + +"Well, if O'Hara meant to have a little joke--and he did--he's had +it," said the Judge with a chuckle. "You should have been in that room +just now. Cat fights? Those two women all but jumped on each other +with claws and teeth. I don't know why O'Hara wanted to worry them, +but he has paid them back well for whatever they ever did to him." + +"And the dog has disappeared away, too," said Mr. Gubb. "I am +proceeding on my way at the present time to help discover where the +dog is." + +"Hope you find the poor child's pet," said the Judge as he turned off +in the opposite direction. + +Mr. Gubb proceeded to the late home of Haddon O'Hara. He followed the +brick walk to the back of the house. He was already familiar with the +premises. + +The dog-house--the only recently painted structure in the +neighborhood--stood opposite the kitchen door. It was perhaps three +feet in height and four feet long, with a pointed roof. As a door it +had an open arch, and at one side of this was a staple to which a +chain could be attached. The grass in front of the dog-house was worn +away, leaving the soil packed hard. The detective, arriving at the +dog-house, walked around it, gazing at it closely. + +The inductive method had failed--as it always failed for Mr. Gubb--and +he meant now to try following a clue in person, if he could find a +clue to follow. Mr. Gubb dropped to his hands and knees and crept +around the dog-house, seeking a clue hidden in the grass. When he +reached the front of the dog-house he paused. + +"Ye look that like a dog I was thinkin' ye'd howl for a bone," said +Mrs. Mullarky suddenly from the kitchen door. + +Mr. Gubb turned and eyed her with disapproval. + +"The operations of deteckating are strange to the lay mind," he said +haughtily. "Those not understanding them should be seen and not +heard." + +"An' hear the man!" cried Mrs. Mullarky. "Does a dog-house drive all +of ye crazy? T' see a human bein' crawlin' around on his four legs an' +callin' it detectin' where a dog is that ain't there! Go awn, if ye +wish! Crawl inside of ut!" + +"I'm going to do so," said Mr. Gubb, and he did. + +Inside, or as far inside as he could get, Mr. Gubb struck a match and +examined the floor of the house. There was straw on it, but nothing +even remotely suggesting a clue. No dog thief had left a glove there. +Mr. Gubb began to back out, and as he backed his head touched +something softer than a pine board. He craned his long neck and looked +upward. Tacked to the inside of the roof of the house was a long +envelope. Mr. Gubb put up his hand and pulled it loose. Then he backed +into the daylight. He sat on the bare spot before the dog-house and +examined the envelope. + +The envelope was sealed, but on the face of it was written:-- + + To be delivered to Judge Mackinnon, after Waffles has been + returned to his house and home. Waffles will be found in the + old cattle-shed on the Illinois side of the river, north + from the turnpike at the far end of the bridge. H. O'H. + +It was a clue! Without stopping to silence the scornful laughter of +Mrs. Mullarky, Philo Gubb jumped to his feet and made for the Illinois +side of the long bridge as rapidly as his long legs could carry him. +He reached the old cattle-shed and there he found Mustard Bilton +seated at the door, smoking a cob pipe in lazy comfort. + +"Come for the dog?" asked Mustard carelessly. "Sort of thought you'd +come for him about now. Been expectin' you the last couple o' days." + +"Expecting me?" said Philo Gubb. "I've been doing deteckative work on +this case--" + +"Yes, Had' O'Hara reckoned you'd detect around awhile before you got +track of me," said Mustard without emotion. "He says, when I'd signed +that there will for him, 'Day or so after I kick the bucket, Mustard, +you go up and steal Waffles,' he says, 'and fetch him over to the +cattle-shed on the Illinoy side,' he says, 'and keep him there until +Gubb comes for him. Take a day or so, maybe,' he says, 'for Dolly to +remember I told her to get Gubb, and take Gubb a day or two to scrooge +round before he hits on the clue I've fixed up to point him to you, +but he'll come. He's a wonder, Gubb is,' says O'Hara, 'and no mistake. +If a feller was to steal the sardines out of a can,' he says, 'bet you +Gubb would want to see what was inside the empty can before he'd start +out to find the feller. You just sit quiet an' wait till Gubb snoops +round enough,' he says, 'and he'll come.'" + +"You have possession of the Waffles dog at the present time?" asked +Detective Gubb. + +"In yonder," said Mustard, pointing over his shoulder. "Say, what's +the joke O'Hara was cookin' up, anyway?" + +"You accompany yourself with me to the office of Judge Mackinnon," +said Mr. Gubb, "and you'll discover it out for yourself and I'll +remunerate you to twenty dollars also. Fetch the dog." + +Mr. Gubb, quite properly, left Mustard and Waffles in his own office +while he visited Mr. Higgins and Mr. Burch, collecting two hundred +dollars from each. Then he turned Mr. Mustard Bilton over to them. + +"You signed those wills of O'Hara's," said Mr. Burch when all had +gathered in Judge Mackinnon's office. "Do you know which you signed +last?" + +"Sure, I do," said Mustard. + +Mr. Burch handed him the double will. + +"Which did you sign last?" asked Mr. Burch energetically. + +Mustard took the document and looked at it. The Kinsey side was toward +him. + +"It wasn't this one," he said positively. + +"Ah, ha!" cried Lawyer Higgins, turning the paper over. "Then it was +this one you signed last!" + +"No," said Mustard, glancing at the Doblin side of the paper. "I +signed this'n the same time as I signed the other side of it. I signed +both these the first day of the month. The one I signed last I signed +on the second of the month." + +"Ah, yes!" said Judge Mackinnon, looking at a document he had taken +from the envelope Philo Gubb had handed him. "You mean this one:-- + + Last will and testament--and all else with which I may die + possessed--to my niece Dorothy O'Hara--and hope she can take + a joke--Haddon O'Hara. + +You mean this one, Mr. Bilton?" + +"Yep," said Mustard, looking at the document that gave to Dolly O'Hara +every jot and tittle of Haddon O'Hara's property. "That's the one. +That's the one I signed last. Me and old Sam Fliggis signed her--same +day O'Hara hired me to steal the dog. Well, I guess I'll be takin' the +dog back home. So 'long, gents. Old Had' was bound to have his joke, +wasn't he?" + +"Mr. Gubb," said Judge Mackinnon suddenly, "would you be betraying a +professional secret if you told us how you found this document?" + +"In the pursuit of following my deteckative profession," said +Detective Gubb, "according to Lesson Six, Page Thirty-two." + + + + +THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE + + +Any one reading a history of the detective work of Philo Gubb, the +paper-hanger detective, might imagine that crime stalked abroad +endlessly in Riverbank and that criminals crowded the streets, but +this would be mere imagination. For weeks before he took on the case +of the Anonymous Wiggle, he had been obliged to revert to his +side-line of paper-hanging and decorating. + +Four hundred of the dollars he had earned by solving the mystery of +the missing Mustard and Waffles he had paid to Mr. Medderbrook, +together with five dollars for a telegram Mr. Medderbrook had received +from Syrilla. This telegram was a great satisfaction to Mr. Gubb. It +brought the day when she might be his nearer, and showed that the fair +creature was fighting nobly to reduce. It had read:-- + + None but the brave deserve the thin. Have given up all + liquids. Have given up water, milk, coca-cola, beer, + chocolate, champagne, buttermilk, cider, soda-water, root + beer, tea, koumyss, coffee, ginger ale, bevo, Bronx + cocktails, grape juice, and absinthe frappé. Weigh eight + hundred ninety-five net. Love to Gubby from little Syrilla. + +Crime is not rampant in Riverbank. P. Gubb therefore welcomed gladly +Miss Petunia Scroggs when she came to his office in the Opera House +Block and said: "Mr. Gubb? Mr. Philo Gubb, the detective? Well, my +name is Miss Petunia Scroggs, and I want to talk to you about +detecting something for me." + +"I'm pleased to," said Mr. Gubb, placing a chair for the lady. +"Anything in the deteckative line which I can do for you will be so +done gladly and in good shape. At the present moment of time, I'm +engaged upon a job of kitchen paper for Mrs. Horton up on Eleventh +Street, but the same will not occupy long, as she wants it hung over +what is already on the wall, to minimize the cost of the expense." + +"Different people, different ways," said Miss Scroggs, smiling +sweetly. "Scrape it off and be clean, is my idea." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, I didn't come here to talk about Mrs. Horton's notion of how a +kitchen ought to be papered," said Miss Scroggs. "How do you detect, +by the day or by the job?" + +"My terms in such matters is various and sundry, to suit the taste," +said Mr. Gubb. + +"Then I'll hire you by the job," said Miss Scroggs, "if your rates +ain't too high. Now, first off, I ain't ever been married; I'm a +maiden lady." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, jotting this down on a sheet of paper. + +"Not but what I could have been a wedded wife many's the time," said +Miss Scroggs hastily, "but I says to myself, 'Peace of mind, Petunia, +peace of mind!'" + +"Yes'm," said Philo Gubb. "I'm a unmarried bachelor man myself." + +"Well, I'm surprised to hear you say it in a boasting tone," said Miss +Petunia gently. "You ought to be ashamed of it." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, "but you was conversationally speaking +of some deteckative work--" + +"And I'm leading right up to it all the time," said Miss Scroggs. +"Peace of mind is why I have remained single up to now, and peace of +mind I have had, but I won't have it much longer if this Anonymous +Wiggle keeps on writing me letters." + +"Somebody named with that cognomen is writing letters to you like a +Black Hand would?" asked Mr. Gubb eagerly. + +"Cognomen or not," said Miss Scroggs, "that's what I call him or her +or whoever it is. Snake would be a better name," she added, "but I +must say the thing looks more like a fish-worm. Now, here," she said, +opening her black hand-bag, "is letter Number One. Read it." + +Mr. Gubb took the envelope and looked at the address. It was written +in a hand evidently disguised by slanting the letters backward, and +had been mailed at the Riverbank post-office. + +"Hum!" said Mr. Gubb. "Lesson Nine of the Rising Sun Deteckative +Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating gives the full rules +and regulations for to elucidate the mystery of threatening letters, +scurrilous letters, et cetery. Now, is this a threatening letter or a +scurrilous letter?" + +"Well, it may be threatening, and it may not be threatening," said +Miss Scroggs. "If it is a threat, I must say I never heard of a threat +just like it. And if it is scurrilous, I must say I never heard of +anything that scurriled in the words used. Read it." + +Philo Gubb pulled the letter from the envelope and read it. It ran +thus:-- + + PETUNIA:-- + + Open any book at page fourteen and read the first complete + sentence at the top of the page. Go thou and do likewise. + +For signature there was nothing but a waved line, drawn with a pen. In +some respects it did resemble an angle-worm. + +Philo Gubb frowned. "The advice of the inditer that wrote this letter +seemingly appears to be sort of unexact," he said. "'Most every book +is apt to have a different lot of words at the top of page fourteen." + +"Just so!" said Miss Scroggs. "You may well say that. And say it to +myself I did until I started to open a book. I went to the book-case +and I took down my Bible and I turned to page fourteen." + +"As the writer beyond no doubt thought you would," said P. Gubb. + +"I don't know what he thought," said Miss Scroggs, "but when I opened +my Bible and turned to page fourteen there wasn't any page fourteen in +it. Page fourteen is part of the 'Brief Foreword from the Translators +to the Reader,' so I thought maybe it had got lost and never been +missed. So I took up another book. I took up Emerson's Essays, Volume +Two." + +"And what did you read?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Nothing," said Miss Scroggs, "because I couldn't. Page fourteen was +tore out of the book. So I went through all my books, and every page +fourteen was tore out of every book. There was only one book in the +house that had a page fourteen left in it." + +"And what did that say?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"It said," said Miss Petunia, "'To one quart of flour add a cup of +water, beat well, and add the beaten whites of two eggs.'" + +"Did you do all that?" inquired Mr. Gubb. + +"Well," said Miss Petunia, "I didn't see any harm in trying it, just +to see what happened, so I did it." + +"And what happened?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Nothing," said Miss Petunia. "In a couple of days the water dried up +and the dough got pasty and moulded, and I threw it out." + +"Just so!" said Philo Gubb. "You'd sort of expect it to get mouldy, +but you wouldn't call it threatening at the first look." + +"No," said Miss Petunia. "And then I got this letter Number Two." + +She handed the second letter to Mr. Gubb. It ran thus:-- + + P. SCROGGS:-- + + A complete study of the history and antiquities of Diocese + of Ossory fails to reveal the presence of a single + individual bearing the name of Scroggs from the year 1085 to + date. + +Like the first letter this was signed with a waved line. Mr. Gubb +studied it carefully. + +"I don't see no sign of a threat in that," he said. + +"Not unless you should say it was belittling me to tell me to my face +that no Scroggs ever lived wherever that says they didn't live," said +Miss Petunia. "Now, here's the next letter." + +Mr. Gubb read it. It ran thus:-- + + MISS PETUNIA:-- + + For to-morrow: Rising temperature accompanied by falling + barometer, followed by heavy showers. Lower temperature will + follow in the North Central States and Northern Missouri. + +"I shouldn't call that exactly scurrilous, neither," said Mr. Gubb. + +"It ain't," said Miss Petunia, "and unless you can call a mention of +threatening weather a threat, I wouldn't call it a threatening letter. +And then I got this letter." + +She handed Mr. Gubb the fourth letter, and he read it. It ran:-- + + PETUNIA SCROGGS:-- + + Trout are rising freely in the Maine waters. The Parmacheene + Belle is one of the best flies to use. + +Mr. Gubb, having read this letter, shook his head and placed the +letter on top of those he had previously read. It was signed with the +wiggle like the others. + +"Speaking as a deteckative," he said, "I don't see anything into these +letters yet that would fetch the writer into the grasp of the law. Are +they all like this?" + +"If you mean do they say they are going to murder me, or do they call +me names," said Miss Scroggs, "they don't. Here, take them!" + +Mr. Gubb took the remaining letters and read them. There were about a +dozen of them. While peculiar epistles to write to a maiden lady of +forty-five years, they were not what one might call violent. They +were, in part, as follows:-- + + PETUNIA:-- + + Although a cat with a fit is a lively object, it has seldom + been known to attack human beings. Cause of fits--too rich + food. Cure of fits--less rich food. + + MISS SCROGGS:-- + + If soil is inclined to be sour, a liberal sprinkling of + lime, well ploughed in, has a good effect. Marble dust, + where easily obtainable, serves as well. + + MISS PETUNIA:-- + + Swedish iron is largely used in the manufacture of + upholstery tacks because of its peculiar ductile qualities. + +"I don't see nothing much into them," said Mr. Gubb, when he had read +them all. "I don't see much of a deteckative case into them. If I was +to get letters like these I wouldn't worry much about them. I'd let +them come." + +"You may say that," said Miss Petunia, "because you are a man, and big +and strong and brave-like. But when a person is a woman, and lives +alone, and has some money laid by that some folks would be glad enough +to get, letters coming right along from she don't know who, scare her. +Every time I get another of those Anonymous Wiggle letters I get more +and more nervous. If they said, 'Give me five thousand dollars or I +will kill you,' I would know what to do, but when a letter comes that +says, like that one does, 'Swedish iron is largely used in the +manufacture of upholstery tacks,' I don't know what to think or what +to do." + +"I can see to understand that it might worry you some," said Mr. Gubb +sympathetically. "What do you want I should do?" + +"I want you should find out who wrote the letters," said Miss Scroggs. + +Mr. Gubb looked at the pile of letters. + +"It's going to be a hard job," he said. "I've got to try to guess out +a cryptogram in these letters. I ought to have a hundred dollars." + +"It's a good deal, but I'll pay it," said Miss Petunia. "I ain't rich, +but I've got quite a little money in the bank, and I own the house I +live in and a farm I rent. Pa left me money and property worth about +ten thousand dollars, and I haven't wasted it. So go ahead." + +[Illustration: "YOU ARE A MAN, AND BIG AND STRONG AND BRAVE-LIKE"] + +"I'll so do," said Philo Gubb; "and first off I'll ask you who your +neighbors are." + +"My neighbors!" exclaimed Miss Petunia. + +"On both sides," said Mr. Gubb, "and who comes to your house most?" + +"Well, I declare!" said Miss Petunia. "I don't know what you are +getting at, but on one side I have no neighbors at all, and on the +other side is Mrs. Canterby. I guess she comes to my house oftener +than anybody else." + +"I am acquainted with Mrs. Canterby," said Mr. Gubb. "I did a job of +paper-hanging there only last week." + +"Did you, indeed?" said Miss Scroggs politely. "She's a real nice +lady." + +"I don't give opinions on deteckative matters until I'm sure," said +Mr. Gubb. "She seems nice enough to the naked eye. I don't want to get +you to suspicion her or nobody, Miss Scroggs, but about the only clue +I can grab hold of is that first letter you got. It said to look on +page fourteen, and all the pages by that number was torn out of your +books--" + +"Except my cook-book," said Miss Petunia. + +"And a person naturally wouldn't go to think of a cook-book as a real +book," said Mr. Gubb. "If you stop to think, you'll see that whoever +wrote that letter must have beforehand tore out all the page fourteens +from the books into your house, for some reason." + +"Why, yes!" exclaimed Miss Scroggs, clapping her hands together. "How +wise you are!" + +"Deteckative work fetches deteckative wisdom," said Mr. Gubb modestly. +"I don't want to throw suspicion at Mrs. Canterby, but Letter Number +One points at her first of all." + +"O--h, yes! O--h my! And I never even thought of that!" cried Miss +Petunia admiringly. + +"Us deteckatives have to think of things," said Philo Gubb. "And so we +will say, just for cod, like, that Mrs. Canterby got at your books and +ripped out the pages. She'd think: 'What will Miss Petunia do when she +finds she hasn't any page fourteens to look at? She'll rush out to +borrow a book to look at.' Now, where would you rush out to borrow a +book if you wanted to borrow one in a hurry?" + +"To Mrs. Canterby's house!" exclaimed Miss Petunia. + +"Just so!" said Mr. Gubb. "You'd rush over and you'd say, 'Mrs. +Canterby, lend me a book!' And she would hand you a book, and when you +looked at page fourteen, and read the first full sentence on the page, +what would you read?" + +"What would I read?" asked Miss Scroggs breathlessly. + +"You would read what she meant you to read," said Mr. Gubb +triumphantly. "So, then what? If I was in her place and I had written +a letter to you, meaning to give you a threat in a roundabout way, and +it went dead, I'd write some foolish letters to you to make you think +the whole thing was just foolishness. I'd write you letters about +weather and tacks and cats and lime and trout, and such things, to +throw you off the scent. Maybe," said Mr. Gubb, with a smile, "I'd +just copy bits out of a newspaper." + +"How wonderfully wonderful!" exclaimed Miss Petunia. + +"That is what us deteckatives spend the midnight oil learning the +Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School lessons for," +said Mr. Gubb. "So, if my theory is right, what you want to do when +you get back home is to rush over to Mrs. Canterby's and ask to borrow +a book, and look on page fourteen." + +"And then come back and tell you what it says?" asked Miss Petunia. + +"Just so!" said Philo Gubb. + +Miss Petunia arose with a simper, and Mr. Gubb arose to open the door +for her. He felt particularly gracious. Never in his career had he +been able to apply the inductive system before, and he was well +pleased with himself. His somewhat melancholy eyes almost beamed on +Miss Petunia, and he felt a warm glow in his heart for the poor little +thing who had come to him in her trouble. As he stood waiting for Miss +Scroggs to gather up her feather boa and her parasol and her black +hand-bag, he felt the dangerous pity of the strong for the weak. + +Miss Petunia held out her hand with a pretty gesture. She was fully +forty-five, but she was kittenish for her age. There was something +almost girlish in her manner, and the long, dancing brown curls that +hung below her very youthful hat added to the effect. When she had +shaken Mr. Gubb's hand she half-skipped, half-minced out of his +office. + +"An admirable creature," said Mr. Gubb to himself, and he turned to +his microscope and began to study the ink of the letters under that +instrument. His next work must be to find the identical ink and the +identical writing-paper. He had no doubt he would find them in Mrs. +Canterby's home. The ink was a pale blue in places, deepening to a +strong blue in other places, with grainy blue specks. He decided, +rightly, that this "ink" had been made of laundry blue. The paper was +plain note-paper, glossy of surface and with blue lines, and, in the +upper left corner, the maker's impress. This was composed of three +feathers with the word "Excellent" beneath. The envelopes were of the +proper size to receive the letters. They bore an unmistakable odor of +toilet soap and chewing-gum. + +"Dusenberry!" said Mr. Gubb, and smiled. + +Hod Dusenberry kept a small store near the home of Mrs. Canterby. +There seemed no doubt that the coils of the investigation were +tightening around Mrs. Canterby, and Mr. Gubb put on his hat and went +out. He went to Hod Dusenberry's store. Mr. Dusenberry sat behind the +counter. + +"I came in," said Mr. Gubb, "to purchase a bottle of ink off of you." + +"There, now!" said Mr. Dusenberry self-accusingly. "That's the third +call for ink I've had in less'n two months. I been meanin' to lay in +more ink right along and it allus slips my mind. I told Miss Scroggs +when she asked for ink--" + +"And what did you tell Mrs. Canterby when she asked for ink?" asked +Mr. Gubb. + +"Mrs. Canterby?" said Hod Dusenberry. "Maybe I ought to see the joke, +but I'm feelin' stupid to-day, I reckon. What's the laugh part?" + +"It wasn't my intentional aim to furnish laughable amusement," said +Detective Gubb seriously. "What did Mrs. Canterby say when she asked +for ink and you didn't have none?" + +"She didn't say nothin'," said Mr. Dusenberry, "because she never +asked me for no ink, never! She don't trade here. That's all about +Mrs. Canterby." + +The Correspondence School detective had been leaning on the show-case, +and with the shrewdness of his kind had let his eyes search its +contents. In the show-case was writing-paper of the very sort the +Anonymous Wiggle letters had been written on--also envelopes strangely +similar to those that had held the letters. + +Mr. Gubb smiled pleasantly at Mr. Dusenberry. + +"I'd make a guess that Mrs. Canterby don't buy her writing-paper off +you neither?" he hazarded. + +"You guess mighty right she don't," said Mr. Dusenberry. + +"And maybe you don't recall who ever bought writing-paper like this +into the case here?" said Mr. Gubb. + +"I guess maybe I do, just the same," said Mr. Dusenberry promptly. +"And it ain't hard to recall, either, because nobody buys it but Miss +'Tunie Scroggs. 'Tunie is the all-firedest female I ever did see. +Crazy after a husband, 'Tunie is." He chuckled. "If I wasn't married +already I dare say 'Tunie would have worried me into matrimony before +now. 'Tunie's trouble is that everybody knows her too well--men all +keep out of her way. But she's a dandy, 'Tunie is. They tell me that +when Hinterman, the plumber, hired a new man up to Derlingport and +'Tunie found out he was a single feller, she went to work and had new +plumbing put in her house, just so's the feller would have to come +within her reach. But he got away." + +"He did?" said Mr. Gubb nervously. + +"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dusenberry. "He stood 'Tunie as long as he could, +and then he threw up his job and went back to Derlingport. They tell +me she don't do nothin' much now but set around the house and think up +new ways to git acquainted with men that ain't heard enough of her to +stay shy of her. Sorry I ain't got no ink, Mr. Gubb." + +"It's a matter of no consequential importance, thank you," said Mr. +Gubb, and he went out. He was distinctly troubled. He recalled now +that Miss Scroggs had smiled in a winning way when she spoke to him, +and that she had quite warmly pressed his hand when she departed. With +a timid bachelor's extreme fear of designing women, Mr. Gubb dreaded +another meeting with Miss Scroggs. Only his faithfulness to his +Correspondence School diploma had power to keep him at work on the +Anonymous Wiggle case, and he walked thoughtfully toward the home of +Mrs. Canterby. He went to the back door and knocked gently. Mrs. +Canterby came to the door. + +"Good-afternoon," said Mr. Gubb. "I been a little nervous about that +paper I hung onto your walls. If I could take a look at it--" + +"Well, now, Mr. Gubb, that's real kind of you," said Mrs. Canterby. +"You can look and welcome. If you just wait until I excuse myself to +Miss Scroggs--" + +"Is she here?" asked Mr. Gubb with a hasty glance toward his avenues +of escape. + +"She just run in to borrow a book to read," said Mrs. Canterby, "and +she's having some trouble finding one to suit her taste. She's in my +lib'ry sort of glancing through some books." + +"Does--does she glance through to about near to page fourteen?" asked +Mr. Gubb nervously. + +"Now that you call it to mind," said Mrs. Canterby, "that's about how +far she is glancing through them. She's glanced through about sixteen, +and she's still glancing. She thinks maybe she'll take 'Myra's Lover, +or The Hidden Secret,' but she ain't sure. She come over to borrow +'Weldon Shirmer,' but I had lent that to a friend. She was real +disappointed I didn't have it." + +Mr. Gubb wiped the perspiration from his face. He too would have liked +at that moment to have seen a copy of "Weldon Shirmer," and to have +read what stood at the top of page fourteen. + +"If it ain't too much trouble, Mrs. Canterby," he said, "I wish you +would sort of fetch that Myra book out here without Miss Scroggs's +knowing you done so. I got a special reason for it, in my deteckative +capacity. And I wish you wouldn't mention to Miss Scroggs about my +being here." + +"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Canterby. "What's up now? Miss Scroggs she's +right interested in you, too. She made inquiries of me about you when +you was working here. She says she thinks you are a real handsome +gentleman." + +Mrs. Canterby laughed coyly and went out, and Mr. Gubb dropped into a +chair and wiped his face again nervously. His eye, falling on the +kitchen table, noted a sheet of writing-paper. It was the same style +of paper as that on which the Anonymous Wiggle letters had been +written. He bent forward and glanced at it. In blue ink evidently made +of indigo dissolved in water, was written on the sheet a recipe. The +writing, although undisguised and slanting properly, was beyond doubt +the same as that of the Wiggle letters. When Mrs. Canterby returned +to the kitchen with "Myra's Lover" hidden in the folds of her skirt, +the perplexed Mr. Gubb held the recipe in his hand. + +"By any chance of doubt," he said, "do you happen to be aware of whom +wrote this?" + +"Petunia wrote it," said Mrs. Canterby promptly, "and whatever are you +being so mysterious for? There's no mystery about that, for it's her +mince-meat recipe." + +"There is often mystery hidden into mince-meat recipes when least +expected," said Mr. Gubb. "I see you got the book." + +He took it and turned to page fourteen. At the top of the page were +the words, completing a sentence, "--without turning a hair of his +head." Then followed the first complete sentence. It ran: "'A woman +like you,' said Lord Cyril, 'should be loved, cherished, and obeyed.'" + +"Goodness!" exclaimed Mr. Gubb, and handed the book back to Mrs. +Canterby. + +"Why did you say that?" asked Mrs. Canterby. + +"I was just judging by the book that Miss Scroggs is fond of love and +affection in fiction tales," he said. + +"Fond of!" exclaimed Mrs. Canterby. "Far be it from me to say anything +about a neighbor lady, but if Petunia Scroggs ain't crazy over love +and marriage I don't know what. She'd do anything in the world to get +a husband. I recall about Tim Wentworth--Furnaces Put In and +Repaired--and how hungry Petunia used to look after him when he went +by in his wagon, but she couldn't get after him because she hasn't a +furnace in her house, but the minute he hung up the sign 'Chimneys +Cleaned,' she was down to his shop and had him up to the place, and I +know it for a fact, for I took some of the soot out of her eye myself, +that she courted him so hard when he got to her house that even when +he went to the roof to clean the chimney she stuck her head in the +fireplace and talked up the flue at him." + +"Goodness!" said Mr. Gubb again. "I guess I'll go on my way and look +at your wall-paper some other day." + +Mrs. Canterby laughed. + +"Just as you wish," she said, "but if Petunia has set out after you, +you won't get away from her that easy." + +But Mr. Gubb was already moving to the door. He heard Miss Petunia's +voice calling Mrs. Canterby, and coming nearer and nearer, and he +fled. + +At Higgins's book-store he stopped and asked to see a copy of "Weldon +Shirmer," and turned to page fourteen. "'Fate,'" ran the first full +sentence, "'has decreed that you wed a solver of mysteries.'" Mr. Gubb +shivered. This was the mysterious passage Miss Scroggs had meant to +bring to his eyes in an impressive manner. He was sure of one thing: +whatever Fate had decreed in the case of the heroine of "Weldon +Shirmer," Philo Gubb had no intention of allowing Fate to decree that +one particular Correspondence School solver of mysteries should marry +Miss Petunia Scroggs. He hurried to his office. + +At the office door he paused to take his key from his pocket, but when +he tried it in the lock he found the door had been left unlocked and +he opened the door hastily and hurried inside. Miss Petunia Scroggs +was sitting in his desk-chair, a winning smile on her lips and "Myra's +Lover, or The Hidden Secret," in her lap. + +"Dear, wonderful Mr. Gubb!" she said sweetly. "It was just as you said +it would be. Here is the book Mrs. Canterby loaned me." + +For a moment Mr. Gubb stood like a flamingo fascinated by a serpent. + +"You detectives are such wonderful men!" cooed Miss Petunia. "You live +such thrilling lives! Ah, me!" she sighed. "When I think of how noble +and how strong and how protective such as you are--" + +Mr. Gubb kept his bird-like eyes fixed on Miss Petunia's face, but he +pawed behind himself for the door. He felt his hand touch the knob. + +"And when I think of how helpless and alone I am," said Miss Petunia, +rising from her chair, "although I have ample money in the bank--" + +_Bang!_ slammed the door behind Mr. Gubb. _Click!_ went the lock as he +turned the key. His feet hurried to the stairs and down to the nearest +street almost falling over Silas Washington, seated on the lowest +step. The little negro looked up in surprise. + +"Do you want to earn half a dollar?" asked Mr. Gubb hastily. + +"'Co'se Ah do," said Silas Washington. "What you want Ah shu'd do fo' +it?" + +"Wait a portion of time where you are," said Mr. Gubb, "and when you +hear a sound of noise upstairs, go up and unlock Mister Philo Gubb, +Deteckative, his door, and let out the lady." + +"Yassah!" said Silas. + +"And when you let her exit out of the room," said Mr. Gubb, "say to +her: 'Mister Gubb gives up the case.' Understand?" + +"Yassah!" + +"Yes," said Mr. Gubb, and he glanced up and down the street. "And say +'--because it don't make no particle bit of difference who the lady +is, Mister Gubb wouldn't marry nobody at no time of his life.'" + +"Yassah!" said the little negro. + + + + +THE HALF OF A THOUSAND + + +Philo Gubb sat in his office in the Opera House Block with a large +green volume open on his knees, reading a paragraph of some ten lines. +He had read this paragraph twenty times before, but he never tired of +reading it. It began began-- + + _Gubb, Philo._ Detective and decorator, _b._ Higginsville, + Ia., June 26, 1868. Educated Higginsville, Ia., primary + schools. Entered decorating profession, 1888. Graduated with + honors, Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School + of Detecting, 1910. + +He hoped that some day this short record of his life might be +lengthened by at least one line, which would say that he had "_m_. +Syrilla Medderbrook," and since his escape from Petunia Scroggs and +her wiles, and the latest telegram from Syrilla, he had reason for the +hope. As Mr. Gubb had not tried to collect the one hundred dollars due +him from Miss Scroggs, he had nothing with which to pay Mr. +Medderbrook more on account of the Utterly Hopeless mining stock, but +under his agreement with Mr. Medderbrook he had paid that gentleman +thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents for the last telegram from +Syrilla. This had read:-- + + Joy and rapture! Have given up all forms of food. Have given + up spaghetti, fried rabbit, truffles, brown betty, prunes, + goulash, welsh rabbit, hoecake, sauerkraut, Philadelphia + scrapple, haggis, chop suey, and mush. Have lost one hundred + and fifty pounds more. Weigh seven hundred forty-five. Going + down every hour. Kiss Gubby for me. + +Mr. Gubb, therefore, mused pleasantly as he read the book that +contained the short but interesting reference to himself. + +The book with the green cover was "Iowa's Prominent Citizens," sixth +edition, and was a sort of local, or state, "Who's Who." In its pages, +for the first time, Philo Gubb appeared, and he took great delight in +reading there how great he was. We all do. We are never so sure we are +great as when we read it in print. + +It is always comforting to a great man to be reassured that he was +"_b._ Dobbinsville, Ia., 1869," that he "_m._ Jane, dau. of Oscar and +Siluria Botts, 1897," and that he is not yet "_d._" There are some of +us who are never sure we are not "_d._" except when we see our names +in the current volume of "Who's Who," "Who's It," or "Iowa's Prominent +Citizens." + +Outside Philo Gubb's door a man was standing, studying that part of +"Iowa's Prominent Citizens" devoted to the town of Riverbank. The man +was not as young as he appeared to be. His garments were of a youthful +cut and cloth, being of the sort generally known as "College Youth +Style," but they were themselves no longer youthful. In fact, the man +looked seedy. + +Notwithstanding this he had an air--a something--that attracted and +held the attention. A cane gave some of it. The extreme good style of +his Panama hat gave some of it. His carriage and the gold-rimmed +eyeglasses with the black silk neck-ribbon gave still more. When, +however, he removed his hat, one saw that he was partly bald and that +his reddish hair was combed carefully to cover the bald spot. + +The book in his hand was a small memorandum book, and in this he had +pasted the various notices cut from "Iowa's Prominent Citizens" and +one--only--cut from "Who's Who," relating to citizens of Riverbank. He +had done this for convenience as well as for safety, for thus he had +all the Riverbank prominents in compact form, and avoided the +necessity of carrying "Iowa's Prominent Citizens" and "Who's Who" +about with him. That would have been more or less dangerous. +Particularly so, since he had been exposed by the New York "Sun" as +The Bald Impostor. + +The Bald Impostor, to explain him briefly, was a professional +relative. He was the greatest son-cousin-nephew in the United States, +and always he was the son, cousin, or nephew of one of the great, of +one of the great mentioned in "Who's Who." He was as variable as a +chameleon. Sometimes he was a son, cousin, or nephew of some one +beginning with _A_, and sometimes of some one beginning with _Z_, but +usually of some one with about twelve to fourteen lines in "Who's +Who." + +The great theory he had established and which was the basis of all his +operations was this: "Every Who's Who is proud of every other Who's +Who," and "No Who's Who can refuse the son, cousin, or nephew of any +other Who's Who five dollars when asked for one dollar and eighty +cents." + +The Bald Impostor's operation was simple in the extreme. He went to +Riverbank. He found, let us say, the name of Judge Orley Morvis in +"Who's Who." Then he looked up Chief Justice Bassio Bates in the +latest "Who's Who," gathered a few facts regarding him from that +useful volume, and called on Judge Orley Morvis. Having a judge to +impose upon he began by introducing himself as the favorite nephew of +Chief Justice Bassio Bates. + +"Being in town," he would say, when the Judge was mellowed by the +thought that a nephew of Bassio Bates was before him, "I remembered +that you were located here. My uncle has often spoken to me of your +admirable decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer calf case." + +The Higgins-Hoopmeyer case is mentioned in "Who's Who." The Judge +can't help being pleased to learn that Chief Justice Bassio Bates +approved of his decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer case. + +"My uncle has often regretted that you have never met," says the Bald +Impostor. "If he had known I was to be in Riverbank he would have sent +his copy of your work, 'Liens and Torts,' to be autographed." + +"Liens and Torts" is the one volume written by Judge Orley Morvis +mentioned in "Who's Who." The Judge becomes mellower than ever. + +"Ah, yes!" says the Judge, tickled, "and how is your uncle, may I +ask?" + +"In excellent health considering his age. You know he is +ninety-seven," says the Bald Impostor, having got the "_b._ June 23, +1817" from "Who's Who." "But his toe still bothers him. A man of his +age, you know. Such things heal slowly." + +"No! I didn't hear of that," says the Judge, intensely interested. He +is going to get some intimate details. + +"Oh, it was quite dreadful!" says the Bald Impostor. "He dropped a +volume of Coke on Littleton on it last March--no, it was April, +because it was April he spent at my mother's." + +All this is pure invention, and that is where the Bald Impostor leads +all others. Even as he invents details of the sore toe, you see, he +introduces his mother. + +"She was taken sick early in April," he says, and presently he has Dr. +Somebody-Big out of "Who's Who" attending to the Chief Justice's sore +toe and advising the mother to try the Denver climate. And the next +thing the Judge knows the Bald Impostor is telling that he is now on +his way back from Denver to Chicago. + +So then it comes out. The Bald Impostor sits on the edge of his chair +and becomes nervous and perspires. Perspiring is a sure sign a man is +unaccustomed to asking a loan, and the Bald Impostor is entitled to +start the first School of Free Perspiring in America. He can perspire +in December, when the furnace is out and the windows are open. All his +head pores have self-sprinklers or something of the sort. He is as +free with beads of perspiration as the early Indian traders were with +beads of glass. He mops them with a white silk handkerchief. + +So he perspires, and out comes the cruel admission. He needs just one +dollar and eighty cents! As a matter of fact, he has stopped at +Riverbank because his uncle had so often spoken of Judge Orley +Morvis--and really, one dollar and eighty cents would see him through +nicely. + +"But, my dear boy!" says the Judge kindly. "The fare is six dollars. +And your meals?" + +"A dollar-eighty is enough," insists the Bald Impostor. "I have enough +to make up the fare, with one-eighty added. And I couldn't ask you to +pay for my meals. I'll--I have a few cents and can buy a sandwich." + +"My dear boy!" says Judge Orley Morvis, of Riverbank (and it is what +he did say), "I couldn't think of the nephew of a Chief Justice of the +United States existing for that length of time on a sandwich. Here! +Here are twenty dollars! Take them--I insist! I must insist!" + +Some give him more than that. We usually give him five dollars. + +[Illustration: HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION] + +I admit that when the Bald Impostor visited me and asked for one +dollar and eighty cents I gave him five dollars and an autographed +copy of one of my books. He was to send the five back by money-order +the next day. Unfortunately he seems to have no idea of the flight of +time. For him to-morrow never seems to arrive. For me it is the five +that does not arrive. The great body of us consider those who give him +more than five to be purse-proud plutocrats. But then we sometimes +give him autographed copies of our books or other touching souvenirs. +And write in them, "_In memory of a pleasant visit_." I _do_ wonder +what he did with my book! + +Judge Orley Morvis was the only Who's Whoer in Riverbank, but the town +was well represented in "Iowa's Prominent Citizens," and after +collecting twenty dollars from the Judge the Bald Impostor proceeded +to Mr. Gubb's office. + +"Detective and decorator," he said to himself. "I wonder if William J. +Burns has a son? Better not! A crank detective might know all about +Burns. I'm his cousin. Let me see--I'm Jared Burns. Of Chicago. And +mother has been to Denver for the air." He took out the memorandum +book again. "The Waffles-Mustard case. The Waffles-Mustard case. +Waffles! Mustard! I must remember that." He knocked on the door. + +"Mr. Gubb?" he asked, as Philo Gubb opened the door. "Mr. Philo Gubb?" + +"I am him, yes, sir," said the paper-hanger detective. "Will you step +inside into the room?" + +"Thank you, yes," said the Bald Impostor, as he entered. + +Philo Gubb drew a chair to his desk, and the Bald Impostor took it. He +leaned forward, ready to begin with the words, "Mr. Gubb, my name is +Jared Burns. Mr. William J. Burns is my cousin--" when there came +another rap at the door. Mr. Gubb's visitor moved uneasily in his +chair, and Mr. Gubb went to the door, dropping an open letter +carelessly on the desk-slide before the Bald Impostor. The new visitor +was an Italian selling oranges, and as Mr. Gubb had fairly to push the +Italian out of the door, the Bald Impostor had time to read the letter +and, quite a little ahead of time, began wiping perspiration from his +forehead. + +The letter was from the Headquarters of the Rising Sun Detective +Agency, and was brutally frank in denouncing the Bald Impostor as an +impostor, and painfully plain in describing him as bald. It described +in the simplest terms his mode of getting money and it warned Mr. Gubb +to be on the outlook for him "as he is supposed to be working in your +district at present." The Bald Impostor gasped. "A number of victims +have organized," continued the letter, "what they call the Easy Marks' +Association of America and have posted a reward of fifty dollars for +the arrest of the fraud." + +The Bald Impostor glanced toward Philo Gubb and hastily turned the +letter upside down. When Mr. Gubb returned, the Bald Impostor was +rubbing the palms of his hands together and smiling. + +"My name, Mr. Gubb," he said, "is Allwood Burns. I am a detective. I +have heard of your wonderful work in the so-called Muffins-Mustard +case." + +"Waffles-Mustard," said Mr. Gubb. + +"I should say Waffles," said the Bald Impostor hastily. "I consider it +one of the most remarkable cases of detective acumen on record. We in +the Rising Sun Detective Agency were delighted. It was a proof that +the methods of our Correspondence School of Detecting were not short +of the best." + +Philo Gubb stared at his visitor with unconcealed admiration. + +"Are you out from the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency yourself?" he +asked. + +The Bald Impostor smiled. + +"I wrote you a letter yesterday," he said. "If you have not received +it yet you will soon, but I can give you the contents here and now. A +certain impostor is going about the country--" + +Philo Gubb picked up the letter and glanced at the signature. It was +indeed signed "Allwood Burns." Mr. Gubb extended his hand again and +once more shook the hand of his visitor--this time far more heartily. + +"Most glad, indeed, to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Burns," said Philo +Gubb heartily. "It is a pleasure to meet anybody from the offices of +the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency. And if you ever see the man that +wrote the 'Complete Correspondence Course of Deteckating,' I wish--" + +The false Mr. Burns smiled. + +"I wrote it," he said modestly. + +"I am _most_ very glad to meet you, sir!" exclaimed Philo Gubb, and +again he shook his visitor's hand. "Because--" + +"Ah, yes, because--" queried the Bald Impostor pleasantly. + +"Because," said Philo Gubb, "there's a question I want to ask. I refer +to Lesson Seven, 'Petty Thievery, Detecting Same, Charges Therefor.' I +have had some trouble with 'Charges Therefor.'" + +"Indeed? Let me see the lesson, please," said the Bald Impostor. + +"'The charges for such services,'" Philo Gubb read, pointing to the +paragraph with his long forefinger, "'should be not less than ten +dollars per diem.' That's what it says, ain't it?" + +"It does," said the Bald Impostor. + +"Well, Mr. Burns," said Philo Gubb, "I took on a job of chicken-thief +detecting, and I had to detect for two diems to do it, and that would +be twenty dollars, wouldn't it?" + +"It would," said the Bald Impostor. + +"Which is fair and proper," said Philo Gubb, "but the old gent +wouldn't pay it. So I ask you if you'd be kindly willing to go to him +along with me in company and tell him I charged right and according to +rates as low as possible?" + +"Of course I will go," said the Bald Impostor. + +"All right!" said Philo Gubb, rising. "And the old gent is a man +you'll be glad to meet. He's a prominent citizen gentleman of the +town. His name is Judge Orley Morvis." + +The Bald Impostor gasped. Every free-acting pore on his head worked +immediately. + +"And, so he won't suspicion that I'm running in some outsider on him," +said Philo Gubb, "I'll fetch along this letter you wrote me, to +certify your identical identity." + +He picked up the warning letter from the Rising Sun Agency, and stood +waiting for the Bald Impostor to arise. But the Bald Impostor did not +arise. For once at least he was flabbergasted. He opened and shut his +mouth, like a fish out of water. His head seemed to exude millions of +moist beads. He saw a smile of triumph on Philo Gubb's face. Mr. Gubb +was smiling triumphantly because he was able now to show Judge Orley +Morvis a thing or two, but the Bald Impostor was sure Philo Gubb knew +he was the Bald Impostor. He was caught and he knew it. So he +surrendered. + +"All right!" he said nervously. "You've got me. I won't give you any +trouble." + +"It's me that's being a troubling nuisance to you, Mr. Burns," said +Philo Gubb. + +The paper-hanger detective stopped short. A look of shame passed +across his face. + +"I hope you will humbly pardon me, Mr. Burns," he said contritely. "I +am ashamed of myself. To think of me starting to get you to attend to +my business when prob'ly you have business much more important that +fetched you to Riverbank." + +A sudden light seemed to break upon Philo Gubb. + +"Of a certain course!" he exclaimed. "What you come about was +this--this"--he looked at the letter in his hand--"this Bald Impostor, +wasn't it?" + +Philo Gubb's visitor, who had begun to breathe normally again, gasped +like a fish once more. He saw Philo Gubb finish reading the +description of the Bald Impostor, and then Philo Gubb looked up and +looked the Bald Impostor full in the face. He looked the Bald Impostor +over, from bald spot to shoes, and looked back again at the +description. Item by item he compared the description in the letter +with the appearance of the man before him, while the Impostor +continued to wipe the palms of his hands with the balled handkerchief. +At last Philo Gubb nodded his head. + +"Exactly similar to the most nominal respects," he said. "Quite +identical in every shape and manner." + +"Oh, I admit it! I admit it!" said the Bald Impostor hopelessly. + +"Yes, sir!" said Philo Gubb. "And I admit it the whilst I admire it. +It is the most perfect disguise of an imitation I ever looked at." + +"What?" asked the Bald Impostor. + +"The disguise you've got onto yourself," said Philo Gubb. "It is most +marvelously similar in likeness to the description in the letter. If +you will take the complimentary flattery of a student, Mr. Burns, I +will say I never seen no better disguise got up in the world. You are +a real deteckative artist." + +The Bald Impostor could not speak. He could only gasp. + +"If I didn't know who you were of your own self," said Philo Gubb in +the most complimentary tones, "I'd have thought you were this here +descriptioned Bald Impostor himself." + +His visitor moistened his lips to speak, but Mr. Gubb did not give him +an opportunity. + +"I presume," said Mr. Gubb, "you have so done because you are working +upon this Bald Impostor yourself." + +"Yes. Oh, yes!" said the Bald Impostor hoarsely. "Exactly." + +"In that case," said Mr. Gubb, "I consider it a high compliment for +you to call upon me. Us deteckatives don't usually visit around in +disguises." + +The visitor moistened his lips again. + +"I wanted to see," he said, but the words were so hoarse they could +hardly be heard,--"I wanted to see--" + +"Well, now," said Philo Gubb contritely, "you mustn't feel bad that I +didn't take you for that fraud feller right away off. I hadn't read +the letter through down to the description quite. If I had I would +have mistook you for him at once. The resemblance is most remarkably +unique." + +"Thank you!" said the Bald Impostor, regaining more of his usual +confidence. "And it was a hard disguise for me to assume. I'm not +naturally reddish like this. My hair is long. And black. And--and my +taste in clothes is quiet--mostly blacks or dark blues. Now the reason +I am in this disguise--" + +He was interrupted by a loud and strenuous knock on the door. + +Mr. Gubb went to the door, but before he reached it his visitor had +made one leap and was hidden behind the office desk, for a voice had +called, impatiently, "Gubb!" and it was the voice of Judge Orley +Morvis. When Detective Gubb had greeted his new visitor he turned to +introduce the Judge--and a look of blank surprise swept his features. +Detective Burns was gone! + +For a moment only, Detective Gubb was puzzled. There was but one place +in the room capable of concealing a full-grown human being, and that +was the space behind the desk. He placed a chair for the Judge exactly +in front of the desk and himself stood in a negligent attitude with +one elbow on the top of the desk. In this position he was able to turn +his head and, by craning his neck a little, look down upon the false +Mr. Burns. Mr. Burns made violent gestures, urging secrecy. Mr. Gubb +allayed his fears. + +"I'm glad you come just now, Judge," he said, "because we can say a +few or more words together, there being nobody here but you and me. I +presume you come to talk about the per diem charge I charged to you, +didn't you?" + +"Yes, I did," said the Judge. + +"Well, I'll be able to prove quite presently or sooner that the price +is correctly O.K.," said Mr. Gubb, "because the leading head of the +Rising Sun Deteckative Agency is right in town to-day, and as soon as +he gets done with a job he has on hand he's going up to see you. Maybe +you've heard of Allwood Burns. He wrote the 'Twelve Correspondence +Lessons in Deteckating' by which I graduated out of the Deteckative +Correspondence School." + +"Never heard of him in my life," said the Judge. + +"This here," said Mr. Gubb, not without pride, "is a personal letter I +got from him this A.M. just now," and he handed the Judge the letter. + +Judge Orley Morvis took the letter with an air of disdain and began to +read it with a certain irritating superciliousness. Almost immediately +he began to turn red behind the ears. Then his ears turned red. Then +his whole face turned red. He breathed hard. His hand shook with rage. + +"Well, of all the infernal--" he began and stopped. + +"Has the aforesaid impostor been to see _you_?" asked Philo Gubb +eagerly. + +"Me? Nonsense!" exclaimed the Judge violently. "Do you think I would +be taken in by a child's trick like this? Nonsense, Mr. Gubb, +nonsense!" + +"I didn't hardly think it was possible," said Detective Gubb. + +"Possible?" cried the Judge with anger. "Do you think a common faker +like that could hoodwink _me_? Me give an impostor twenty dollars! +Nonsense, sir!" + +He arose. He was in a great rage about it. He stamped to the door. + +"And don't let me hear you retailing any such lie about me around this +town, sir!" he exclaimed. + +He slammed the door, and then the Bald Impostor slowly raised his head +above the desk. + +"What did you hide for?" asked Philo Gubb. + +The Bald Impostor wiped his bedewed brow. + +"Hide?" he said questioningly. "Oh, yes, I did hide, didn't I? Yes. +Yes, I hid. You see--you see the Judge came in." + +"If you hadn't hid," said Philo Gubb, "I could have got that business +of the per diem charge per day fixed up right here. I was going to +introduce him to you." + +"Yes--going to introduce him to me," said the Bald Impostor. "That was +it. That was why I hid. You were going to introduce him to me, don't +you see?" + +"I don't quite comprehend the meaning of the reason," said Philo Gubb. + +"Why, you see," said the Bald Impostor glibly,--"you see--if you +introduced me to him--why--why, he'd know me." + +"He'd know you?" said Philo Gubb. + +"He'd know me," repeated the false Mr. Burns. "I'll tell you why. The +Bald Impostor _did_ call on him." + +"Honest?" + +"I was there," said the Bald Impostor. "The Judge gave him twenty +dollars and a copy of some book or other he had written, and he wrote +his autograph in the book. Remember that. The Judge wrote his +autograph in a book--and gave it to the fellow. I'm telling you this +so you can tell the Judge. Tell him I told you. Tell him the fellow's +mother is much better now. Tell him Judge Bassio Bates's toe is quite +well. And then ask him for the twenty dollars he owes you. You'll get +it." + +"And you was there?" asked Philo Gubb, amazed. + +"Out of sight, but there," said the false Mr. Burns glibly. "Just +ready to put my hand on the fellow--but I couldn't. I hadn't the heart +to do it. I thought of the ridicule it would bring down on the poor +old Judge. You know he's an uncle of mine. I'm his nephew." + +"He said," said Philo Gubb hesitatingly, "he'd never heard of you." + +"He never did," said the Bald Impostor promptly. "I was his third +sister's adopted child--I am an adopted nephew. And of course you +know he would never have anything to do with his sister after she +married--ah--General Winston Wells. Not a thing! It was what killed my +poor foster mother. Grief!" + +He wiped his eyes with his silk handkerchief. + +"Grief. Yes, grief. And I hadn't the heart to bring shame to the old +man by arresting the Impostor in his house--by showing that the good +old man was such a silly old fellow as to be done by a simple trick. +And what did it matter? I can pick up the Bald Impostor in +Derlingport." + +"In Derlingport?" queried Philo Gubb. + +"In Derlingport," said the Bald Impostor nervously, "for that is where +he went. I'll get him there. But half of the thousand dollars is +rightfully yours, and you shall have it." + +"Thousand dollars?" queried Philo Gubb in amazement. + +"The reward has been increased," said the false Mr. Burns. "The--the +publishers of 'Who's Who' increased it to a thousand because the Bald +Impostor works on the names in their book. They thought they ought to. +But you shall have your half of the thousand. I can pick him up in +Derlingport this afternoon if--if I can get there in time. And of +course I _should_ have arrested him here in Riverbank where you are +our correspondent and thus entitled to half the reward earned by any +one in the head office. You knew that, didn't you?" + +"No!" said Philo Gubb. "Am I?" + +"Didn't you get circular No. 786?" asked the Bald Impostor. + +"I didn't ever get the receipt of it at all," said Mr. Gubb. + +"An oversight," said the Bald Impostor. "I'll send you one the minute +I get back to Chicago. I'll pick up the Bald Impostor at Derlingport +this afternoon--if--Mr. Gubb, I am ashamed to make an admission to +you. I--" + +The Bald Impostor sat on the edge of his chair and pearls of +perspiration came upon his brow. He took out his silk handkerchief and +wiped his forehead. + +"Go right on ahead and say whatever you've got upon your mind to say," +said Mr. Gubb. + +"Well, the fact is," said the false Mr. Burns nervously, "I'm short of +cash. I need just one dollar and eighty cents to get to Derlingport!" + +"Why, of course!" said Philo Gubb heartily. "All of us get into +similar or like predicaments at various often times, Mr. Burns. It is +a pleasure to be able to help out a feller deteckative in such a time +and manner. Only--" + +"Yes?" said the Bald Impostor nervously. + +"Only I couldn't think of giving you only the bare mere sum to get to +Derlingport," said the graduate of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's +Correspondence School of Detecting, generously. "I couldn't think of +letting you start off away with anything less than a ten-dollar bill." + + + + +DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN + + +Philo Gubb sat on an upturned bundle of rolls of wall-paper in the +dining-room of Mrs. Pilker's famous Pilker mansion, in Riverbank, +biting into a thick ham sandwich. It was noon. + +Mr. Gubb ate methodically, taking a large bite of sandwich, chewing +the bite long and well, and then swallowing it with a wonderful up and +down gliding of his knobby Adam's apple. From time to time he turned +his head and looked at the walls of the dining-room. The time was +Saturday noon, and but one wall was covered with the new wall-paper, a +natural forest tapestry paper, with lifelike representations of leafy +trees. He had promised to have the Pilker dining-room completed by +Saturday night. It seemed quite impossible to Philo Gubb that he could +finish the Pilker dining-room before dark, and it worried him. + +Other matters, even closer to his heart, worried Mr. Gubb. He had had +a great quarrel with Mr. Medderbrook, the father of the fair Fat Lady +of the World's Greatest Combined Shows. Judge Orley Morvis had paid +Mr. Gubb twenty dollars for certain detective work, but Mr. Gubb had +not turned all this over to Mr. Medderbrook, and Mr. Medderbrook had +resented this. He told Mr. Gubb he was a cheap, tank-town sport. + +"I worked hard," said Mr. Medderbrook, "to sell you that Utterly +Hopeless Gold-Mine stock and now you hold out on me. That's not the +way I expect a jay-town easy-mark--" + +"I beg your pardon, but what was that term of phrase you called me?" +asked Mr. Gubb. + +"I called you," said Mr. Medderbrook, changing his tone to one of +politeness, "an easy-mark. In high financial circles the term is short +for 'easy-market-investor,' meaning one who never buys stocks unless +he is sure they are of the highest class and at the lowest price." + +"Well, I should hereafter prefer not to be so called," said Mr. Gubb. + +Almost as soon as he had said the cruel words he regretted them, but +the next day Mr. Medderbrook's colored butler came to Mr. Gubb's +office with a telegram for which he demanded thirty-six dollars and +fifty cents. + +Mr. Gubb trembled with emotion as he paid, for it meant that Syrilla +was still losing flesh and that Mr. Dorgan must surely cancel his +contract with her soon. The telegram read:-- + + Happy days! Still shrinking. Have lost one hundred and + forty-five pounds since last wire. Contract sure to be + canceled as soon as Dorgan gets back from hurried trip to + Siam. Weather very hot. Can feel myself shrink. Fond + thoughts to my Gubby. + +The very next day the colored butler brought Mr. Gubb another +telegram. + +"Fifty dollars, please, sah," he said. + +"What!" cried Mr. Gubb. + +"Yes, sah," said the negro. "That's the amount Mistah Meddahbrook done +say." + +Mr. Gubb could hardly believe it, but he wrote his check for the fifty +dollars and then read the telegram. It ran:-- + + Excelsior! Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire. Now + weigh only four hundred pounds. Every one guys me when I am + ballyhooed as Fat Lady. Affection to Gubby. + +Mr. Gubb was greatly pleased by this, but when, the next day, the +colored butler again appeared and asked for fifty dollars Mr. Gubb was +worried. The telegram this time read:-- + + Frightened. Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire, + now weigh only two hundred. If lose two hundred more will + weigh nothing. Have resumed potatoes and water. Love to + Gubby. + +[Illustration: A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED] + +That same afternoon the negro brought Mr. Gubb another telegram, on +which he collected seven dollars and fifty cents. This telegram +contained these words:-- + + Am indeed frightened. Have resumed bread diet, soup, fish, + meat, and cereals, but have lost fifty pounds more. Weigh + only one hundred and fifty. Taking tonic. Hope for the best. + Tell Gubby I think of him as much as when I weighed half a + ton. + +Mr. Gubb was much distressed. He had no doubt that his Syrilla would +rapidly recover a part of her lost weight, but he felt as if at the +moment he had lost Syrilla. He could not picture her as a sylph of one +hundred and fifty pounds. He was worried, indeed, as he sat eating his +lunch in Mrs. Pilker's mansion. It was then he heard a voice:-- + +"Say, are you the feller they call Bugg?" + +Mr. Gubb looked up. In the dining-room door stood a man who looked +like Napoleon Bonaparte gone to seed. + +"If the party you are looking for to seek," said Mr. Gubb with +somewhat offended pride, "is Mister P. Gubb, him and me are one and +the same party. My name is P. Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger." + +"Well, youse is the party I'm looking for," said the stranger. "I got +a hunch from Horton, the wall-paper-store feller, that youse was up +here and that youse wanted a helper. Does youse?" + +"If you know paper-hanging as a trade and profession and can go to +work immediately at once, I could use you," said Mr. Gubb. "I've got +more jobs than I can handle alone by myself." + +"Say, me a paper-hanger?" said the stranger scornfully. "Why, sport, +I've hung more wall-paper than youse ever saw, see? Honest, when I +butted in here and saw that there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John on the +wall--" + +"That what?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"That there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John, on the wall there," explained +the stranger. "Don't youse even know the right name of that +wall-paper there, that's been a Six Best Seller for the last three +years?" + +"It is a forest tapestry," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Sure, Mike!" said the stranger. "And one of the finest youse ever +seen. Looks like youse could walk right into it and pick hickory nuts +off them oak trees, don't it? It's one of me old friends." + +Philo Gubb took another bite of sandwich and masticated it slowly. + +"Let me teach youse something," said the stranger, and he took a roll +of the tapestry paper in his hand and unrolled a few feet. He pointed +to the margin of the printed side of the paper with his oily +forefinger. "Do youse see them printings?" he asked. "Says 7462 B J, +don't it?" + +"It does," mumbled Philo Gubb. + +"Well, say! This here wall-paper feller Dietz--he makes this here +paper, don't he? And that there 7462 is the number of this here forest +tap. pattern, see? And B J--that's Bessie John--that tells youse what +the coloring is, see? Bessie John is the regular nature coloring, see? +They got one with pink trees and yeller sky, for bood-u-wars and +bedrooms. That's M S--Mary Sam." + +"It is a very ingenious way to proceed to do," said Philo Gubb, "and +if regular union wages is all right you can take that straight-edge +and trim all them Bessie John letters off this bundle of 7462 Bessie +John I'm sitting onto." + +This was satisfactory to the stranger. He removed his greasy coat, +threw his greasy cap into a corner, wiped his greasy hands on a wad of +trimmings and set to work. When Mr. Gubb had completed his modest +luncheon he asked his name. + +"Youse might as well call me Greasy," said the new employee. "I'm +greasier than anything. Got it off'n my motor-boat." + +During the afternoon Philo Gubb learned something of his assistant's +immediate past. "Greasy" had saved some money, working at St. Paul, +and had bought a motor-boat--"Some boat!" he said; "Streak o' +Lightnin' was what I named her, and she was"--and he had come down the +Mississippi. "She can beat anything on the Dad," he said. + +The "Dad" was his disrespectful paraphrase of "The Father of Waters," +the title of the giant Mississippi. He told of his adventures until he +mentioned the Silver Sides. Then he swore in a manner that suited his +piratical countenance exactly. + +He had been floating peacefully down the river with the current, his +power shut off and himself asleep in the bottom of the boat, doing no +harm to any one, when along came the Silver Sides, and without giving +him a warning signal, ran him down. + +"Done it a-purpose, too," he said angrily. + +He had managed to keep the boat afloat until he reached Riverbank, but +to fix her up would take more money than he had. So he had hunted a +job in his own line, and found Philo Gubb. + +The Silver Sides, Captain Brooks, owner, was a small packet plying +between Derlingport and Bardenton, stopping at Riverbank, which was +midway between the two. No one knowing Captain Brooks would have +suspected him of running down anything whatever. He was a kind, stout, +gray-haired old gentleman. He had a nice, motherly old wife and eight +children, mainly girls, and they made their home on the Silver Sides. +Mrs. Brooks and the girls cooked for the crew and kept the boat as +neat as a new pin. Captain Brooks occupied the pilot-house; Tom Brooks +served as first mate, and Bill Brooks acted as purser. Altogether they +were a delightfully good-natured and well-meaning family. It was hard +to believe they would run down a helpless motor-boat in mid-river, but +Greasy swore to it, and about it. + +During the next few weeks Greasy and the detective worked side by +side. Greasy had every night and all Sunday for his own purposes. Once +Mr. Gubb met Greasy carrying a large bundle of canvas, and Mr. Gubb +imagined Greasy was fitting a mast and sail to the motor-boat. + +On July 15 the Independent Horde of Kalmucks gave a moonlight +excursion on the Mississippi, chartering the Silver Sides for the +purpose. The Kalmucks were the leading lodge of the town, and leaders +also in social affairs. They gave frequent dramatic entertainments--in +their hall in winter, and outdoors in the big yard back of Kalmuck +Temple in the summer. In the entire history of the lodge there had +never been so much as an untoward incident, but at eleven o'clock on +the night of July 15 something frightful did occur. It spread it +across the top of the first page of the "Daily Eagle" in the one +shocking word--PIRATES! + +The Silver Star had started on the return trip and had reached a point +about two miles below Towhead Island when a rifle or revolver bullet +crashed through the glass window on the western side of the +pilot-house. Uncle Jerry--as most people called Captain Brooks--turned +his head, stared out at the moonlit waters of the river, and saw +bearing down upon him from the northwest a long, low craft. Four men +stood in the forward part of the boat, and a fifth sat beside the +motor. In the bright moonlight, Captain Brooks could see that all the +men wore black masks. He also saw that all were armed, and that from +the staff at the stern of the boat floated a jet-black flag on which +was painted in white the skull and cross-bones that have always been +the insignia of pirates. Even as he looked one of the men in the +motor-boat raised his arm: Uncle Jerry saw a flash of fire, and +another pane of glass at his side jingled to the floor. + +The low black craft swept rapidly across the bows of the Silver Sides; +the sputtering of its motor ceased; and the next moment the pirates +were aboard the barge, lining up the dancers at the points of their +pistols, and preparing to take away their ice-cream money. + +And they did take it. They began at the bow of the barge and walked +to the stern, making one after another of the excursionists deliver +his valuables, and then slipped quietly over the stern of the barge; +the pirate craft began to spit and sputter furiously; and the next +moment it was tearing through the water like a streak of lightning. + +To chase a speed-boat in an elderly river packet would have been +nonsense. Uncle Jerry signaled full speed ahead and kept to the +channel, where his boat belonged. Presently Mrs. Brooks, panting, +climbed to the pilot-house. + +"Well, Pa," she said, "pirates has been and robbed us." + +"Don't I know it?" said Uncle Jerry testily. "No need of comin' to +tell me." + +"They got all the ice-cream money," said Mrs. Brooks. + +"Well, 'twa'n't ourn, was it?" snapped Uncle Jerry. + +"Why, Pa, what a way to talk!" exclaimed Mrs. Brooks. "It's like you +thought it wa'n't nothin', to be pirated right here in the forepart of +the twentieth century in the middle of the Mississippi River in broad +daylight--" + +"'Tain't daylight," said Uncle Jerry shortly. "It's midnight, and +it's goin' to be long past midnight before we git ashore. A man can't +get even part of a night's rest no more. Everybody pirootin' round, +stoppin' boats an' stealin' ice-cream money! Makes me 'tarnel mad, it +do." + +"Pa," said Mrs. Brooks. + +"Well, what is it now?" asked Uncle Jerry testily. + +"Philo Gubb, the detective-man, is on board," said his wife. "I come +up because I thought maybe you'd want to hire him right off to find +out who was them pirates, and if--" + +"Me? Hire a fool detective?" snapped Mr. Brooks. "Why'n't you come up +and ask me to throw my money into the river?" + +Philo Gubb, although not a dancer, had been on the barge when it was +attacked, because he was a lover of ice-cream. He too had been lined +up and robbed. He had been robbed not only of forty perfectly good +cents, but his pirate had seen his opal scarf-pin and had rudely taken +it from Mr. Gubb's tie. The pirate was, Mr. Gubb noticed, a short, +heavy man with greasy hands. As the motor-boat dashed away, Mr. Gubb +pressed to the rear of the barge and looked after it. + +As the boat regained her speed, Philomela Brooks approached him. + +"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she exclaimed, "I'm so tremulous." + +"If you will kindly not interrupt me at the present moment of time," +said Mr. Gubb, "I will be much obliged. I am making an endeavor to try +to do some deteckative work onto this case." + +"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" Miss Philomela cried. "And _do_ you think you'll do +any good?" + +"In the deteckative business," said Mr. Gubb sternly, "we try to do +all the good we can do, whether we can do it or not." And he turned +away and sought a more secluded spot. + +The affair of the pirate craft caused a tremendous sensation in +Riverbank. Before eight o'clock the next morning every one in +Riverbank seemed to have heard of the affair, and when, at eight +o'clock, Philo Gubb entered the vacant Himmeldinger house, which he +was decorating, he started with surprise to see Greasy already there. +He had not expected to see him at all. But there he was, trimming the +edge of a roll of Dietz's 7462 Bessie John, and as he turned to greet +Mr. Gubb, the detective saw in Greasy's greasy tie what seemed to be +his own opal scarf-pin. + +"That there," said Mr. Gubb sternly, "is a nice scarf-pin you've got +into your tie." + +"Ain't it?" said Greasy proudly. "Me new lady-friend give it to me +last night." + +To Greasy, Detective Gubb said nothing. He was not yet ready to act. +But to himself he muttered:-- + +"Scarf-pin--scarf-pin. That there is a clue I had ought to look into." + +In the town excitement was high all day. There was some time wasted +while the Chief of Police and the County Sheriff tried to discover +which was compelled by law to fight pirates, but the Chief of Police +finally put the job on the Sheriff's hands, and the old Fourth of July +cannon was loaded with powder and nails and put on the bow of the +good ferry-boat Haddon P. Rogers, a posse of about three hundred men +with shotguns and army muskets was crowded aboard, and the +pirate-catcher got under way. + +This was, of course, Monday, and Monday the Silver Sides made her +usual down-river trip to Bardenton, leaving in the morning and +returning late at night. It was usually two o'clock at night when she +tied up at the Riverbank levee, but this time two o'clock came without +the Silver Sides. There was a good reason. As the packet neared Hog +Island, about two miles below the Towhead, on her return trip, Uncle +Jerry heard the sputter of a gas engine and saw dart out from below +Hog Island the same low black craft that had carried the pirates +before. Even before the craft was within range, the revolvers began to +spit at the Silver Sides. + +"Well, dang them pirates to the dickens!" exclaimed Uncle Jerry. "If +they be goin' to keep up this nonsense I'm goin' to get down-right mad +at 'em." But he signaled the engine-room to slow down, as if it was +getting to be a habit with him. One of the upper panes, just above his +line of vision, clattered down as he pulled the bell-rope. + +At the first volley, Ma Brooks and her daughters dashed into the +galley and slammed the door. The remainder of the male Brookses made +two jumps to the coal bins and began burrowing into the coal, and the +three non-Brooks members of the crew dived into openings between the +small piles of cargo stuff and tried to become invisible. When the +pirates clambered aboard the Silver Star they seemed to be boarding a +deserted vessel. They worked quickly and thoroughly. Piece by piece +they threw the cargo of the Silver Sides into the motor-boat until +they uncovered the three members of the crew, who leaped from their +hiding-place like startled rabbits and loped wildly to places of +greater safety. Half a dozen revolver shots followed them. The pirates +then leisurely reëmbarked, fired a parting salute, and glided away. + +The next morning Greasy appeared at work with his pocket full of +Sultana raisins, and offered some to Mr. Gubb. + +"Thank you," said Mr. Gubb; "raisins are one of my foremost +fondnesses. Nice ones like these are hard to find obtainable." + +"You're right they are," said Greasy. "Me lady-friend give me these +last night. She's the girl that knows good raisins, ain't she?" + +Evidently she was, but Philo Gubb had taken occasion to discover, +before he went to work that morning, whether the Silver Sides had been +pirated again, and he had learned that a half-dozen boxes of Sultana +raisins had formed part of the cargo of the Silver Sides. He looked at +Greasy severely. + +"Your lady-friend is considerably generous in giving things, ain't +she?" he said, trying to hide the guile of his questions in an +indifferent tone. "You ain't cared to mention her name to me as yet +to this time." + +"Ain't I?" said Greasy carelessly. "Well, I ain't ashamed of her. Her +name is Maggie Tiffkins. She's some girl!" + +"You spend most of your evenings with or about her, I presume to +suppose?" asked Mr. Gubb carelessly. + +"You bet!" said Greasy. "Me and her is going to get married before +long, we are. Yep. And I'll be right glad to have a home to sleep in, +instead of a barn." + +"A barn?" queried Philo Gubb. + +"I been sleepin' in a barn," said Greasy. "I thought youse knowed it. +I been doin' a piece or two of scene paintin' for them Kalmucks, and I +sort of hired a barn to do it in, and so long as I had to have the +barn I just slept in it. Keeps me up late," he said, yawning, "seein' +my lady-friend till midnight and then paintin' scenery till I don't +know when." + +"I presume you ain't spent much time on your motor-boat of late +times," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Ain't had no time," said Greasy briefly. + +Detective Gubb, as he pasted paper on the walls of the Himmeldinger +house, turned various matters over and over in his mind. His clues +pointed as clearly to Greasy as the Great Dipper points to the North +Star. He had decided to join the posse on the Haddon P. Rogers when +she set out on her next voyage of vengeance, but now he changed his +mind. + +A barn, large and vacant, would be an excellent place in which to hide +the proceeds of a pirate raid. Lest--possibly--the barn should +recognize him and hide itself, Mr. Gubb first went to his office in +the Opera House Building, disguised himself as a hostler, with cowhide +boots, a cob pipe, a battered straw hat, and blue jean trousers. Lest +his face be recognized by the barn he wore a set of red under-chin +whiskers, which would have been more natural had they been a paler +shade of scarlet. Thus disguised, he crept softly down the Opera House +Building stairs and ran full into Billy Getz, Riverbank's best example +of the spoiled only-son species, and the town's inveterate jester. Mr. +Getz put a hand on Mr. Gubb's arm. + +"Sh-h!" he said mysteriously. "Not a word. Only by chance did I +recognize you, Mr. Gubb. Now, about this pirate business--it has to +stop." + +"I am proceeding to the deteckative work preliminary to so doing," +said Mr. Gubb. + +"Good!" said Billy Getz. "Because I can't have such things happening +on my Mississippi River. I hate to see the dear old river get a bad +name, Mr. Gubb. I'm just organizing the Dear Old River Anti-Pirate +League--to suppress pirates, you know. And we want you as our official +detective. In the meantime--Greasy! That's all I say--just Greasy! +Tough-looking character. Lives in a barn." + +[Illustration: HE WORE A SET OF RED UNDER-CHIN WHISKERS] + +"I am just proceeding to locate the whereabouts of the barn," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"That's easy," said Billy Getz. "Hampton's barn--Eighth Street alley. +I know, because I've been there. He's doing our scenery for the +Kalmuck summer show. You go straight up this street--or no, _you'd_ go +in the opposite direction, and three miles into the country, and back +across the cemetery, as advised in Lesson Thirteen, wouldn't you?" + +"There are only twelve lessons," said Mr. Gubb haughtily and stalked +away. He went, however, to Hampton's barn, climbed in through the +alley window, and searched the place. + +The barn contained nothing of interest. A cot stood at one end of the +hay-loft; and stretched across the wall at the other end was a canvas +on which was a partly completed scene of a ruined castle, with +mountains in the distance. On the floor were pails and brushes, +bundles of dry colors, glue, and the various articles needed by a +scene-painter. Mr. Gubb looked behind the canvas. No loot was +concealed there. He returned to his office, discarded his disguise, +and went back to the Himmeldinger house. Seated on the front steps, +quite neglecting his work, was Greasy, and beside him sat a girl. + +"This," said Greasy, "is Maggie Tiffkins. Youse ought to know her. +Mag, consider this a proper knockdown to P. Gubb, my boss." + +That night the Silver Sides was attacked by the pirates on her return +from Derlingport. The next morning Mr. Gubb awaited Greasy's coming +impatiently, hoping for a new clue, but Greasy had none. He was glum. +He had had a quarrel with Maggie, and he was cross. + +"Last job of work I'll ever do for Billy Getz and them Kalmucks of +his'n," he said crossly. "He's gettin' worse and worse. Them first two +scenes I painted he kicked enough about: said the forest scene looked +like a roast-beef sandwich, and asked me if the parlor scene was a +bar-room or a cow-pasture, but when I do a first-class old bum castle +and he wants to know if it's a lib'ry interior, I get hot. And so +would youse." + + * * * * * + +For three nights the Silver Sides, now protected by the presence of +part of the armed posse, was not disturbed, but on the fourth night +the low, black pirate craft boldly attacked the steamer, carrying on a +running fight. The pirates did not venture to board her, but the +piratical business was getting to be an unbearable nuisance to Uncle +Jerry Brooks. A dozen small craft were armed and patrolled the river. +On the fourteenth night, when the Silver Sides was up-river on her +Derlingport trip, the Jane P., the opposition steamer making the same +ports, was boldly attacked by the pirates and lost the most precious +part of her cargo. It was then determined to exterminate the pirates +at any cost. + +Once only had a steamer been attacked above the town, and this seemed +to indicate that the pirates had their nest below Riverbank, and this +was the more likely as the river below town gave far greater +opportunities for hiding the pirate boat during the day. There were +several sloughs or bayous and many indentations of the shore-line, +while above the town there was none. Above the town the shores sloped +back from the river's edge, and even a skiff on the shore could be +seen from across the river. The search for the pirate vessel was +therefore conducted below the town, but most unsuccessfully. + +Mr. Gubb, in the three weeks during which the search went on, +exhausted all his disguises and every page of the twelve lessons of +the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting. +He was in a condition bordering on despair. Each day he donned a +disguise and visited the barn, and saw nothing but scenery and more +scenery. He had reached a point where detective skill seemed to fail, +and where he feared he might have to go openly to Greasy and ask him +whether he was the pirate, or at least go to Maggie and ask her where +she had obtained the scarf-pin and the raisins. And that would not +have been detecting. Nothing like it was mentioned in the twelve +lessons. + +A reward of One Hundred Dollars (rewards are always in capital +letters) had been offered by the Business Men's Association for the +capture of the pirate craft, but no one seemed likely to earn the +reward. + +"Say, honest!" said Greasy, "if my boat was workin' I'd go out alone +in her and cop off them hundred dollars. Youse is a detective, Gubb; +why don't youse get to work and grab them dollars?" + +"Your boat is not into a workable condition?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"She's all but that," said Greasy. "She's hauled up on the levee, +rottin' like a tomato. I tried to sell her to Muller, the grocery +feller where Mag gets them raisins you liked, and I tried to trade her +for a ring to Calloway, the jewelry man what Mag got my opal scarf-pin +of, but I can't get rid of her nohow. If I had her workin' I'd find +them pirates or I'd know why." + +"I have remembered the thought of something; I've got to go downtown," +said Mr. Gubb, and he left Greasy and went to question Mr. Muller and +Mr. Calloway. The one admitted selling Mag the raisins, and the other +the pin, and thus two perfectly good clues went bad. Mr. Gubb turned +toward Fifth Street, when Billy Getz caught him by the arm. + +"Come on and hunt pirates," he said. "The good cruiser Haddon P. +Rogers is going to hit a new trail--up-river this time. Come on +along." + +Billy Getz escorted him aboard the Haddon P. Rogers and led him +straight to the Sheriff on the upper deck. + +"Sheriff," he said, "we've got 'em now! This time we've got 'em sure. +Here's Gubb, the famous P. Gubb, detective, and after many +solicitations he has consented to accompany us. We will have the +pirate craft ere we return. P. Gubb never fails." + +The Sheriff smiled good-naturedly. + +"Always kidding, ain't you, Billy," he said. + +The boat started. She steamed slowly up the river, the members of the +posse on the upper deck on either side, scanning the shores carefully. +Occasionally the ferry-boat backed and ran closer to shore to permit a +nearer inspection of some skiff or to view some log left on the shore +by the last flood. Billy Getz, standing beside the Sheriff and P. +Gubb, called their attention to every shadow and lump on the shore. +The boat proceeded on her slow course and reached the channel between +an island and the Illinois shore. The wooded bank of the island rose +directly from the water, some of the water-elms dipping their roots +into the river. There was no place where a boat could be hidden, and +the ferry steamed slowly along. Billy Getz poked solemn-faced fun at +Mr. Gubb in the most serious manner, and Mr. Gubb was sternly haughty, +knowing he was being made sport of. His eyes rested with bird-like +intensity on the wooded shore of the island. + +"Now, this combination of paper-hanging and detecting has its +advantages," said Billy Getz, with a wink at the Sheriff. "When a +man--" + +Philo Gubb was not hearing him. + +"The remarkableness of the similarity of nature to art is quite often +remarkable to observe," he said to the Sheriff, "and is seeming to +grow more so now and then from time to time. That piece of section of +woods right there is so naturally grown you might say it was torn +right off a roll of Dietz's 7462 Bessie John." + +He stopped short. + +"What's the matter?" asked Billy Getz nervously. + +"Run the boat in there," said Philo Gubb excitedly. "Those verdures +ain't _like_ 7462 Bessie John; they _are_ 7462 Bessie John." + +The Sheriff stared keenly at the spot indicated by Detective Gubb's +extended hand and, turning suddenly, said a word to the pilot in the +house at his side. The ferry veered and ran in toward the island. Not +until the boat was nearer the shore than a front row of the orchestra +seats to the back drop of a theater did the others on the boat +understand. Then the trick was seen and understood. The trees of the +shore were not all trees. One group was a painted canvas, copied +carefully by Greasy from Dietz's 7462 Bessie John at the behest of +Billy Getz. Stretched across a small indentation of the shore it made +a safe screen, unrecognizable a few rods from the shore, and behind +this bit of painted forest they found the long, low, black pirate +craft--Billy Getz's motor-boat. + +When the Sheriff had torn down the canvas and his men had hoisted and +heaved the pirate craft to the broad deck of the ferry, Billy Getz was +gone. Riverbank never saw him again, and a half-dozen of his +roistering companions also disappeared completely. + +"Sometimes occasionally," said Philo Gubb, as the ferry turned toward +town, "the combination of paper-hanging and deteckative work is +detrimental to one or both, as the case may be, but at other +occasional times they are worth one hundred dollars." + +"That's right!" said the Sheriff suddenly. "You get that reward, don't +you?" + +"Most certainly sure," said Philo Gubb. + + + + +HENRY + + +Philo Gubb entered his office and placed on his cutting-table the +express package he had found leaning against his door. With his +trimming-knife he cut the cord that bound the package. It contained, +he knew, the new disguise for which he had sent twenty-five dollars to +the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Supply Bureau, and he was eager to +examine his purchase, which, in the catalogue, was known as "No. 34. +French Count, with beard and wig complete. List, $40.00. Special price +to our graduates, $25.00, express paid." + +Mr. Gubb wore a face more solemn than usual, for he had just had bad +news. He had hidden his distrust of Mr. Medderbrook, the father of his +beloved Syrilla, and had carried that gentleman the one hundred +dollars he had earned by aiding in the capture of the river pirates, +but he had found Mr. Medderbrook close to tears. + +"Read this, Gubb," Mr. Medderbrook said; and that he was deeply +affected was shown by the fact that he did not ask Mr. Gubb to pay any +part of the cost of the telegram from Syrilla which had, this time, +come "Collect." The telegram read:-- + + Scared crazy. Resumed vegetables and all kinds of food, + eating steadily all day and night, but have lost twenty-five + pounds more. Now weigh only one hundred and twenty-five and + going down rapidly. If worse goes to worst, love to Gubby. + +It is not surprising that Mr. Gubb sighed as he lifted the +exaggeratedly thin-waisted frock coat from the package, but there came +a tap on the door and he hastily covered the coat with the wrapping +paper and turned to the door. + +"Enter in," he said. And the door opened cautiously and a short, +ruddy-faced man entered, peering into the room first and then closing +the door behind him as cautiously as he had opened it. + +"Are you this here detective feller?" he asked bluntly. + +"I am Mister P. Gubb, deteckating and paper-hanging done, to command +at your service," admitted Mr. Gubb. "Won't you take a seat onto a +chair?" + +"Depends," said Mr. Gubb's visitor, keeping his hand on the doorknob. +"I'll put it to you like this: Say some guy stole something from me, +and I was willing to pay you for finding out who stole it and for +getting it back--you'd take a job like that and say nothing about it +to anybody, wouldn't you?" + +"Most certainly sure," agreed Mr. Gubb. + +"That's the idee! You'd keep it dark. It wouldn't be nobody's business +but yours and mine, would it? It would be a quiet little deal between +you and me, and nobody would know anything about it. Hey?" + +"Exactly sure," said Philo Gubb. "The deteckative business is +conducted onto an absolutely quiet Q.T. basis." + +"Correct!" said his visitor. "I see you and me can do business. Now, +my name is Gus P. Smith, and I've had one of the rawest deals handed +me a man ever had handed him. I was coming along down one of these +alleys between streets this morning and--" + +He stopped short and turned to the door. Some one had tapped on the +panels. Mr. Smith opened the door the merest crack and peered out. He +closed it again instantly. + +"Somebody to see you," he whispered. "What I've got to say I want kept +private. I'll be back." + +He opened the door and slipped out, and as he went a second visitor +entered. The newcomer was somewhat tall and thin, and his hair was +long, so long it fell upon his shoulders in greasy curls. He wore a +rather ancient frock coat and a black slouch hat, and a touch of style +was added by his gray kid gloves, although the weather was average +summer weather. His face was thin and adorned by a silky brown beard, +divided at the chin and falling in two carefully arranged points. He +closed the door carefully, first looking into the hall to see that Mr. +Gus P. Smith had disappeared. + +"Mr. P. Gubb, the detective?" he asked. + +"Most absolutely sure," said Mr. P. Gubb. + +"My name," said Mr. Gubb's visitor, "is one you are doubtless familiar +with. I am Alibaba Singh." + +"Pleased to meet your acquaintance," said Mr. Gubb. "What can I aim to +do for you?" + +Mr. Alibaba Singh brought a chair close to Mr. Gubb's desk and seated +himself. He leaned close to Mr. Gubb--so close that Mr. Gubb scented +the rank odor of cheap hair-oil--and whispered. + +"Everything is to be strictly confidential--most strictly +confidential. That's understood?" + +"Most absolutely sure." + +"Of course! Now, you must have heard of me--I've made quite a stir +here in Riverbank since I came. Theosophical lectures--first lessons +in Nirvana--Buddhistic philosophy--mysteries of Vedaism--et cetery." + +"I read your advertisement notices into the newspapers," admitted Mr. +Gubb. + +"Just so. I have done well here. Many sought the mysteries. I have +been unusually successful in Riverbank." He stopped short and looked +at Philo Gubb suspiciously. "You don't believe in transmigration, do +you?" he asked. + +"Not without I do without knowing it," said Mr. Gubb. "What is it?" + +"Transmigration," repeated Alibaba Singh. "It--Hindoos believe in it. +At death the souls of the good enter higher forms of life; the souls +of the bad enter lower forms of life. If you were a bad man and died +you would become a--a dog, or a horse, or--or something. You don't +believe that, do you?" + +"Most certainly not at all!" said Mr. Gubb. + +"I--I teach it," said Alibaba Singh uneasily. "It is part of my +teaching." + +"You don't aim to believe nothing of that sort, do you?" asked Mr. +Gubb as if he could not imagine any man so foolish. + +"Now, that's it!" said Alibaba Singh. "That's why I came to you. All +this is strictly confidential, of course? Thanks. I can speak right +out, Mr. Gubb? I have in the past taught some things I did not +absolutely believe." + +"Quite likely true," admitted Philo Gubb. + +"We--we occulists get carried on by our eloquence," said Alibaba +Singh. "We--we go too far sometimes. Far too far! I admit it. I admit +that frankly. When our clients reach out to us for more and more, +we--we sometimes go too far. I won't say we string them along. I +wouldn't say that. But we--we lead them farther than we have gone +ourselves, perhaps. You understand?" + +"Almost absolutely," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Just so! Mr. Gubb, one of my clients was greatly interested in +transmigration of souls--greatly interested. She was interested in all +things mystical--in reincarnation; in the return of the spirits of the +dead; in everything like that. I--really, Mr. Gubb, it was hard for me +to keep up with her." + +"And you proceeded to go ahead and teach her about this transmigration +of souls that you don't believe into yourself," said Mr. Gubb +helpfully. + +"And when she found out you was a faker she set out to sue you for her +money back." + +"No. Not that!" said Alibaba Singh energetically. "That's not it. She +doesn't want her money back. She--she's _almost_ satisfied. She's +willing to accept what had happened philosophically. She's almost +content. Mr. Gubb, the reason I came to you was that I did not want +her to land in--" + +Alibaba Singh looked carefully around. + +"I don't want her to land in jail," he whispered. "It would make +trouble for me. The lady, Mr. Gubb, is Mrs. Henry K. Lippett." + +"Well?" queried Mr. Gubb. + +"What I don't know," said Alibaba Singh, wiping his brow nervously, +"is whether I _did_ reincarnate her late husband or whether she's +liable to be arrested for stealing a--" + +Alibaba Singh stopped short and arose hastily. Some one had knocked on +Mr. Gubb's door. Alibaba Singh moved toward the door. + +"I don't want to talk about this with anybody around," he said +nervously. "I'll come back later. Not a word about it!" + +He brushed past Mr. Gubb's new visitor as he went out, and Mr. Gubb +arose to greet the newcomer. + +This third visitor was a large, red-faced man with an extremely loud +vest. He wore a high hat of gray beaver, and a large but questionable +diamond sparkled on his finger. He walked directly up to Mr. Gubb and +shook hands. + +"Sit down," he commanded. "Now, you're Gubb, the detective, ain't you? +Good enough! My name is Stephen Watts, but they mostly call me Steve +for short--Three-Finger Steve," he added, holding up his right hand to +show that one finger was missing. "I'm in the show business. Ever hear +of John, the Educated Horse? Ever hear of Hogo, the Human Trilobite? +Ever hear of Henry, the Educated Pig? Well, them are me! That's my +show. Did you ever hear of a sheriff?" + +"Frequently often," said Mr. Gubb with a smile. + +"Well, up to Derlingport this here Human Trilobite of mine got loose +from my side-show tent, and when they found him he had eat about half +of the marble cornerstone out from under the Dawkins Building. He's +crazy after white marble. It's like candy to him. So Dawkins attaches +my show and sends the Sheriff with an execution to grab the whole +business unless I pay for a new cornerstone. Said it would cost two +hundred and fifty dollars. I didn't have the money." + +"So he took the show," said Philo Gubb. + +"_Ex_-act-ly!" said Mr. Three-Finger Steve. "He grabbed the whole +caboodle. _Ex_-cept Henry, the Educated Pig. That's why I'm here. That +Sheriff's attachment is out against that pig; it was a felony to +remove that pig from Derling County while that attachment was out +against it. _And_ the pig was removed." + +"You removed it away from there?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Listen," said Three-Finger Steve. "I didn't remove that pig from +Derling County. It was stole from me. Greasy Gus stole it. Augustus P. +Smith, my bally-hoo man, stole Henry, the Educated Pig, and made a +get-away with him. See? See what I want?" + +"Not positively exact," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, it's a little bit delicate," said Three-Finger Steve, "and +that's why I come to you instead of to the police. I want that pig. +But if I go to the police and they find the pig they'll send it back +to the Sheriff in Derling County. See?" + +"Do you want I should arrest Greasy Augustus P. Smith?" asked Philo +Gubb. + +"Not on your life!" said Three-Finger vigorously. "No arrests! You +just get the pig." + +"How big is the size of the pig?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"It's a big pig," said Mr. Watts. "Henry has been getting almost too +fat, and that's a fact. I've been thinking right along I'd have to +diet Henry, but I never got to it. He's one of these big, +double-chinned pinkish-white pigs--looks like a prize pig in a county +fair. And, listen! He's in this town!" + +"Really, indeed?" said Mr. Gubb. + +"I know it!" said Three-Finger Steve. "I seen Greasy Gus load that pig +into a farm wagon at Derlingport, and I thought Gus was trying to +salvage the pig for me, like one feller will help out another in time +of trouble. So I come down to Riverbank on the train, expecting Gus +would show up at the hotel and tell me where the pig was hid. All +right! Gus shows up. 'Gus,' I says, 'where's Henry?' Gus lets on to be +worried. 'Stolen!' he says. 'Some guy lifted him when I wasn't +looking.' Of course I knew that was a lie, and I told him so. 'Now,' +he says, 'you'll never get Henry back. I meant to give him back to +you, but after you have talked to me like that I'll never give him +back. I'll keep him,' he says, 'if I can find him.' So there you are, +Mr. Gubb. Henry is in Riverbank, and I want Henry. This story about +Henry being stolen is a lie. Henry is hid, and Gus Smith knows where." + +Mr. Gubb looked at Mr. Watts thoughtfully. + +"Now, if you're one of these fellers with a conscience," said +Three-Finger, "you can send Henry back to the Sheriff. But I won't +have Greasy Gus putting a trick like this over on me! No, sir!" + +He shook hands with Mr. Gubb again and went out. It was fully fifteen +minutes before Mr. Gus P. Smith, who must have been waiting across the +street, came in. He closed the door and locked it. + +"I saw old Three-Finger come out of this building," he said. "What did +he want?" + +"He came upon confidential business which can't be mentioned," said +Mr. Gubb. + +"Just so!" said Mr. Smith. "He wanted you to find Henry, the Educated +Pig. Now, listen to me. I skipped out with that pig to do +Three-Finger a favor and save part of his show for him, and that's the +truth, but he don't believe it--not him! He called me a thief and +worse, he did. He had the nerve to say I wanted that pig myself, to +start in business with, and that's a lie. No man can insult me like +that, Mr. Gubb. Look at this--" + +He took from his pocket a couple of feet of whipcord and handed it to +Philo Gubb. + +"What is this?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"That's all that's left of Henry," said Greasy Gus. "That's his total +remains up to date. That's the rope I led Henry with after I quit the +wagon of a farmer that rode us out of Derlingport. That cord was tied +to Henry's left hind foot. Look at the end without the knot--was that +cut or wasn't it?" + +"I most generally reserve my opinion until later than right at first," +said Philo Gubb. + +"All right, reserve it!" said Greasy Gus. "Looks to me like it was +cut. No matter. The main thing I want is for you to find Henry. How's +that?" + +"Under them certain specifications," said Philo Gubb, "I can take up +the case and get right to work onto it." + +"All right, then," said Greasy Gus. "Now, here's what I know about it. +I got out of Derlingport with Henry, and when the farmer dumped us +from his wagon I hitched this whipcord to Henry's leg and drove him +along the road. After while I hit this town of Riverbank. I thought +maybe the police would be looking for Henry. So I took to an alley +instead of a regular street, and along we came. We came down the +alley, and of a sudden I began to wonder what I'd do with Henry now +I'd got him into town. It would look kind of suspicious for me and +Henry to go to a hotel. 'I know what I'll do,' I says to myself: 'What +I want to do is to go alone and rent a barn and say I'm thinking of +buying a pig if I can get a place to keep him.' So that's what I did." + +"You left the pig alone in the alley by itself?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Yes, sir!" said Mr. Smith. "I found an alley fence that had a staple +in it, and I tied one end of the whipcord to the staple and went down +the alley to find a barn I could put Henry in. About the fifth barn I +tried I found a place for Henry and then I went back to get him, and +he was gone!" + +"And no clue?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"This tag end of the rope," said Greasy Gus. "And that's all I know +about where Henry went, but my idee is somebody come along and seen +him there and just thought he'd have a pig cheap." + +"It's a pretty hard case to work onto," said Mr. Gubb doubtfully. +"Somebody might have come along with a wagon and loaded him in." + +"Sure!" said Mr. Smith. "No telling at all. That's why I come to you. +If he was where I could fall over him, I wouldn't need a detective, +would I? And if you find Henry I'll just give you these four +five-dollar bills. I'm no millionaire, but I'll blow that much for +the satisfaction of getting back at Three-Finger Watts. Is it a go?" + +"Under them certain specifications," said Mr. Gubb, using the exact +words he had used before, "I can take up the case and get right to +work onto it." + +Mr. Smith shook hands to bind the bargain and departed. + +He had hardly disappeared before Mr. Alibaba Singh opened the door +cautiously, put his head inside and then entered. + +"I thought that man would stay forever," he said with annoyance. "He +isn't in any way interested in my affairs or in the affairs of Mrs. +Henry K. Lippett, is he?" + +"Nobody has been here that is interested into anything you are +interested into in the slightest form or manner," Mr. Gubb assured +him, and Alibaba Singh sighed with relief. + +"You never knew Henry K. Lippett, did you?" he asked. + +"Never at all," said Mr. Gubb. + +"He broke his neck," said Alibaba Singh, "and it killed him." + +He hesitated and seemed lost in thought. He drew himself together +sharply. + +"It isn't _possible_!" he exclaimed with irritation and with no +connection with what he had just said. "I _don't_ believe it! I--I--" + +His distress was great. He wrung one hand inside the other. He almost +wept. + +"Mr. Gubb," he said, "since I was here I have been up to Mrs. +Lippett's house again, and it is worse than ever. It can't be +possible! I haven't the power. I know I haven't the power." + +"You'd ought to try to explain yourself more plain to your +deteckative," said Mr. Gubb. + +"I'll tell you everything!" said Alibaba Singh in a sudden burst of +confidence. "Mr. Gubb, I am an impostor. I am a fraud. I am not a +Hindoo. My name is Guffins, James Guffins. I did sleight-of-hand stuff +in a Bowery show. I took up this mystic, yogi, Hindoo stuff because I +thought it would pay and it was easy to fool the dames. They fell for +it fast enough, and I made good money. But I'm no yogi. I'm no miracle +man. I couldn't bring a man back to life in his own form or any other +form, could I?" + +"Undoubtedly hardly so," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Glad to hear you say it," said Mr. Guffins with relief. "A man gets +so interested in his work--and there is a lot you can learn in books +about this Hindoo mumbo-jumbo business--but of course I couldn't bring +Mr. Lippett back. I'm no spiritualistic medium. I couldn't materialize +the spirit of a pig." + +As he said the word, Mr. Guffins shuddered. It had come out +unintentionally, but it seemed to jar him to the depth of his being. +He had evidently not meant to say _pig_. + +"Mr. Gubb, I will be frank with you. I need your help," he continued. +"Mrs. Lippett attended my lecture, and she became interested. She +formed a class to study yogi philosophy. We went deep into it. I had +to read up one week what I taught them the next. The lights turned low +and my Hindoo costume helped, of course. Air of mystery, strange +perfumes, and all that. You said you never knew Henry K. Lippett?" + +"Never at all," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Fat man," said Mr. Guffins. "He must have been a very fat man. And a +hearty eater. Rather--rather an over-hearty eater. He must have lived +to eat." + +Mr. Guffins sighed again. + +"Of course there was remuneration," Mr. Guffins went on. "For me, I +mean. To pay for my time. Mrs. Lippett was most generous. I _told_ +her," he said angrily, "I couldn't guarantee to materialize her dead +husband. I said to her: 'Mrs. Lippett, we had better not try it. My +power may be too weak. And think of the risk. He _may_ be pure spirit, +floating in Nirvana, and come to us as a pure spirit, but what if his +life was not all it should have been on earth? What if his spirit has +passed into a lower form as a punishment for misdeeds? You will pardon +me for speaking so of him, but men are weak,' I said, 'and he may now +be a--a bird of the air. It would be a shock,' I said, 'to see him +changed into a bird of the air.'" + +Mr. Guffins paused and groaned. + +"But she would have it," he went on. "She would have me make the +attempt. So--" + +Mr. Guffins looked at Mr. Gubb appealingly. + +"You _don't_ believe I could do it, do you?" he pleaded. + +"Not in any manner of means," said Mr. Gubb. + +"That's what I want you to prove to her," said Mr. Guffins. "That's +why I came to you. Everybody knows you are a detective. I want you +to--to get on my trail." + +"You want me to arrest you!" cried Mr. Gubb with surprise. + +"I want you to be looking for me as if you wanted to arrest me," said +poor Mr. Guffins; "as if you had received word that I was a fraud, and +that you had traced me to Mrs. Lippett's. You can go there and say: +'Gone! I am too late! He has escaped.' And then you can tell her it +couldn't be." + +"That what couldn't be?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"The room was darkish," said Mr. Guffins. "The lights were dim. I +stood in the light of the red globe, and it gave me a weird look. I +held the crystal globe in one hand and the jade talisman in the other. +The incense arose from the incense-burner. As if out of the empty air, +a sweet-toned bell rang three times. I bowed low three times as the +bell rang and muttered the magic words. I made them up as I said them, +but they sounded mystic. Mrs. Lippett was sitting on the edge of her +chair, breathless with emotion. The curtains were drawn across the +door at the back of the room. You could have heard a pin drop. We were +alone, just we two. I felt creepy myself. I turned toward the +curtains. I said, 'Henry, appear!'" + +"Yes?" queried Philo Gubb. + +Mr. Guffins threw out both hands with a gesture of utter despair. + +"A pig came under the curtains," he groaned. "A pig--a great, fat, +double-chinned, pinky-white pig, the kind you see at county +fairs--came under the curtains and grunted twice. It stood there and +raised its head and grunted twice." + +Mr. Guffins wrung his hands nervously. + +"It--it surprised me," he said,--"but only for a minute. I said, 'Get +out, you beast!' and was going to kick it, but Mrs. Lippett rose +slowly from her chair. She half-tottered for an instant, and then she +covered her face with her hands. She began to weep. 'I knew it!' she +sobbed; 'I knew it! Oh, Henry, I knew you ate too much. I told you and +_told_ you again and again you were making a pig of yourself. Oh, +Henry, if you had only been less of a pig when you were alive before!' +And what do you think that pig did?" + +"What did it do?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"It sat up on its hind legs and begged," said Mr. Guffins, "begged for +food. It was awful! Mrs. Lippett couldn't stand it. She wept. 'He was +always so hungry in his other life,' she said. 'I can't begin to be +stern with him now. To-morrow, but not when he has just come back to +me. Come, Henry!' + +"She went into the dining-room," continued Mr. Guffins, "and Henry--or +the pig, for it _couldn't_ have been Henry--followed her. And what do +you think it did?" + +"What?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"It went right to the dining-room table and climbed into a chair. Pigs +don't do that, do they? But you don't believe it could have been +Henry, do you? It got up in the chair and _sat_ in it, and put its +front feet on the table and grunted. And Mrs. Lippett hurried about +saying, 'Oh, Henry! Oh, poor, dear Henry!' and brought a plate of +fried hominy and sliced apple and set it before him. And he wouldn't +touch it! He wouldn't eat. So Mrs. Lippett wept harder and got a +napkin and tied it around the pig's neck. Then the pig ate. He almost +climbed into the plate, and gobbled the food down. And then he grunted +for more. And Mrs. Lippett wept and said: 'It's Henry! He always did +tie a napkin around his neck--he spilled his soup so. It's Henry! It +acts just like Henry. He never did anything at the table but eat and +grunt.' And so," said Mr. Guffins sadly, "she thinks it's Henry. She's +fixed up the guest bedroom for him." + +"The idea of such a notion!" said Mr. Gubb. + +[Illustration: "SHE THINKS IT'S HENRY. SHE'S FIXED UP THE GUEST +BEDROOM FOR HIM"] + +"Well, that's it," said Mr. Guffins sadly. "I ain't sure but it _is_ +Henry. Do you know, that pig walks on its hind feet like a man? She +says it walks like Henry.... Oh!" + +"What is it?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"I told you Henry--" + +"Yes?" + +"I told you Henry broke his neck. He fell down and broke his neck, in +his store. He was coming down the back stairs in the dark, and his +foot caught in a piece of rope and he fell. And--this pig came into +the parlor with a piece of string on its leg! Here's the string." + +Mr. Gubb took it. From his desk he took the string Mr. Greasy Gus had +left. The two ends joined perfectly. + +"I'll get you out of this fix, and fix it so Mrs. Lippett won't have +that pig onto her hands," he said. "I'll go tell her what a fraud of a +faker you are, and it won't cost you but twenty-five dollars." + +"Willingly paid," said Mr. Guffins, reaching into his pocket. + +"And don't you worry about that pig being Henry K. Lippett," said Mr. +Gubb. "That pig was a stranger into Riverbank. And," he went on, as if +reading the words from the end of the whipcord, "it was tied to the +alley fence. Tied to an iron staple," he said, "by a short, stoutish +man with a ruddish face." He took up the other piece of cord and +looked at it closely. "And the pig jerked the cord in two and went +into the yard and in at the open door and into the room. And what is +moreover also, the pig is an educated show-pig, and its name is +Henry, and--" + +"And what?" asked Mr. Guffins eagerly. + +"If you want to get rid of the pig out of Mrs. Lippett's house, all +you have to do is to write to the Sheriff of Derling County, +Derlingport, Iowa, and you needn't trouble yourself into it no +further." + +"Great Scott!" cried Mr. Guffins. "And you can tell all that from that +piece of cord!" + +Mr. Gubb assumed a look of wisdom. + +"Us gents that is into the deteckative business," he said carelessly, +"has to learn twelve correspondence lessons before we get our +diplomas. The deteckative mind is educated up to such things." + + + + +BURIED BONES + + +When Mr. Gubb went to the house of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook to pay him +the money he had received for solving the mystery of Henry, the +Educated Pig, he found the house closed, locked and deserted, and on +the door was pinned a card that said simply, and in a neat +handwriting:-- + + Gone to Patagonia. Will be back in one hundred years. Please + wait. + +This was signed "Jonas Medderbrook," but not until the next day did +Mr. Gubb learn from the "Riverbank Eagle" that Mr. Medderbrook had +decamped after selling his friends and neighbors an immense amount of +stock in the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine, of which Mr. Gubb had a very +large and entirely worthless quantity. + +The departure of Mr. Medderbrook was a great shock to Mr. Gubb, as it +seemed to indicate that serious complications in his wooing of Syrilla +might result from it, especially as he had only heard from Syrilla +through Mr. Medderbrook, but, disturbed as he was by this fear, he was +even more upset by a telegram that came to him direct that afternoon. +It was from Syrilla herself-- + + Alas! [it read], the worst has happened. Weighed myself this + morning and weighed only one hundred pounds. Later + discovered scales were one hundred and five pounds out of + balance, registering one hundred and five pounds too much. I + cannot marry you, now or ever, Gubby dear, as cannot permit + your faithful heart to wed one who weighs five pounds less + than nothing. Good-bye forever. SYRILLA. + +The blow was a severe one to Mr. Gubb, as it would have been to any +lover who loved a half-ton of beauty only to have her shrink to five +pounds less than nothing. For several days he remained locked in his +office, hardly touching food, and then, with a sad heart he resumed +his customary occupations. He would never have learned the truth about +Syrilla had it not been for a tramp called Chi Foxy. + +Chi Foxy made the long walk from Derlingport, and night found him on +the outskirts of Riverbank. He begged a hand-out from one of the small +houses and hunted a place to spend the night. He found it underneath a +tool-house alongside the railway tracks, and that it had been used as +sleeping-quarters by other tramps was shown by the heap of crushed +straw, the bread-crusts, and the remnants of a small fire. + +Chi Foxy crawled in and stretched himself out for a comfortable night. +He lighted his pipe, loosened the laces of his shoes, and settled back +for a comfortable smoke. + +Just outside the rear of his sleeping quarters ran the wire +right-of-way fence, which was also the back fence of a small piece of +property on which stood a rickety old house. The house was devoid of +paint, but it was a cheerful sight from where Chi Foxy reclined. He +had a clear view of the kitchen window, from which the light came in a +yellow glow, and he could see a woman cooking something in a +frying-pan on a kitchen stove. A man sat beside the stove, his elbows +on his knees, waiting for supper. + +Chi Foxy almost decided to climb the fence and knock at the door of +the kitchen at the moment the woman took the frying-pan off the stove, +but he was feeling well filled and comfortable, and he decided to wait +and to use the house as his breakfasting-place. This required no +little strength of character, for the perfume of fried veal chops was +wafted to his nostrils, but he held himself in hand, and when he had +burned his pipeful of tobacco he curled down and went to sleep. + +He was awakened by the sound of voices near at hand, and peered out +between the ties. The night was not dark. The voices had come from a +man and a woman, and as Chi Foxy watched them the man began digging in +the sandy soil with a spade. He made quite a hole in the soil and +turned to the woman. + +"Hand me the bag," he said. + +The woman dragged a heavy gunny-sack to the edge of the hole. The man +untwisted the neck of the bag and up-ended it over the hole. There +followed the rattle of bones, one striking against the other, and the +man handed the bag back to the woman. Chi Foxy peered eagerly at the +hole. He saw bones. He looked up at the stars and saw it must be well +after midnight. He saw the man hastily spade the soft soil over the +bones, saw him scatter loose dry top-sand over the completed job, and +saw the man and woman hurry back to the dark house. + +The next morning Chi Foxy left his resting-place and climbed over the +wire fence. He looked curiously at the spot where the weird burial had +taken place, and went on toward the house. He knocked on the door, and +it was opened by the man--a tall, lanky, coarse-bearded specimen. + +"Say, friend, how about givin' a feller some breakfast?" asked Chi +Foxy. + +"How 'bout it, ma?" asked the man, turning his head. "Got some +breakfast for this feller?" + +The woman looked toward the tramp. She evidently decided in his favor. + +"Let him set on the step and I kin hand him out some coffee and some +meat, if that'll do him," she said, and Chi Foxy seated himself. The +breakfast she brought him on a chipped plate was all he could have +desired. There was a half of a veal cutlet, browned to a nicety, a +portion of fried potatoes, a thick slice of bread without butter, and +a cup of coffee. Chi Foxy ate and drank. + +"Thanks, folks," he said. "I won't forgit you." And he continued on +his way toward Riverbank. + +"So you're here," said the first policeman he met. "Right on time with +the first frosty breeze, ain't you? Well, my friend, you can blow out +of town on the breeze, just like you blew in. No more free board and +gentle stone-pile massage in this town. Drift along, bo!" + +He turned up the first cross-street. He went from house to house +begging a hand-out, but the residents were colder than the weather. At +the twelfth house he knocked on the back door, but he was beginning to +feel hopeless. A thin streamer of smoke was issuing from the kitchen +chimney, and where there is smoke there is food; but here, instead of +a hard-faced woman coming to the door, a man put his face to the +kitchen window and looked out. It was the face of a tall, thin man +with a long neck and prominent Adam's-apple, and as the man peered out +of the window he looked something like a flamingo. He opened the door. + +"Come right into the inside," said Philo Gubb pleasantly, "and heat +yourself up warm. The temperature is full of cold weather to-day." + +Chi Foxy entered. He looked around the kitchen. There was a brisk fire +in the stove, but no sign of food. + +"Say, pard," he said, "how about giving me a bite? I haven't had a +bite this morning. I ain't too late, am I?" + +His host looked at him. + +"You are not too late," he answered, "because it may be some days of +time before there is any eats here, for what's burning into that stove +is the unvalueless trimmings off of wall-paper. I'm not the regular +resider at this house by no means." + +Chi Foxy looked at his host again. + +"You're a paper-hanger, ain't you?" he said. + +"Paper-hanger and deteckative," said his host proudly. "My name is +Mister P. Gubb, graduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's +Correspondence School of Deteckating in twelve lessons. And +paper-hanging done in a neat manner." + +Chi Foxy held out his hand eagerly. + +"Shake, pard!" he asked. "That's my line, too." + +"Paper-hanging?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Detecting," said Chi Foxy promptly. "I'm one of the most famousest +gum-shoe fellers in the world. Me and this here great detective +feller--what's his name, now?--used to work team-work together." + +"Burns?" suggested Philo Gubb. + +"Holmes," said Chi Foxy, "Shermlock Holmes. Me and him pulled off all +them big jobs you maybe have read about in the papers." + +He pronounced the name of the celebrated detective of fiction +"Shermlock Hol-lums." + +"Oh, yes," said the tramp, "me and Shermlock is great chums. And me +and the kid!" + +"To what kid do you refer to?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Why, my old side partner's little son, Shermlock Hollums the Twoth," +said Chi Foxy without a blink. "And a cunnin' little feller he +was--took after his father like a cat after fish, he did. Me and old +Shermlock we used to hide things--candy and--and oranges--and let +little Shermlock go and detect where they was. He was a great little +codger, he was." + +He noticed that Mr. Gubb was looking at him sharply. He looked down at +his ragged garments. + +"Disguise," he said briefly. "Nobody'd know a swell dresser like I am +in this rig, would he? Say, pard, how about giving me a half-dollar to +get breakfast? Us detectives ought to have es-_spirit dee corpse_, +hey? We ought to stick by each other, hey?" + +The celebrated paper-hanger detective considered Chi Foxy. It was +evident that P. Gubb doubted the authenticity of the tramp-detective. + +"In times of necessary need," he said slowly, "I often assume onto me +the disguise of a tramp, but I don't assume it onto me so complete +that I go asking for money to buy breakfast." + +"You don't, hey?" said Chi Foxy scornfully. "Well, you must be a swell +detective, you must. When I get into a tramp disguise I'm a tramp all +through." + +"Most certainly," said P. Gubb. "And so am I. But there's a difference +into the way you are doing it now. You ain't deteckating now. You are +coming at me as one deteckative unto another." + +Chi Foxy laughed. + +"Say," he said, "I'd like to see this here Correspondence School you +graduated out of, I would. I'd like to see the lessons they learn you, +I would. Why, the first thing my old pard Shermlock Hollums told me +was _never_ to be anything but what I was disguised to be as long as I +was disguised to be it. That's right. Maybe I'd be disguised as a +tramp and I'd meet our old friend and college chum, the Dook of Sluff. +He'd want to take me into some swell place and blow me off to a swell +dinner. Would I let on? No, sir! I'd sort of whine at him and say, +'Mister, won't you give a poor feller a penny for to hire a bed?' +That's how me and Shermlock stuck to a disguise. And Shermlock! Me and +him was like twins, we was, and yet when I was in this tramp disguise +and went up to his room to report, I'd knock at the door and say, +'Mister, give a poor cove a hand-out, won't you?' and Shermlock would +turn and say, 'Watson, throw this tramp downstairs.' And Watson would +do it. Yes, sir! I've been so sore and bruised from being thrown +downstairs when I went to report to Shermlock that sometimes I'd have +to go to the hospital to get plastered up. That's detecting!" + +Chi Foxy looked at P. Gubb, but P. Gubb did not seem to have melted. + +"That's livin' up to your disguise," continued Chi Foxy. "Me and +Shermlock, when we had on tramp disguises we _were_ tramps. Why, I +used to go home and my valet would throw me downstairs. I was so +thoroughly disguised, and I kept actin' so trampish while I had the +disguise on, that he used to come at me with a golluf stick and whack +me on the head. And when I got into my own room I kept right on being +a tramp. Took off my clothes--still a tramp. Took off my false +whiskers--still a tramp. I'd be there stark naked and I'd still be a +tramp. Yes, sir. That's the kind of detective disguising I did. And +then I'd take a bath. Then I was myself again. Yes, sir. When I'd +scrubbed myself in the bathtub I figured I'd got rid of the tramp +disguise right down into the skin, and I'd be myself again--and not +until then." + +He looked at P. Gubb out of the corner of his eye. + +"Why, I remember one time," he said briskly, "I was asked to the +Dook's palace to a swell party. Me and Shermlock was both asked, +because they knew one of us wouldn't go unless the other did. Well, +sir, I had been out detecting in a tramp disguise that day--findin' +stolen jools and murderers and that sort of business--and I went and +took my bath and rigged all up in swell clothes, and called my +limmy-seen automobile, and when the feller I hired to drive the +limmy-seen come to open the door of the car at the Dook's palace I +dodged. Yes, sir, I dodged like I thought he was going to hit me +because I hadn't no business in my own limmy-seen automobile. That was +funny, wasn't it? So I went up the steps into the Dook's palace, and +the gentleman he had to open the door opened the door, and he called +out my name and up come the Dookess--Mrs. Dook of Sluff, as they call +her, but I always called her Maggie, like she called me Mike. So she +says to me, 'Mike, I'm mighty glad to see you here. We're going to have +a swell party.' And I started to say back something pleasant, but what +I said was, 'Please, missus, won't you give a poor cove a hand-out?'" + +"What seemed to be the reason you said that?" asked Philo Gubb with +interest. + +"That's what worried me," said Chi Foxy. "I didn't mean to say it. I +just said it against my will, as you might say. But I guess she +thought I was tryin' to be smart, for she just says, 'Naughty, +naughty, Mike,' and whistled to the Dook to come and blow me off to +the feeds. So the Dook come and led me into the dining-room, and +stacked me up against the table for a stand-up feed. Swell feed, bo! +Samwiches till you couldn't rest--ham samwiches and chicken samwiches +and tongue samwiches and club samwiches and--and all kinds of +samwiches. And what did I do? I grabbed half a dozen of them samwiches +and rammed them into my pants pocket, just like a tramp would do it. +The Dook looked surprised, but he begun to haw-haw, and he slapped me +on the back and said, 'Good joke, ol' chap, good joke!' So that passed +off all right. Then I went into the jool room, because the Dook had +told me his son, the Dookette, or what you might call the little +Dookerino, was in there. So in I went, and the first thing I knew I +was hiding one of the Dook's gold crowns inside my vest. In a minute +in come the Dook to pick out a crown to wear at dinner--" + +"I thought you said they had a stand-up dinner at the table," said +Philo Gubb. + +"Pshaw, that was nothing but the appetizer," said Chi Foxy. "Well, in +he come and began lookin' through his crowns for the one he wanted, +and all at once he saw how my vest bulged out, and he knew by the +rough edges of the bulge it wasn't samwiches because them dookal +samwiches is all boneless. So he puts his hand on my shoulder and he +says, 'Mike, ain't you carryin' the joke a bit too far?' That's what +he says, and I wish you could have heard how sad his voice was. He +says, 'You know me, Mike, and you know that anything I've got is +yours--_except_ that crown you've got inside your vest.' + +"For a minute I didn't know what to do. I wasn't in tramp disguise and +I thought he would think I was a thief in real life, so I says, 'Dook, +search me!' 'I don't have to search you,' he says, 'for I can see my +favorite crown bulging out your vest.' 'I don't mean that, Dook, old +chap,' I says; 'I mean take me up to your bood-u-war or the bathroom +and give me the twice-over. Something's wrong with me, and I don't +know what, but some of my tramp disguise must be sticking to me +somewhere.' So we went up to the bathroom and he went over me with +this one-eyed monocule he always wore, and then he went over me with a +reading-glass, and then he went over me with a microscope, but he +couldn't see a speck of tramp disguise on me. Not a speck. 'Keep +lookin'!' I says. 'It must be there somewhere, Dook,' I says, 'or I +wouldn't act so pernicious.' So he begun again, and all at once I hear +him chuckle. He was lookin' in my ear with the microscope." + +"What was it?" asked Philo Gubb eagerly. + +"A hair," said Chi Foxy. "Just one hair. It was a hair out of my tramp +whiskers that had got in my ear, and the minute he pulled it out I was +all right again and no more tramp than he was. So you see that's the +way I keep acting tramp as long as I have even one hair of tramp +disguise about me. Come on, be a good feller and let me have half a +dollar to get some feeds with." + +P. Gubb put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it again. "I much +admire to like the way you act right up to the disguise," he said, +"and it does you proud, but of course when you ask for fifty cents +it's nothing but part of the disguise, ain't it?" + +"Now, see here, bo!" said Chi Foxy earnestly. "Don't you go and +misunderstand me. I didn't mean to be mistook that way. I _do_ want +fifty cents. I'm hungry, I am." + +P. Gubb smiled approvingly. "Most excellent trampish disguise work," +he said. "Nobody couldn't do it better. A real tramp couldn't do it +better." + +Chi Foxy frowned. "Say," he said, "cut that out, won't you, cully? +Your head ain't solid ivory, is it? I'm starvin'. Gimme fifty cents, +mister. Gimme a quarter if you won't give me fifty. Come on, now, be a +good feller." + +"A deteckative like you are oughtn't to need twenty-five cents so bad +as that," said P. Gubb. "A deteckative acquainted with the knowing of +a Dook and of Sherlock Holmes don't have to beg." + +Chi Foxy actually gritted his teeth. He was angry with himself. He had +talked too well. He had proved so thoroughly that he was a detective +that P. Gubb would not believe he was hungry. + +"See here, bo," he said suddenly, "is this straight about you being a +detective, or is that a bluff, too?" + +Philo Gubb showed Chi Foxy the badge he had received upon completion +of his correspondence course of twelve lessons. + +"I'm the most celebrated and only deteckative in the town of +Riverbank, Iowa," he said seriously, "and you can ask the Sheriff or +the Chief of Police if you don't believe me. I'm working right now +onto a case of quite some importance, into which a calf was stolen, +but up to now the clues ain't what they should be. If you don't think +I'm a deteckative you can ask Farmer Hopper. He hired me for to get +the capture of the guilty calf-stealer aforesaid." + +Chi Foxy studied P. Gubb's simple face. + +"And you can arrest a feller and lodge him in jail?" he asked. + +"I've arrested many and lodged them into jail," P. Gubb assured him. + +"Well, bo," said Chi Foxy frankly, "I'm the man you're looking for. +Arrest me." + +The tramp knew enough about arrests to know that even a suspect, when +lodged in jail, would be fed, and he was hungry and getting hungrier +every moment. P. Gubb looked at him with surprise. + +"I thought you said you was a deteckative," he said. + +"I am," said Chi Foxy. "Or I wouldn't know I was a criminal. I +detected it myself, because nobody else could. Even my old friend +Shermlock Hollums couldn't detect it, but I did. I'm a--a murderer, I +am. There's a thousand-dollar reward offered for me." + +"Then why don't you arrest yourself and get the reward?" asked P. +Gubb. + +"Say," said Chi Foxy with disgust. "It can't be done. I know, for I've +tried. I'm a fugitive, that's what I am, and right behind me, no +matter where I flee to, comes myself ready to grab me and arrest me. +I've chased myself all over Europe, Asia and Africa, and I can't get +away from myself, and I can't grab myself. It's--it's just awful." + +Chi Foxy wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. + +"And I can't keep away from the scene of my crime," he said. "I come +back here time after time--" + +"Did you do the murder here?" asked P. Gubb with increased interest. + +[Illustration: "A DETECKATIVE LIKE YOU ARE OUGHTN'T TO NEED +TWENTY-FIVE CENTS SO BAD AS THAT"] + +"That's what I did," said Chi Foxy. "I did it here. Take me down to +the lock-up. Me and you can hold me all right." + +"It's somewhat out of the ordinary common run for a feller to be a +deteckative and the criminal murderer he's chasing both at once," said +P. Gubb doubtfully. + +"That's so, ain't it?" agreed Chi Foxy. "It looks that way. But facts +are facts, ain't they?" + +"Quite occasionally they are such," agreed P. Gubb. + +"That's right," said Chi Foxy. "And all you've got to do is to explain +them. You see, bo, I was a young feller when I murdered this old +miser--" + +"What did you say his name was?" asked P. Gubb. + +"Smith," said Chi Foxy promptly. "John J. Smith, and he lived right +here in this town. And I murdered the old feller and got away. Nobody +cared much whether the old feller was murdered or not, and nothin' +much might have been said of it except that the old feller had a +nephew. His name was Smith--Peter P. Smith." + +"What did he do?" asked P. Gubb. + +"He offered a reward of a thousand dollars," said Chi Foxy. "It was +one of them unsolved mystery cases--one of them cases that never get +solved because no detective is smart enough to solve it. Nobody knew +who killed old John J. Smith but me, and I wasn't going around telling +it." + +"I should think not," said P. Gubb. + +"No, sir!" said Chi Foxy. "So I was as safe as a babe unborn. I +skipped up the river to Minneapolis, and nobody thought of lookin' for +me, because I wasn't suspected. And then I did a fool thing." + +"Murderers 'most always does," said P. Gubb. + +"Sure!" said Chi Foxy. "I thought I'd go to New Orleans. It was all +right--nice trip--until we got to Dubuque, and then what happened? The +old steamboat blew up. I went sailin' up in the air like one of these +here skyrockets, I did, and when I come down I lit head first." + +"It is a remarkable wonder it didn't kill you to death," said P. Gubb. + +"Ain't it?" said Chi Foxy. "But it did worse than kill me. It knocked +my senses out of me. When I come to I didn't know what had happened. I +didn't remember a thing out of my past--not a thing. I was like a +newborn babe. I didn't have an idea or a memory left in me. When they +picked me up and I opened my eyes I could just say 'Ah-goo' and +'Da-da' and things like that, and I didn't know who I was or where I'd +been or anything. So some kind folks took me and sent me to +kinder-garden, and I started in to learn my A-B-C's and things like +that. I learned fast, and pretty soon I was in the high school, and +pretty soon I graduated, and the name I graduated under was Mike +Higgs, Higgs being the name of the family that adopted me." + +"Mike Higgs?" repeated P. Gubb, trying to remember a celebrated +detective of that name. + +"Yes," said Chi Foxy, "they named me Mike after the old gran'pa of the +family. He was a butcher, and they wanted me to be a butcher, but I +wanted to be a detective. So Gran'pa Higgs he lent me enough money to +go to London and take lessons in detecting from Shermlock Hollums, and +I did. He says to me, when I'd finished the course, 'Mike, I hate to +say it, but I can't call you a rival. You're so far ahead of me in +detective knowledge that I'm like a half-witted child beside you.' +That's what my old friend and teacher, Shermlock Hollums, says to me." + +"That was exceedingly high praising from one so great," said P. Gubb. + +"You bet it was!" said Chi Foxy, "So one day Shermlock says to me, +'Mike you're so good at this detecting work, why don't you try to +solve The Great Mystery?' + +"'What's that?' I says. + +"'Why, the greatest unsolved mystery of the world,' he says. 'The +mystery of the Riverbank, Iowa, miser.' + +"So he told me what he knew about it," continued Chi Foxy, "and I set +to work. I come here to Riverbank to hunt up a clue, and I found just +one clue." + +"What was it?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"It was a speck of red pepper no bigger than the point of a pin," +said Chi Foxy, "crushed into the carpet by the old miser's bed, where +he had been killed. I picked up the speck of red pepper and +microscoped it, and I saw that along one edge it was sort of brown, +where it had been burned a little." + +"Have you got it now?" asked P. Gubb. + +"Got it?" said Chi Foxy. "I should say not. While I was lookin' at it +a breeze come and blowed it away, and I never saw it again, but that +was enough for me. 'Red pepper,' I says, 'partly burned,' and I began +to tremble. 'Cause why? 'Cause I never was able to get smoking tobacco +strong enough to suit me, and to make it taste snappy I always put a +little red pepper in my pipe. I turned as white as a sheet. 'Red +pepper partly burned!' I says to myself. 'Nobody in the world but me +puts red pepper in his tobacco.' + +"Well, sir, I started tracing myself back and I found out I was the +murderer. And I was the detective after the murderer. I was everybody +concerned. In a moment I was overcome by criminal fear and I fled. I +fled all over Europe, Asia, and Africa, and wherever I went I was +right after myself, ready to arrest me." + +Chi Foxy paused and glanced at P. Gubb questioningly. With a solemn +face the great Correspondence School detective blinked his bird-like +eyes at Chi Foxy. + +"So now arrest me," said Chi Foxy. + +Philo Gubb rubbed his chin. "I'd like to favor you by so doing, Mr. +Jones," he said, "for I can easy see, Mr. Higgs, that you can't arrest +yourself, but it is against the instructions in Lesson Six of the +Rising Sun Correspondence School of Deteckating for a graduate to +arrest a man without a good clue, and the only clue you had was blowed +away." + +For a moment this seemed to annoy Chi Foxy, but his face suddenly +brightened. + +"Clue?" he said. "Say, friend, I wouldn't ask you to arrest me on any +such clue as a speck of red pepper. No, sir! But I've got a clue +that'll mean something. I can tell you right where I buried that old +miser's bones, I can. You go up the river road until you come to a +tool-house on the railway, and just back of the tool-house is a +dwellin'-house--old and unpainted. All right! Right in that yard, +close to the railway fence, the bones is buried. Now, you turn me over +to the law, and you go up there--" + +"We'd best go up there immediately first before anything else," said +Philo Gubb, starting to remove his paper-hanger's apron. "Putting off +clues until sometime else is against Paragraph Four, Lesson One. If +you come up there with me--" + +"Look here," said Chi Foxy, "will you buy me a feed on the way up if I +go with you?" + +"Quite certainly sure," said P. Gubb, and so it was agreed. + +The paper-hanger detective and the criminal-detective stopped at +Hank's restaurant and Chi Foxy ate a heavy meal, and then led the way +to the tool-house, and pointed over the wire fence to the spot where +the bones of the murdered miser were supposed to repose. + +"Right there!" he said, but when P. Gubb had climbed the fence and had +turned to look for Chi Foxy, the late detective-criminal was gone. Mr. +Gubb's face turned red, but as he hung his head in shame he noticed +that the ground at his feet had lately been spaded. He stooped to look +at it, and then walked to the weather-beaten house and knocked. A +lanky, loose-jointed man came to the door, and a woman peered at Mr. +Gubb from behind the man. + +"I hope you'll pardon," said Mr. Gubb politely, "but my name is P. +Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger, and I'm looking up a case. Might I +trouble you for the loan of a spade or shovel?" + +"What you want with it?" asked the man gruffly. + +"To dig," said Mr. Gubb. + +The man reluctantly handed Mr. Gubb a spade on which there were still +traces of soft, sandy soil. Mr. Gubb walked to the rear of the yard +and jabbed the spade into the soft soil. It struck something hard. In +a moment or two Mr. Gubb had the evidences of crime completely +uncovered. There were bones buried there--many bones. Mr. Gubb looked +up and wiped his brow. Then he looked down at the bones. One was a +skull. Mr. Gubb stared at it. It was indeed a skull, but it was the +skull of a calf. All the bones were calf bones--not bones of the human +calf, but bones of the veal calf. Mr. Gubb turned his head and saw the +long lanky man approaching. + +"All right," said the long, lanky man, "I give up. You've got me. I +surrender. When a detective gets that close, a man hasn't any chance. +I own up. I did it." + +"You did what?" + +"Now, quit!" said the long, lanky man. "No use rubbin' it in after +I've owned up. You know as well as I do--I'm the man that stole Farmer +Hopper's calf. I give up. I surrender." + +"I'm much obliged to you," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, I ain't obliged to _you,"_ said the lanky man, "but I wish +you'd tell me how you found out I was the calf thief." + +Mr. Gubb smiled an inscrutable smile. + +"A deteckative acquires dexterity in the way of capturing up the +criminal classes," he said with oracular yet modest simplicity. + + * * * * * + +The next day, when Mr. Gubb returned to his paper-hanging job he found +Chi Foxy waiting for him. + +"Boss," he said with a laugh, "I showed you where that murdered man's +bones was buried, won't you stake me to a meal?" + +"Are you hungry again?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Hungry?" said Chi Foxy. "I'm so hungry that I feel like a living +skeleton. I'm so hungry that a square meal would make me feel like +Syrilla, that Fat Lady I seen at Derlingport a couple of days ago." + +"What's that you remarked about?" asked Mr. Gubb, pinning Chi Foxy +with his eye. "Did I understand the meaning of what you said was that +you saw a Fat Lady named Syrilla?" + +"At Derlingport," said Chi Foxy. "A swell guy named Medderbrook give +me a meal and a ticket to the big show. It was a performance _de +luxe_, so to say. Special attraction, bo. You'd have laughed your head +off. This here Syrilla Fat Lady got married to the Living Skeleton in +the middle ring, and she had the Snake Charmer for a bridesmaid. Say! +you'd have laughed--" + +But Mr. Gubb did not laugh. He never laughed again. + + + + +PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE + + +Philo Gubb, wrapped in his bathrobe, went to the door of the room that +was the headquarters of his business of paper-hanging and decorating +as well as the office of his detective business, and opened the door a +crack. It was still early in the morning, but Mr. Gubb was a modest +man, and, lest any one should see him in his scanty attire, he peered +through the crack of the door before he stepped hastily into the hall +and captured his copy of the "Riverbank Daily Eagle." When he had +secured the still damp newspaper, he returned to his cot bed and +spread himself out to read comfortably. + +It was a hot Iowa morning. Business was so slack that if Mr. Gubb had +not taken out his set of eight varieties of false whiskers daily and +brushed them carefully, the moths would have been able to devour them +at leisure. + +P. Gubb opened the "Eagle." The first words that met his eye caused +him to sit upright on his cot. At the top of the first column of the +first page were the headlines. + + MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF HENRY SMITZ + + Body Found In Mississippi River By Boatman Early This A.M. + + Foul Play Suspected + +Mr. Gubb unfolded the paper and read the item under the headlines with +the most intense interest. Foul play meant the possibility of an +opportunity to put to use once more the precepts of the Course of +Twelve Lessons, and with them fresh in his mind Detective Gubb was +eager to undertake the solution of any mystery that Riverbank could +furnish. This was the article:-- + + Just as we go to press we receive word through Policeman + Michael O'Toole that the well-known mussel-dredger and + boatman, Samuel Fliggis (Long Sam), while dredging for + mussels last night just below the bridge, recovered the body + of Henry Smitz, late of this place. + + Mr. Smitz had been missing for three days and his wife had + been greatly worried. Mr. Brownson, of the Brownson Packing + Company, by whom he was employed, admitted that Mr. Smitz + had been missing for several days. + + The body was found sewed in a sack. Foul play is suspected. + +"I should think foul play would be suspected," exclaimed Philo Gubb, +"if a man was sewed into a bag and deposited into the Mississippi +River until dead." + +He propped the paper against the foot of the cot bed and was still +reading when some one knocked on his door. He wrapped his bathrobe +carefully about him and opened the door. A young woman with +tear-dimmed eyes stood in the doorway. + +"Mr. P. Gubb?" she asked. "I'm sorry to disturb you so early in the +morning, Mr. Gubb, but I couldn't sleep all night. I came on a matter +of business, as you might say. There's a couple of things I want you +to do." + +"Paper-hanging or deteckating?" asked P. Gubb. + +"Both," said the young woman. "My name is Smitz--Emily Smitz. My +husband--" + +"I'm aware of the knowledge of your loss, ma'am," said the +paper-hanger detective gently. + +"Lots of people know of it," said Mrs. Smitz. "I guess everybody knows +of it--I told the police to try to find Henry, so it is no secret. And +I want you to come up as soon as you get dressed, and paper my +bedroom." + +Mr. Gubb looked at the young woman as if he thought she had gone +insane under the burden of her woe. + +"And then I want you to find Henry," she said, "because I've heard you +can do so well in the detecting line." + +Mr. Gubb suddenly realized that the poor creature did not yet know the +full extent of her loss. He gazed down upon her with pity in his +bird-like eyes. + +"I know you'll think it strange," the young woman went on, "that I +should ask you to paper a bedroom first, when my husband is lost; but +if he is gone it is because I was a mean, stubborn thing. We never +quarreled in our lives, Mr. Gubb, until I picked out the wall-paper +for our bedroom, and Henry said parrots and birds-of-paradise and +tropical flowers that were as big as umbrellas would look awful on our +bedroom wall. So I said he hadn't anything but Low Dutch taste, and +he got mad. 'All right, have it your own way,' he said, and I went and +had Mr. Skaggs put the paper on the wall, and the next day Henry +didn't come home at all. + +"If I'd thought Henry would take it that way, I'd rather had the wall +bare, Mr. Gubb. I've cried and cried, and last night I made up my mind +it was all my fault and that when Henry came home he'd find a decent +paper on the wall. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Gubb, that when the +paper was on the wall it looked worse than it looked in the roll. It +looked crazy." + +"Yes'm," said Mr. Gubb, "it often does. But, however, there's +something you'd ought to know right away about Henry." + +The young woman stared wide-eyed at Mr. Gubb for a moment; she turned +as white as her shirtwaist. + +"Henry is dead!" she cried, and collapsed into Mr. Gubb's long, thin +arms. + +Mr. Gubb, the inert form of the young woman in his arms, glanced +around with a startled gaze. He stood miserably, not knowing what to +do, when suddenly he saw Policeman O'Toole coming toward him down the +hall. Policeman O'Toole was leading by the arm a man whose wrists bore +clanking handcuffs. + +"What's this now?" asked the policeman none too gently, as he saw the +bathrobed Mr. Gubb holding the fainting woman in his arms. + +"I am exceedingly glad you have come," said Mr. Gubb. "The only +meaning into it, is that this is Mrs. H. Smitz, widow-lady, fainted +onto me against my will and wishes." + +"I was only askin'," said Policeman O'Toole politely enough. + +"You shouldn't ask such things until you're asked to ask," said Mr. +Gubb. + +After looking into Mr. Gubb's room to see that there was no easy means +of escape, O'Toole pushed his prisoner into the room and took the limp +form of Mrs. Smitz from Mr. Gubb, who entered the room and closed the +door. + +"I may as well say what I want to say right now," said the handcuffed +man as soon as he was alone with Mr. Gubb. "I've heard of Detective +Gubb, off and on, many a time, and as soon as I got into this trouble +I said, 'Gubb's the man that can get me out if any one can.' My name +is Herman Wiggins." + +"Glad to meet you," said Mr. Gubb, slipping his long legs into his +trousers. + +"And I give you my word for what it is worth," continued Mr. Wiggins, +"that I'm as innocent of this crime as the babe unborn." + +"What crime?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Why, killing Hen Smitz--what crime did you think?" said Mr. Wiggins. +"Do I look like a man that would go and murder a man just because--" + +He hesitated and Mr. Gubb, who was slipping his suspenders over his +bony shoulders, looked at Mr. Wiggins with keen eyes. + +"Well, just because him and me had words in fun," said Mr. Wiggins, "I +leave it to you, can't a man say words in fun once in a while?" + +"Certainly sure," said Mr. Gubb. + +"I guess so," said Mr. Wiggins. "Anybody'd know a man don't mean all +he says. When I went and told Hen Smitz I'd murder him as sure as +green apples grow on a tree, I was just fooling. But this fool +policeman--" + +"Mr. O'Toole?" + +"Yes. They gave him this Hen Smitz case to look into, and the first +thing he did was to arrest me for murder. Nervy, I call it." + +Policeman O'Toole opened the door a crack and peeked in. Seeing Mr. +Gubb well along in his dressing operations, he opened the door wider +and assisted Mrs. Smitz to a chair. She was still limp, but she was a +brave little woman and was trying to control her sobs. + +"Through?" O'Toole asked Wiggins. "If you are, come along back to +jail." + +"Now, don't talk to me in that tone of voice," said Mr. Wiggins +angrily. "No, I'm not through. You don't know how to treat a gentleman +like a gentleman, and never did." + +He turned to Mr. Gubb. + +"The long and short of it is this: I'm arrested for the murder of Hen +Smitz, and I didn't murder him and I want you to take my case and get +me out of jail." + +"Ah, stuff!" exclaimed O'Toole. "You murdered him and you know you +did. What's the use talkin'?" + +Mrs. Smitz leaned forward in her chair. + +"Murdered Henry?" she cried. "He never murdered Henry. I murdered +him." + +"Now, ma'am," said O'Toole politely, "I hate to contradict a lady, but +you never murdered him at all. This man here murdered him, and I've +got the proof on him." + +"I murdered him!" cried Mrs. Smitz again. "I drove him out of his +right mind and made him kill himself." + +"Nothing of the sort," declared O'Toole. "This man Wiggins murdered +him." + +"I did not!" exclaimed Mr. Wiggins indignantly. "Some other man did +it." + +It seemed a deadlock, for each was quite positive. Mr. Gubb looked +from one to the other doubtfully. + +"All right, take me back to jail," said Mr. Wiggins. "You look up the +case, Mr. Gubb; that's all I came here for. Will you do it? Dig into +it, hey?" + +"I most certainly shall be glad to so do," said Mr. Gubb, "at the +regular terms." + +O'Toole led his prisoner away. + +For a few minutes Mrs. Smitz sat silent, her hands clasped, staring at +the floor. Then she looked up into Mr. Gubb's eyes. + +"You will work on this case, Mr. Gubb, won't you?" she begged. "I have +a little money--I'll give it all to have you do your best. It is +cruel--cruel to have that poor man suffer under the charge of murder +when I know so well Henry killed himself because I was cross with him. +You can prove he killed himself--that it was my fault. You will?" + +"The way the deteckative profession operates onto a case," said Mr. +Gubb, "isn't to go to work to prove anything particularly especial. It +finds a clue or clues and follows them to where they lead to. That I +shall be willing to do." + +"That is all I could ask," said Mrs. Smitz gratefully. + +Arising from her seat with difficulty, she walked tremblingly to the +door. Mr. Gubb assisted her down the stairs, and it was not until she +was gone that he remembered that she did not know the body of her +husband had been found--sewed in a sack and at the bottom of the +river. Young husbands have been known to quarrel with their wives over +matters as trivial as bedroom wall-paper; they have even been known to +leave home for several days at a time when angry; in extreme cases +they have even been known to seek death at their own hands; but it is +not at all usual for a young husband to leave home for several days +and then in cold blood sew himself in a sack and jump into the river. +In the first place there are easier ways of terminating one's life; in +the second place a man can jump into the river with perfect ease +without going to the trouble of sewing himself in a sack; and in the +third place it is exceedingly difficult for a man to sew himself into +a sack. It is almost impossible. + +To sew himself into a sack a man must have no little skill, and he +must have a large, roomy sack. He takes, let us say, a sack-needle, +threaded with a good length of twine; he steps into the sack and pulls +it up over his head; he then reaches above his head, holding the mouth +of the sack together with one hand while he sews with the other hand. +In hot anger this would be quite impossible. + +Philo Gubb thought of all this as he looked through his disguises, +selecting one suitable for the work he had in hand. He had just +decided that the most appropriate disguise would be "Number 13, +Undertaker," and had picked up the close black wig, and long, drooping +mustache, when he had another thought. Given a bag sufficiently loose +to permit free motion of the hands and arms, and a man, even in hot +anger, might sew himself in. A man, intent on suicidally bagging +himself, would sew the mouth of the bag shut and would then cut a slit +in the front of the bag large enough to crawl into. He would then +crawl into the bag and sew up the slit, which would be immediately in +front of his hands. It could be done! Philo Gubb chose from his +wardrobe a black frock coat and a silk hat with a wide band of crape. +He carefully locked his door and went down to the street. + +On a day as hot as this day promised to be, a frock coat and a silk +hat could be nothing but distressingly uncomfortable. Between his door +and the corner, eight various citizens spoke to Philo Gubb, calling +him by name. In fact, Riverbank was as accustomed to seeing P. Gubb in +disguise as out of disguise, and while a few children might be +interested by the sight of Detective Gubb in disguise, the older +citizens thought no more of it, as a rule, than of seeing Banker +Jennings appear in a pink shirt one day and a blue striped one the +next. No one ever accused Banker Jennings of trying to hide his +identity by a change of shirts, and no one imagined that P. Gubb was +trying to disguise himself when he put on a disguise. They considered +it a mere business custom, just as a butcher tied on a white apron +before he went behind his counter. + +This was why, instead of wondering who the tall, dark-garbed stranger +might be, Banker Jennings greeted Philo Gubb cheerfully. + +"Ah, Gubb!" he said. "So you are going to work on this Smitz case, are +you? Glad of it, and wish you luck. Hope you place the crime on the +right man and get him the full penalty. Let me tell you there's +nothing in this rumor of Smitz being short of money. We did lend him +money, but we never pressed him for it. We never even asked him for +interest. I told him a dozen times he could have as much more from us +as he wanted, within reason, whenever he wanted it, and that he could +pay me when his invention was on the market." + +"No report of news of any such rumor has as yet come to my hearing," +said P. Gubb, "but since you mention it, I'll take it for less than it +is worth." + +"And that's less than nothing," said the banker. "Have you any clue?" + +"I'm on my way to find one at the present moment of time," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"Well, let me give you a pointer," said the banker. "Get a line on +Herman Wiggins or some of his crew, understand? Don't say I said a +word,--I don't want to be brought into this,--but Smitz was afraid of +Wiggins and his crew. He told me so. He said Wiggins had threatened to +murder him." + +"Mr. Wiggins is at present in the custody of the county jail for +killing H. Smitz with intent to murder him," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Oh, then--then it's all settled," said the banker. "They've proved it +on him. I thought they would. Well, I suppose you've got to do your +little bit of detecting just the same. Got to air the camphor out of +the false hair, eh?" + +The banker waved a cheerful hand at P. Gubb and passed into his +banking institution. + +Detective Gubb, cordially greeted by his many friends and admirers, +passed on down the main street, and by the time he reached the street +that led to the river he was followed by a large and growing group +intent on the pleasant occupation of watching a detective detect. + +As Mr. Gubb walked toward the river, other citizens joined the group, +but all kept a respectful distance behind him. When Mr. Gubb reached +River Street and his false mustache fell off, the interest of the +audience stopped short three paces behind him and stood until he had +rescued the mustache and once more placed its wires in his nostrils. +Then, when he moved forward again, they too moved forward. Never, +perhaps, in the history of crime was a detective favored with a more +respectful gallery. + +On the edge of the river, Mr. Gubb found Long Sam Fliggis, the mussel +dredger, seated on an empty tar-barrel with his own audience ranged +before him listening while he told, for the fortieth time, the story +of his finding of the body of H. Smitz. As Philo Gubb approached, Long +Sam ceased speaking, and his audience and Mr. Gubb's gallery merged +into one great circle which respectfully looked and listened while Mr. +Gubb questioned the mussel dredger. + +[Illustration: HE WAS FOLLOWED BY A LARGE AND GROWING GROUP INTENT ON +WATCHING A DETECTIVE DETECT] + +"Suicide?" said Long Sam scoffingly. "Why, he wan't no more a suicide +than I am right now. He was murdered or wan't nothin'! I've dredged up +some suicides in my day, and some of 'em had stones tied to 'em, to +make sure they'd sink, and some thought they'd sink without no +ballast, but nary one of 'em ever sewed himself into a bag, and I give +my word," he said positively, "that Hen Smitz couldn't have sewed +himself into that burlap bag unless some one done the sewing. Then the +feller that did it was an assistant-suicide, and the way I look at +it is that an assistant-suicide is jest the same as a murderer." + +The crowd murmured approval, but Mr. Gubb held up his hand for +silence. + +"In certain kinds of burlap bags it is possibly probable a man could +sew himself into it," said Mr. Gubb, and the crowd, seeing the logic +of the remark applauded gently but feelingly. + +"You ain't seen the way he was sewed up," said Long Sam, "or you +wouldn't talk like that." + +"I haven't yet took a look," admitted Mr. Gubb, "but I aim so to do +immediately after I find a clue onto which to work up my case. An A-1 +deteckative can't set forth to work until he has a clue, that being a +rule of the game." + +"What kind of a clue was you lookin' for?" asked Long Sam. "What's a +clue, anyway?" + +"A clue," said P. Gubb, "is almost anything connected with the late +lamented, but generally something that nobody but a deteckative would +think had anything to do with anything whatsoever. Not infrequently +often it is a button." + +"Well, I've got no button except them that is sewed onto me," said +Long Sam, "but if this here sack-needle will do any good--" + +He brought from his pocket the point of a heavy sack-needle and laid +it in Philo Gubb's palm. Mr. Gubb looked at it carefully. In the eye +of the needle still remained a few inches of twine. + +"I cut that off'n the burlap he was sewed up in," volunteered Long +Sam, "I thought I'd keep it as a sort of nice little souvenir. I'd +like it back again when you don't need it for a clue no more." + +"Certainly sure," agreed Mr. Gubb, and he examined the needle +carefully. + +There are two kinds of sack-needles in general use. In both, the point +of the needle is curved to facilitate pushing it into and out of a +closely filled sack; in both, the curved portion is somewhat flattened +so that the thumb and finger may secure a firm grasp to pull the +needle through; but in one style the eye is at the end of the shaft +while in the other it is near the point. This needle was like neither; +the eye was midway of the shaft; the needle was pointed at each end +and the curved portions were not flattened. Mr. Gubb noticed another +thing--the twine was not the ordinary loosely twisted hemp twine, but +a hard, smooth cotton cord, like carpet warp. + +"Thank you," said Mr. Gubb, "and now I will go elsewhere to +investigate to a further extent, and it is not necessarily imperative +that everybody should accompany along with me if they don't want to." + +But everybody did want to, it seemed. Long Sam and his audience joined +Mr. Gubb's gallery and, with a dozen or so newcomers, they followed +Mr. Gubb at a decent distance as he walked toward the plant of the +Brownson Packing Company, which stood on the riverbank some two blocks +away. + +It was here Henry Smitz had worked. Six or eight buildings of various +sizes, the largest of which stood immediately on the river's edge, +together with the "yards" or pens, all enclosed by a high board fence, +constituted the plant of the packing company, and as Mr. Gubb appeared +at the gate the watchman there stood aside to let him enter. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Gubb," he said pleasantly. "I been sort of +expecting you. Always right on the job when there's crime being done, +ain't you? You'll find Merkel and Brill and Jokosky and the rest of +Wiggins's crew in the main building, and I guess they'll tell you just +what they told the police. They hate it, but what else can they say? +It's the truth." + +"What is the truth?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"That Wiggins was dead sore at Hen Smitz," said the watchman. "That +Wiggins told Hen he'd do for him if he lost them their jobs like he +said he would. That's the truth." + +Mr. Gubb--his admiring followers were halted at the gate by the +watchman--entered the large building and inquired his way to Mr. +Wiggins's department. He found it on the side of the building toward +the river and on the ground floor. On one side the vast room led into +the refrigerating room of the company; on the other it opened upon a +long but narrow dock that ran the width of the building. + +Along the outer edge of the dock were tied two barges, and into these +barges some of Wiggins's crew were dumping mutton--not legs of mutton +but entire sheep, neatly sewed in burlap. The large room was the +packing and shipping room, and the work of Wiggins's crew was that of +sewing the slaughtered and refrigerated sheep carcasses in burlap for +shipment. Bales of burlap stood against one wall; strands of hemp +twine ready for the needle hung from pegs in the wall and the posts +that supported the floor above. The contiguity of the refrigerating +room gave the room a pleasantly cool atmosphere. + +Mr. Gubb glanced sharply around. Here was the burlap, here were +needles, here was twine. Yonder was the river into which Hen Smitz had +been thrown. He glanced across the narrow dock at the blue river. As +his eye returned he noticed one of the men carefully sweeping the dock +with a broom--sweeping fragments of glass into the river. As the men +in the room watched him curiously, Mr. Gubb picked up a piece of +burlap and put it in his pocket, wrapped a strand of twine around his +finger and pocketed the twine, examined the needles stuck in +improvised needle-holders made by boring gimlet holes in the wall, and +then walked to the dock and picked up one of the pieces of glass. + +"Clues," he remarked, and gave his attention to the work of +questioning the men. + +Although manifestly reluctant, they honestly admitted that Wiggins had +more than once threatened Hen Smitz--that he hated Hen Smitz with the +hatred of a man who has been threatened with the loss of his job. Mr. +Gubb learned that Hen Smitz had been the foreman for the entire +building--a sort of autocrat with, as Wiggins's crew informed him, an +easy job. He had only to see that the crews in the building turned out +more work this year than they did last year. "'Ficiency" had been his +motto, they said, and they hated "'Ficiency." + +Mr. Gubb's gallery was awaiting him at the gate, and its members were +in a heated discussion as to what Mr. Gubb had been doing. They ceased +at once when he appeared and fell in behind him as he walked away from +the packing house and toward the undertaking establishment of Mr. +Holworthy Bartman, on the main street. Here, joining the curious group +already assembled, the gallery was forced to wait while Mr. Gubb +entered. His task was an unpleasant but necessary one. He must visit +the little "morgue" at the back of Mr. Bartman's establishment. + +The body of poor Hen Smitz had not yet been removed from the bag in +which it had been found, and it was to the bag Mr. Gubb gave his +closest attention. The bag--in order that the body might be +identified--had not been ripped, but had been cut, and not a stitch +had been severed. It did not take Mr. Gubb a moment to see that Hen +Smitz had not been sewed in a bag at all. He had been sewed in +burlap--burlap "yard goods," to use a shopkeeper's term--and it was +burlap identical with that used by Mr. Wiggins and his crew. It was no +loose bag of burlap--but a close-fitting wrapping of burlap; a cocoon +of burlap that had been drawn tight around the body, as burlap is +drawn tight around the carcass of sheep for shipment, like a mummy's +wrappings. + +It would have been utterly impossible for Hen Smitz to have sewed +himself into the casing, not only because it bound his arms tight to +his sides, but because the burlap was lapped over and sewed from the +outside. This, once and for all, ended the suicide theory. The +question was: Who was the murderer? + +As Philo Gubb turned away from the bier, Undertaker Bartman entered +the morgue. + +"The crowd outside is getting impatient, Mr. Gubb," he said in his +soft, undertakery voice. "It is getting on toward their lunch hour, +and they want to crowd into my front office to find out what you've +learned. I'm afraid they'll break my plate-glass windows, they're +pushing so hard against them. I don't want to hurry you, but if you +would go out and tell them Wiggins is the murderer they'll go away. Of +course there's no doubt about Wiggins being the murderer, since he has +admitted he asked the stock-keeper for the electric-light bulb." + +"What bulb?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"The electric-light bulb we found sewed inside this burlap when we +sliced it open," said Bartman. "Matter of fact, we found it in Hen's +hand. O'Toole took it for a clue and I guess it fixes the murder on +Wiggins beyond all doubt. The stock-keeper says Wiggins got it from +him." + +"And what does Wiggins remark on that subject?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Not a word," said Bartman. "His lawyer told him not to open his +mouth, and he won't. Listen to that crowd out there!" + +"I will attend to that crowd right presently," said P. Gubb, sternly. +"What I should wish to know now is why Mister Wiggins went and sewed +an electric-light bulb in with the corpse for." + +"In the first place," said Mr. Bartman, "he didn't sew it in with any +corpse, because Hen Smitz wasn't a corpse when he was sewed in that +burlap, unless Wiggins drowned him first, for Dr. Mortimer says Hen +Smitz died of drowning; and in the second place, if you had a live man +to sew in burlap, and had to hold him while you sewed him, you'd be +liable to sew anything in with him. + +"My idea is that Wiggins and some of his crew jumped on Hen Smitz and +threw him down, and some of them held him while the others sewed him +in. My idea is that Wiggins got that electric-light bulb to replace +one that had burned out, and that he met Hen Smitz and had words with +him, and they clinched, and Hen Smitz grabbed the bulb, and then the +others came, and they sewed him into the burlap and dumped him into +the river. + +"So all you've got to do is to go out and tell that crowd that Wiggins +did it and that you'll let them know who helped him as soon as you +find out. And you better do it before they break my windows." + +Detective Gubb turned and went out of the morgue. As he left the +undertaker's establishment the crowd gave a slight cheer, but Mr. Gubb +walked hurriedly toward the jail. He found Policeman O'Toole there and +questioned him about the bulb; and O'Toole, proud to be the center of +so large and interested a gathering of his fellow citizens, pulled the +bulb from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Gubb, while he repeated in +more detail the facts given by Mr. Bartman. Mr. Gubb looked at the +bulb. + +"I presume to suppose," he said, "that Mr. Wiggins asked the +stock-keeper for a new bulb to replace one that was burned out?" + +"You're right," said O'Toole. "Why?" + +"For the reason that this bulb is a burned-out bulb," said Mr. Gubb. + +And so it was. The inner surface of the bulb was darkened slightly, +and the filament of carbon was severed. O'Toole took the bulb and +examined it curiously. + +"That's odd, ain't it?" he said. + +"It might so seem to the non-deteckative mind," said Mr. Gubb, "but to +the deteckative mind, nothing is odd." + +"No, no, this ain't so odd, either," said O'Toole, "for whether Hen +Smitz grabbed the bulb before Wiggins changed the new one for the old +one, or after he changed it, don't make so much difference, when you +come to think of it." + +"To the deteckative mind," said Mr. Gubb, "it makes the difference +that this ain't the bulb you thought it was, and hence consequently it +ain't the bulb Mister Wiggins got from the stock-keeper." + + * * * * * + +Mr. Gubb started away. The crowd followed him. He did not go in search +of the original bulb at once. He returned first to his room, where he +changed his undertaker disguise for Number Six, that of a blue +woolen-shirted laboring-man with a long brown beard. Then he led the +way back to the packing house. + +Again the crowd was halted at the gate, but again P. Gubb passed +inside, and he found the stock-keeper eating his luncheon out of a tin +pail. The stock-keeper was perfectly willing to talk. + +"It was like this," said the stock-keeper. "We've been working +overtime in some departments down here, and Wiggins and his crew had +to work overtime the night Hen Smitz was murdered. Hen and Wiggins was +at outs, or anyway I heard Hen tell Wiggins he'd better be hunting +another job because he wouldn't have this one long, and Wiggins told +Hen that if he lost his job he'd murder him--Wiggins would murder Hen, +that is. I didn't think it was much of anything but loose talk at the +time. But Hen was working overtime too. He'd been working nights up in +that little room of his on the second floor for quite some time, and +this night Wiggins come to me and he says Hen had asked him for a +fresh thirty-two-candle-power bulb. So I give it to Wiggins, and then +I went home. And, come to find out, Wiggins sewed that bulb up with +Hen." + +"Perhaps maybe you have sack-needles like this into your stock-room," +said P. Gubb, producing the needle Long Sam had given him. The +stock-keeper took the needle and examined it carefully. + +"Never had any like that," he said. + +"Now, if," said Philo Gubb,--"if the bulb that was sewed up into the +burlap with Henry Smitz wasn't a new bulb, and if Mr. Wiggins had +given the new bulb to Henry, and if Henry had changed the new bulb for +an old one, where would he have changed it at?" + +"Up in his room, where he was always tinkering at that machine of +his," said the stock-keeper. + +"Could I have the pleasure of taking a look into that there room for a +moment of time?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +The stock-keeper arose, returned the remnants of his luncheon to his +dinner-pail and led the way up the stairs. He opened the door of the +room Henry Smitz had used as a work-room, and P. Gubb walked in. The +room was in some confusion, but, except in one or two particulars, no +more than a work-room is apt to be. A rather cumbrous machine--the +invention on which Henry Smitz had been working--stood as the murdered +man had left it, all its levers, wheels, arms, and cogs intact. A +chair, tipped over, lay on the floor. A roll of burlap stood on a +roller by the machine. Looking up, Mr. Gubb saw, on the ceiling, the +lighting fixture of the room, and in it was a clean, shining +thirty-two-candle-power bulb. Where another similar bulb might have +been in the other socket was a plug from which an insulated wire, +evidently to furnish power, ran to the small motor connected with the +machine on which Henry Smitz had been working. + +The stock-keeper was the first to speak. + +"Hello!" he said. "Somebody broke that window!" And it was true. +Somebody had not only broken the window, but had broken every pane and +the sash itself. But Mr. Gubb was not interested in this. He was +gazing at the electric bulb and thinking of Part Two, Lesson Six of +the Course of Twelve Lessons--"How to Identify by Finger-Prints, with +General Remarks on the Bertillon System." He looked about for some +means of reaching the bulb above his head. His eye lit on the fallen +chair. By placing the chair upright and placing one foot on the frame +of Henry Smitz's machine and the other on the chair-back, he could +reach the bulb. He righted the chair and stepped onto its seat. He put +one foot on the frame of Henry Smitz's machine; very carefully he put +the other foot on the top of the chair-back. He reached upward and +unscrewed the bulb. + +The stock-keeper saw the chair totter. He sprang forward to steady it, +but he was too late. Philo Gubb, grasping the air, fell on the broad, +level board that formed the middle part of Henry Smitz's machine. + +The effect was instantaneous. The cogs and wheels of the machine began +to revolve rapidly. Two strong, steel arms flopped down and held +Detective Gubb to the table, clamping his arms to his side. The roll +of burlap unrolled, and as it unrolled, the loose end was seized and +slipped under Mr. Gubb and wrapped around him and drawn taut, bundling +him as a sheep's carcass is bundled. An arm reached down and back and +forth, with a sewing motion, and passed from Mr. Gubb's head to his +feet. As it reached his feet a knife sliced the burlap in which he was +wrapped from the burlap on the roll. + +And then a most surprising thing happened. As if the board on which he +lay had been a catapult, it suddenly and unexpectedly raised Philo +Gubb and tossed him through the open window. The stock-keeper heard a +muffled scream and then a great splash, but when he ran to the window, +the great paper-hanger detective had disappeared in the bosom of the +Mississippi. + +Like Henry Smitz he had tried to reach the ceiling by standing on the +chair-back; like Henry Smitz he had fallen upon the newly invented +burlaping and loading machine; like Henry Smitz he had been wrapped +and thrown through the window into the river; but, unlike Henry Smitz, +he had not been sewn into the burlap, because Philo Gubb had the +double-pointed shuttle-action needle in his pocket. + +Page Seventeen of Lesson Eleven of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's +Correspondence School of Detecting's Course of Twelve Lessons, says:-- + + In cases of extreme difficulty of solution it is well for + the detective to reënact as nearly as possible the probable + action of the crime. + +Mr. Philo Gubb had done so. He had also proved that a man may be sewn +in a sack and drowned in a river without committing willful suicide or +being the victim of foul play. + + THE END + + + + + The Riverside Press + + CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS + + U · S · A + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and +intent. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Philo Gubb Correspondence-School +Detective, by Ellis Parker Butler + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILO GUBB *** + +***** This file should be named 29721-8.txt or 29721-8.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/7/2/29721/ + +Produced by D Alexander, Joseph Cooper and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Philo Gubb Correspondence-School Detective + +Author: Ellis Parker Butler + +Release Date: August 17, 2009 [EBook #29721] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ISO-8859-1 + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILO GUBB *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander, Joseph Cooper and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + +</pre> + + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 328px;"> +<img src="images/icover.jpg" width="328" height="500" alt="" title="" /> +</div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<div class="centerbox bbox"> +<h1>PHILO GUBB</h1> + +<h2>Correspondence-School<br /> +Detective</h2> + +<h3>BY</h3> + +<h2>ELLIS PARKER BUTLER</h2> + +<p class="center">WITH ILLUSTRATIONS</p> + +<p class="smallgap"> </p> + +<div class="figcenter" style="width: 106px;"> +<img src="images/i001.jpg" width="106" height="100" alt="" title="" /></div> + +<p class="smallgap"> </p> + +<p class="center">BOSTON AND NEW YORK<br /> +HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY<br /> +The Riverside Press Cambridge<br /> +1918</p></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p class="center"> +COPYRIGHT, 1913, 1914, AND 1915, BY THE RED BOOK CORPORATION<br /> +COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER</p> + +<p class="center">ALL RIGHTS RESERVED</p> + +<p class="center"><i>Published September 1918</i></p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<p><a name="Frontispiece" id="Frontispiece"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 370px;"> +<img src="images/i003.jpg" class="ispace" width="370" height="500" alt="“IN THE DETECKATIVE LINE NOTHING SOUNDS FOOLISH” (page +218)" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“IN THE DETECKATIVE LINE NOTHING SOUNDS FOOLISH” (<i>page</i> +<a href="#Page_218">218</a>)</span> +</div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2>CONTENTS</h2> +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="80%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="10" summary="CONTENTS"> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Hard-Boiled Egg</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#PHILO_GUBB">3</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Pet</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_PET">21</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Eagle’s Claws</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_EAGLES_CLAWS">43</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Oubliette</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_OUBLIETTE">66</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Un-Burglars</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_UN-BURGLARS">95</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Two-Cent Stamp</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_TWO-CENT_STAMP">113</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Chicken</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_CHICKEN">138</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Dragon’s Eye</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_DRAGONS_EYE">156</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Progressive Murder</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_PROGRESSIVE_MURDER">171</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Missing Mr. Master</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_MISSING_MR_MASTER">185</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Waffles and Mustard</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#WAFFLES_AND_MUSTARD">205</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Anonymous Wiggle</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_ANONYMOUS_WIGGLE">227</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Half of a Thousand</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#THE_HALF_OF_A_THOUSAND">247</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Dietz’s 7462 Bessie John</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#DIETZS_7462_BESSIE_JOHN">266</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Henry</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#HENRY">288</a></td></tr> + +<tr> +<td align="left"><span class="smcap">Buried Bones</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#BURIED_BONES">307</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Philo Gubb’s Greatest Case</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#PHILO_GUBBS_GREATEST_CASE">329</a></td></tr> +</table></div> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h2>ILLUSTRATIONS</h2> +<div class="centered"> +<table border="0" width="80%" cellpadding="2" cellspacing="10" summary="ILLUSTRATIONS"> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“In the deteckative line nothing sounds foolish”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Frontispiece"><i>Frontispiece</i></a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“This shell game is easy enough when you know<br /> +how”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo2">8</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Mr. Winterberry did not seem to be concealed<br /> +among them</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo3">30</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A head silhouetted against one of the glowing<br /> +windows</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo4">44</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“These here is false whiskers and hair”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo5">86</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“Who sent you here, anyway?”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo6">106</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">Under his arm he carried a small bundle</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo7">108</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">She made gestures with her hands</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo8">128</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“Deteckating is my aim and my profession”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo9">138</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">With another groan Wixy raised his hands</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo10">150</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“The ‘ongsomble’ of my costume is ruined”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo11">162</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“There ain’t a day he don’t shoot and hit me”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo12">178</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">The Missing Mr. Master</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo13">202</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“You are a man, and big and strong and brave-like”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo14">234</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">He perspires, and out comes the cruel<br /> +admission</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo15">252</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A man who looked like Napoleon Bonaparte<br /> +gone to seed</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo16">268</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">He wore a set of red under-chin whiskers</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo17">280</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">“She thinks it’s Henry. She’s fixed up the<br /> +guest bedroom for him</span>”</td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo18">304</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">A deteckative like you are oughtn’t to need<br /> +twenty-five cents so bad as that”</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo19">320</a></td></tr> + +<tr><td align="left"><span class="smcap">He was followed by a large and growing group<br /> +intent on watching a detective detect</span></td> +<td align="right"><a href="#Illo20">340</a></td></tr> + +</table></div> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_3" id="Page_3">[Pg 3]</a></span></p> + +<h1><a name="PHILO_GUBB" id="PHILO_GUBB">PHILO GUBB</a></h1> + +<h2>THE CORRESPONDENCE-SCHOOL<br /> +DETECTIVE</h2> + +<h2><a name="THE_HARD-BOILED_EGG" id="THE_HARD-BOILED_EGG"></a>THE HARD-BOILED EGG</h2> + +<p>Walking close along the wall, to avoid the creaking floor boards, +Philo Gubb, paper-hanger and student of the Rising Sun Detective +Agency’s Correspondence School of Detecting, tiptoed to the door of +the bedroom he shared with the mysterious Mr. Critz. In appearance Mr. +Gubb was tall and gaunt, reminding one of a modern Don Quixote or a +human flamingo; by nature Mr. Gubb was the gentlest and most +simple-minded of men. Now, bending his long, angular body almost +double, he placed his eye to a crack in the door panel and stared into +the room. Within, just out of the limited area of Mr. Gubb’s vision, +Roscoe Critz paused in his work and listened carefully. He heard the +sharp whistle of Mr. Gubb’s breath as it cut against the sharp edge of +the crack in the panel, and he knew he was being spied upon. He placed +his chubby hands on his knees and smiled at the door, while a red +flush of triumph spread over his face.</p> + +<p>Through the crack in the door Mr. Gubb could <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_4" id="Page_4">[Pg 4]</a></span>see the top of the +washstand beside which Mr. Critz was sitting, but he could not see Mr. +Critz. As he stared, however, he saw a plump hand appear and pick up, +one by one, the articles lying on the washstand. They were: First, +seven or eight half shells of English walnuts; second, a rubber shoe +heel out of which a piece had been cut; third, a small rubber ball no +larger than a pea; fourth, a paper-bound book; and lastly, a large and +glittering brick of yellow gold. As the hand withdrew the golden +brick, Mr. Gubb pressed his face closer against the door in his effort +to see more, and suddenly the door flew open and Mr. Gubb sprawled on +his hands and knees on the worn carpet of the bedroom.</p> + +<p>“There, now!” said Mr. Critz. “There, now! Serves you right. Hope you +hurt chuself!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb arose slowly, like a giraffe, and brushed his knees.</p> + +<p>“Why?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Snoopin’ an’ sneakin’ like that!” said Mr. Critz crossly. “Scarin’ me +to fits, a’most. How’d I know who ’twas? If you want to come in, why +don’t you come right in, ’stead of snoopin’ an’ sneakin’ an’ fallin’ +in that way?”</p> + +<p>As he talked, Mr. Critz replaced the shells and the rubber heel and +the rubber pea and the gold-brick on the washstand. He was a plump +little man with a shiny bald head and a white goatee. As he talked, he +bent his head down, so that he might look above the glasses of his +spectacles; and in spite of his pretended <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_5" id="Page_5">[Pg 5]</a></span>anger he looked like +nothing so much as a kindly, benevolent old gentleman—the sort of old +gentleman that keeps a small store in a small village and sells +writing-paper that smells of soap, and candy sticks out of a glass jar +with a glass cover.</p> + +<p>“How’d I know but what you was a detective?” he asked, in a gentler +tone.</p> + +<p>“I am,” said Mr. Gubb soberly, seating himself on one of the two beds. +“I’m putty near a deteckative, as you might say.”</p> + +<p>“Ding it all!” said Mr. Critz. “Now I got to go and hunt another room. +I can’t room with no detective.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, Mr. Critz,” said Mr. Gubb, “I don’t want you should feel +that way.”</p> + +<p>“Knowin’ you are a detective makes me all nervous,” complained Mr. +Critz; “and a man in my business has to have a steady hand, don’t he?”</p> + +<p>“You ain’t told me what your business is,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“You needn’t pretend you don’t know,” said Mr. Critz. “Any detective +that saw that stuff on the washstand would know.”</p> + +<p>“Well, of course,” said Mr. Gubb, “I ain’t a full deteckative yet. You +can’t look for me to guess things as quick as a full deteckative +would. Of course that brick sort of looks like a gold-brick—”</p> + +<p>“It <i>is</i> a gold-brick,” said Mr. Critz.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Gubb. “But—I don’t mean no offense, Mr. Critz—from +the way you look—I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_6" id="Page_6">[Pg 6]</a></span>sort of thought—well, that it was a gold-brick +you’d bought.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Critz turned very red.</p> + +<p>“Well, what if I did buy it?” he said. “That ain’t any reason I can’t +sell it, is it? Just because a man buys eggs once—or twice—ain’t any +reason he shouldn’t go into the business of egg-selling, is it? Just +because I’ve bought one or two gold-bricks in my day ain’t any reason +I shouldn’t go to sellin’ ’em, is it?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb stared at Mr. Critz with unconcealed surprise.</p> + +<p>“You ain’t,—you ain’t a con’ man, are you, Mr. Critz?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“If I ain’t yet, that’s no sign I ain’t goin’ to be,” said Mr. Critz +firmly. “One man has as good a right to try his hand at it as another, +especially when a man has had my experience in it. Mr. Gubb, there +ain’t hardly a con’ game I ain’t been conned with. I been confidenced +long enough; from now on I’m goin’ to confidence other folks. That’s +what I’m goin’ to do; and I won’t be bothered by no detective livin’ +in the same room with me. Detectives and con’ men don’t mix noways! +No, sir!”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said Mr. Gubb, “I can see the sense of that. But you +don’t need to move right away. I don’t aim to start in deteckating in +earnest for a couple of months yet. I got a couple of jobs of +paper-hanging and decorating to finish up, and I can’t start in +sleuthing until I get my star, anyway. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_7" id="Page_7">[Pg 7]</a></span>And I don’t get my star until +I get one more lesson, and learn it, and send in the examination +paper, and five dollars extra for the diploma. Then I’m goin’ at it as +a reg’lar business. It’s a good business. Every day there’s more +crooks—excuse me, I didn’t mean to say that.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” said Mr. Critz kindly. “Call a spade a spade. If I +ain’t a crook yet, I hope to be soon.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t know how you’d feel about it,” explained Mr. Gubb. +“Tactfulness is strongly advised into the lessons of the Rising Sun +Deteckative Agency Correspondence School of Deteckating—”</p> + +<p>“Slocum, Ohio?” asked Mr. Critz quickly. “You didn’t see the ad. in +the ‘Hearthstone and Farmside,’ did you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Slocum, Ohio,” said Mr. Gubb, “and that is the paper I saw the +ad. into; ‘Big Money in Deteckating. Be a Sleuth. We can make you the +equal of Sherlock Holmes in twelve lessons.’ Why?”</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said Mr. Critz, “that’s funny. That ad. was right atop of +the one I saw, and I studied quite considerable before I could make up +my mind whether ’twould be best for me to be a detective and go out +and get square with the fellers that sold me gold-bricks and things by +putting them in jail, or to even things up by sending for this book +that was advertised right under the ‘Rising Sun Correspondence +School.’ How come I settled to do as I done was that I had a sort of +stock to start with, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_8" id="Page_8">[Pg 8]</a></span>with a fust-class gold-brick, and some green +goods I’d bought; and this book only cost a quatter of a dollar. And +she’s a hummer for a quatter of a dollar! A hummer!”</p> + +<p>He pulled the paper-covered book from his pocket and handed it to Mr. +Gubb. The title of the book was “The Complete Con’ Man, by the King of +the Grafters. Price 25 cents.”</p> + +<p>“That there book,” said Mr. Critz proudly, as if he himself had +written it, “tells everything a man need to know to work every con’ +game there is. Once I get it by heart, I won’t be afraid to try any of +them. Of course, I got to start in small. I can’t hope to pull off a +wire-tapping game right at the start, because that has to have a gang. +You don’t know anybody you could recommend for a gang, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Not right offhand,” said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo2" id="Illo2"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 339px;"> +<img src="images/i014.jpg" class="ispace" width="339" height="500" alt="“THIS SHELL GAME IS EASY ENOUGH WHEN YOU KNOW HOW”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“THIS SHELL GAME IS EASY ENOUGH WHEN YOU KNOW HOW”</span> +</div> + +<p>“If you wasn’t goin’ into the detective business,” said Mr. Critz, +“you’d be just the feller for me. You look sort of honest and not as +if you was too bright, and that counts a lot. Even in this here simple +little shell game I got to have a podner. I got to have a podner I can +trust, so I can let him look like he was winnin’ money off of me. You +see,” he explained, moving to the washstand, “this shell game is easy +enough when you know how. I put three shells down like this, on a +stand, and I put the little rubber pea on the stand, and then I take +up the three shells like this, two in one hand and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_9" id="Page_9">[Pg 9]</a></span>one in the other, and I wave ’em around over the pea, and maybe push +the pea around a little, and I say, ‘Come on! Come on! The hand is +quicker than the eye!’ And all of a suddent I put the shells down, and +you think the pea is under one of them, like that—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think the pea is under one of ’em,” said Mr. Gubb. “I seen it +roll onto the floor.”</p> + +<p>“It did roll onto the floor that time,” said Mr. Critz apologetically. +“It most generally does for me, yet. I ain’t got it down to perfection +yet. This is the way it ought to work—oh, pshaw! there she goes onto +the floor again! Went under the bed that time. Here she is! Now, the +way she ought to work is—there she goes again!”</p> + +<p>“You got to practice that game a lot before you try it onto folks in +public, Mr. Critz,” said Mr. Gubb seriously.</p> + +<p>“Don’t I know that?” said Mr. Critz rather impatiently. “Same as +you’ve got to practice snoopin’, Mr. Gubb. Maybe you thought I didn’t +know you was snoopin’ after me wherever I went last night.”</p> + +<p>“Did you?” asked Mr. Gubb, with surprise plainly written on his face.</p> + +<p>“I seen you every moment from nine <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> till eleven!” said Mr. Critz. +“I didn’t like it, neither.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t think to annoy you,” apologized Mr. Gubb. “I was practicin’ +Lesson Four. You wasn’t supposed to know I was there at all.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_10" id="Page_10">[Pg 10]</a></span></p><p>“Well, I don’t like it,” said Mr. Critz. “’Twas all right last night, +for I didn’t have nothin’ important on hand, but if I’d been workin’ +up a con’ game, the feller I was after would have thought it mighty +strange to see a man follerin’ me everywhere like that. If you went +about it quiet and unobtrusive, I wouldn’t mind; but if I’d had a +customer on hand and he’d seen you it would make him nervous. He’d +think there was a—a crazy man follerin’ us.”</p> + +<p>“I was just practicin’,” apologized Mr. Gubb. “It won’t be so bad when +I get the hang of it. We all got to be beginners sometime.”</p> + +<p>“I guess so,” said Mr. Critz, rearranging the shells and the little +rubber pea. “Well, I put the pea down like this, and I dare you to bet +which shell she’s goin’ to be under, and you don’t bet, see? So I put +the shells down, and you’re willin’ to bet you see me put the first +shell over the pea like this. So you keep your eye on that shell, and +I move the shells around like this—”</p> + +<p>“She’s under the same shell,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, yes, she <i>is</i>,” said Mr. Critz placidly, “but she hadn’t ought +to be. By rights she ought to sort of ooze out from under whilst I’m +movin’ the shells around, and I’d ought to sort of catch her in +between my fingers and hold her there so you don’t see her. Then when +you say which shell she’s under, she ain’t under any shell; she’s +between my fingers. So when you put down your money I tell you to pick +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_11" id="Page_11">[Pg 11]</a></span>up that shell and there ain’t anything under it. And before you can +pick up the other shells I pick one up, and let the pea fall on the +stand like it had been under that shell all the time. That’s the game, +only up to now I ain’t got the hang of it. She won’t ooze out from +under, and she won’t stick between my fingers, and when she does +stick, she won’t drop at the right time.”</p> + +<p>“Except for that, you’ve got her all right, have you?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Except for that,” said Mr. Critz; “and I’d have that, only my fingers +are stubby.”</p> + +<p>“What was it you thought of having me do if I wasn’t a deteckative?” +asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“The work you’d have to do would be capping work,” said Mr. Critz. +“Capper—that’s the professional name for it. You’d guess which shell +the ball was under—”</p> + +<p>“That would be easy, the way you do it now,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I told you I’d got to learn it better, didn’t I?” asked Mr. Critz +impatiently. “You’d be capper, and you’d guess which shell the pea was +under. No matter which you guessed, I’d leave it under that one, so’d +you’d win, and you’d win ten dollars every time you bet—but not for +keeps. That’s why I’ve got to have an honest capper.”</p> + +<p>“I can see that,” said Mr. Gubb; “but what’s the use lettin’ me win it +if I’ve got to bring it back?”</p> + +<p>“That starts the boobs bettin’,” said Mr. Critz. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_12" id="Page_12">[Pg 12]</a></span>“The boobs see how +you look to be winnin’, and they want to win too. But they don’t. When +they bet, I win.”</p> + +<p>“That ain’t a square game,” said Mr. Gubb seriously, “is it?”</p> + +<p>“A crook ain’t expected to be square,” said Mr. Critz. “It stands to +reason, if a crook wants to be a crook, he’s got to be crooked, ain’t +he?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Gubb. “I hadn’t looked at it that way.”</p> + +<p>“As far as I can see,” said Mr. Critz, “the more I know how a +detective acts, the better off I’ll be when I start in doin’ real +business. Ain’t that so? I guess, till I get the hang of things +better, I’ll stay right here.”</p> + +<p>“I’m glad to hear you say so, Mr. Critz,” said Mr. Gubb with relief. +“I like you, and I like your looks, and there’s no tellin’ who I might +get for a roommate next time. I might get some one that wasn’t +honest.”</p> + +<p>So it was agreed, and Mr. Critz stood over the washstand and +manipulated the little rubber pea and the three shells, while Mr. Gubb +sat on the edge of the bed and studied Lesson Eleven of the “Rising +Sun Detective Agency’s Correspondence School of Detecting.”</p> + +<p>When, presently, Mr. Critz learned to work the little pea neatly, he +urged Mr. Gubb to take the part of capper, and each time Mr. Gubb won +he gave him a five-dollar bill. Then Mr. Gubb posed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_13" id="Page_13">[Pg 13]</a></span>as a “boob” and +Mr. Critz won all the money back again, beaming over his spectacle +rims, and chuckling again and again until he burst into a fit of +coughing that made him red in the face, and did not cease until he had +taken a big drink of water out of the wash-pitcher. Never had he +seemed more like a kindly old gentleman from behind the candy counter +of a small village. He hung over the washstand, manipulating the +little rubber pea as if fascinated.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t it curyus how a feller catches onto a thing like that all to +once?” he said after a while. “If it hadn’t been that I was so +anxious, I might have fooled with that for weeks and weeks and not got +anywheres with it. I do wisht you could be my capper a while anyway, +until I could get one.”</p> + +<p>“I need all my time to study,” said Mr. Gubb. “It ain’t easy to learn +deteckating by mail.”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw, now!” said Mr. Critz. “I’m real sorry! Maybe if I was to pay +you for your time and trouble five dollars a night? How say?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb considered. “Well, I dunno!” he said slowly. “I sort of hate +to take money for doin’ a favor like that.”</p> + +<p>“Now, there ain’t no need to feel that way,” said Mr. Critz. “Your +time’s wuth somethin’ to me—it’s wuth a lot to me to get the hang of +this gold-brick game. Once I get the hang of it, it won’t be no +trouble for me to sell gold-bricks like this one for all the way from +a thousand dollars up. I paid fifteen hundred for this one myself, and +got it cheap. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_14" id="Page_14">[Pg 14]</a></span>That’s a good profit, for this brick ain’t wuth a cent +over one hundred dollars, and I know, for I took it to the bank after +I bought it, and that’s what they was willin’ to pay me for it. So +it’s easy wuth a few dollars for me to have help whilst I’m learnin’. +I can easy afford to pay you a few dollars, and to pay a friend of +yours the same.”</p> + +<p>“Well, now,” said Mr. Gubb, “I don’t know but what I might as well +make a little that way as any other. I got a friend—” He stopped +short. “You don’t aim to <i>sell</i> the gold-brick to him, do you?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Critz’s eyes opened wide behind their spectacles.</p> + +<p>“Land’s sakes, no!” he said.</p> + +<p>“Well, I got a friend may be willing to help out,” said Mr. Gubb. +“What’d he have to do?”</p> + +<p>“You or him,” said Mr. Critz, “would be the ‘come-on,’ and pretend to +buy the brick. And you or him would pretend to help me to sell it. +Maybe you better have the brick, because you can look stupid, and the +feller that’s got the brick has got to look that.”</p> + +<p>“I can look anyway a’most,” said Mr. Gubb with pride.</p> + +<p>“Do tell!” said Mr. Critz, and so it was arranged that the first +rehearsal of the gold-brick game should take place the next evening, +but as Mr. Gubb turned away Mr. Critz deftly slipped something into +the student detective’s coat pocket.</p> + +<p>It was toward noon the next day that Mr. Critz, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_15" id="Page_15">[Pg 15]</a></span>peering over his +spectacles and avoiding as best he could the pails of paste, entered +the parlor of the vacant house where Mr. Gubb was at work.</p> + +<p>“I just come around,” said Mr. Critz, rather reluctantly, “to say you +better not say nothing to your friend. I guess that deal’s off.”</p> + +<p>“Pshaw, now!” said Mr. Gubb. “You don’t mean so!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t mean nothing in the way of aspersions, you mind,” said Mr. +Critz with reluctance, “but I guess we better call it off. Of course, +so far as I know, you are all right—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you’re gettin’ at,” said Mr. Gubb. “Why don’t you +say it?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I been buncoed so often,” said Mr. Critz. “Seem’s like any one +can get money from me any time and any way, and I got to thinkin’ it +over. I don’t know anything about you, do I? And here I am, going to +give you a gold-brick that cost me fifteen hundred dollars, and let +you go out and wait until I come for it with your friend, and—well, +what’s to stop you from just goin’ away with that brick and never +comin’ back?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb looked at Mr. Critz blankly.</p> + +<p>“I’ve went and told my friend,” he said. “He’s all ready to start in.”</p> + +<p>“I hate it, to have to say it,” said Mr. Critz, “but when I come to +count over them bills I lent you to cap the shell game with, there was +a five-dollar one short.”</p> + +<p>“I know,” said Gubb, turning red. “And if you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_16" id="Page_16">[Pg 16]</a></span>go over there to my +coat, you’ll find it in my pocket, all ready to hand back to you. I +don’t know how I come to keep it in my pocket. Must ha’ missed it, +when I handed you back the rest.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I had a notion it was that way,” said Mr. Critz kindly. “You +look like you was honest, Mr. Gubb. But a thousand-dollar gold-brick, +that any bank will pay a hundred dollars for—I got to get out of this +way of trustin’ everybody—”</p> + +<p>Mr. Critz was evidently distressed.</p> + +<p>“If ’twas anybody else but you,” he said with an effort, “I’d make +him put up a hundred dollars to cover the cost of a brick like that +whilst he had it. There! I’ve said it, and I guess you’re mad!”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t mad,” protested Mr. Gubb, “’long as you’re goin’ to pay me +and Pete, and it’s business; I ain’t so set against puttin’ up what +the brick is worth.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Critz heaved a deep sigh of relief.</p> + +<p>“You don’t know how good that makes me feel,” he said. “I was almost +losin’ what faith in mankind I had left.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb ate his frugal evening meals at the Pie Wagon, on Willow +Street, just off Main, where, by day, Pie-Wagon Pete dispensed light +viands; and Pie-Wagon Pete was the friend he had invited to share Mr. +Critz’s generosity. The seal of secrecy had been put on Pie-Wagon +Pete’s lips before Mr. Gubb offered him the opportunity to accept or +decline; and when Mr. Gubb stopped for his evening <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_17" id="Page_17">[Pg 17]</a></span>meal, Pie-Wagon +Pete—now off duty—was waiting for him. The story of Mr. Critz and +his amateur con’ business had amused Pie-Wagon Pete. He could hardly +believe such utter innocence existed. Perhaps he did not believe it +existed, for he had come from the city, and he had had shady +companions before he landed in Riverbank. He was a sharp-eyed, +red-headed fellow, with a hard fist, and a scar across his face, and +when Mr. Gubb had told him of Mr. Critz and his affairs, he had seen +an opportunity to shear a country lamb.</p> + +<p>“How goes it for to-night, Philo?” he asked Mr. Gubb, taking the stool +next to Mr. Gubb, while the night man drew a cup of coffee.</p> + +<p>“Quite well,” said Mr. Gubb. “Everything is arranged satisfactory. I’m +to be on the old house-boat by the wharf-house on the levee at nine, +with <i>it</i>.” He glanced at the night man’s back and lowered his voice. +“And Mr. Critz will bring you there.”</p> + +<p>“Nine, eh?” said Pie-Wagon. “I meet him at your room, do I?”</p> + +<p>“You meet him at the Riverbank Hotel at eight-forty-five,” said Mr. +Gubb. “Like it was the real thing. I’m goin’ over to my room now, and +give him the money—”</p> + +<p>“What money?” asked Pie-Wagon Pete quickly.</p> + +<p>“Well, you see,” said Mr. Gubb, “he sort of hated to trust the—trust +<i>it</i> out of his hands without a deposit. It’s the only one he has. So +I thought I’d put up a hundred dollars. He’s all right—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_18" id="Page_18">[Pg 18]</a></span></p><p>“Oh, sure!” said Pie-Wagon. “A hundred dollars, eh?”</p> + +<p>He looked at Mr. Gubb, who was eating a piece of apple pie +hand-to-mouth fashion, and studied him in a new light.</p> + +<p>“One hundred dollars, eh?” he repeated thoughtfully. “You give +him a hundred-dollar deposit now and he meets you at nine, and +me at eight-forty-five, and the train leaves for Chicago at +eight-forty-three, halfway between the house-boat and the hotel! +Say, Gubby, what does this old guy look like?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb, albeit with a tongue unused to description, delineated Mr. +Critz as best he could, and as he proceeded, Pie-Wagon Pete became +interested.</p> + +<p>“Pinkish, and bald? Top of his head like a hard-boiled egg? He ain’t +got a scar across his face? The dickens he has! Short and plump, and a +reg’lar old nice grandpa? Blue eyes? Say, did he have a coughin’ spell +and choke red in the face? Well, sir, for a brand-new detective, +you’ve done well. Listen, Jim: Gubby’s got the Hard-Boiled Egg!”</p> + +<p>The night man almost dropped his cup of coffee.</p> + +<p>“Go ’way!” he said. “Old Hard-Boiled? Himself?”</p> + +<p>“That’s right! And caught him with the goods. Say, listen, Gubby!”</p> + +<p>For five minutes Pie-Wagon Pete talked, while Mr. Gubb sat with his +mouth wide open.</p> + +<p>“See?” said Pie-Wagon at last. “And don’t you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_19" id="Page_19">[Pg 19]</a></span>mention me at all. +Don’t mention no one. Just say to the Chief: ‘And havin’ trailed him +this far, Mr. Wittaker, and arranged to have him took with the goods, +it’s up to you?’ See? And as soon as you say that, have him send a +couple of bulls with you, and if they can do it, they’ll nab Old +Hard-Boiled just as he takes your cash. And Old Sleuth and Sherlock +Holmes won’t be in it with you when to-morrow mornin’s papers come +out. Get it?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb got it. When he entered his bedroom, Mr. Critz was waiting +for him. It was slightly after eight o’clock; perhaps eight-fifteen. +Mr. Critz had what appeared to be the gold-brick neatly wrapped in +newspaper, and he looked up with his kindly blue eyes. He had been +reading the “Complete Con’ Man,” and had pushed his spectacles up on +his forehead as Mr. Gubb entered.</p> + +<p>“I done that brick up for you,” he said, indicating it with his hand, +“so’s it wouldn’t glitter whilst you was goin’ through the street. If +word got passed around there was a gold-brick in town, folks might +sort of get suspicious-like. Nice night for goin’ out, ain’t it? Got a +letter from my wife this aft’noon,” he chuckled. “She says she hopes +I’m doin’ well. Sally’d have a fit if she knew what business I was +goin’ into. Well, time’s gettin’ along—”</p> + +<p>“I brung the money,” said Mr. Gubb, drawing it from his pocket.</p> + +<p>“Don’t seem hardly necess’ry, does it?” said Mr. Critz mildly. “But I +s’pose it’s just as well. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_20" id="Page_20">[Pg 20]</a></span>Thankee, Mister Gubb. I’ll just pile into +my coat—”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb had picked up the gold-brick, and now he let it fall. Once +more the door flew open, but this time it opened for three stalwart +policemen, whose revolvers pointed unwaveringly at Mr. Critz. The +plump little man gave one glance, and put up his hands.</p> + +<p>“All right, boys, you’ve got me,” he said in quite another voice, and +allowed them to seize his arms. He paid no attention to the police, +but at Mr. Gubb, who was tearing the wrapper from what proved to be +but a common vitrified paving-brick, he looked long and hard.</p> + +<p>“Say,” said Mr. Critz to Mr. Gubb, “I’m the goat. You stung <i>me</i> all +right. You worked me to a finish. I thought I knew all of you from +Burns down, but you’re a new one to me. Who are you, anyway?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb looked up.</p> + +<p>“Me?” he said with pride. “Why—why—I’m Gubb, the foremost +deteckative of Riverbank, Iowa.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_21" id="Page_21">[Pg 21]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_PET" id="THE_PET"></a>THE PET</h2> + +<p>On the morning following his capture of the Hard-Boiled Egg, the +“Riverbank Eagle” printed two full columns in praise of Detective Gubb +and complimented Riverbank on having a superior to Sherlock Holmes in +its midst.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Philo Gubb,” said the “Eagle,” “has thus far received only eleven +of the twelve lessons from the Rising Sun Detective Agency’s +Correspondence School of Detecting, and we look for great things from +him when he finally receives his diploma and badge. He informed us +to-day that he hopes to begin work on the dynamite case soon. With the +money he will receive for capturing the Hard-Boiled Egg, Mr. Gubb +intends to purchase eighteen complete disguises from the Supply +Department of the Rising Sun Detective Agency, Slocum, Ohio. Mr. Gubb +wishes us to announce that until the disguises arrive he will continue +to do paper-hanging, decorating, and interior painting at reasonable +rates.”</p> + +<p>Unfortunately there were no calls for Mr. Gubb’s detective services +for some time after he received his disguises and diploma, but while +waiting he devoted his spare time to the dynamite mystery, a +remarkable case on which many detectives had been working for many +weeks. This led only to his being <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_22" id="Page_22">[Pg 22]</a></span>beaten up twice by Joseph Henry, +one of the men he shadowed.</p> + +<p>The arrival in Riverbank of the World’s Monster Combined Shows the day +after Mr. Gubb received his diploma seemed to offer an opportunity for +his detective talents, as a circus is usually accompanied by crooks, +and early in the morning Mr. Gubb donned disguise Number Sixteen, +which was catalogued as “Negro Hack-Driver, Complete, $22.00”; but, +while looking for crooks while watching the circus unload, his eyes +alighted on Syrilla, known as “Half a Ton of Beauty,” the Fat Lady of +the Side-Show.</p> + +<p>As Syrilla descended from the car, aided by the Living Skeleton and +the Strong Man, the fair creature wore a low-neck evening gown. Her +arms and shoulders were snowy white (except for a peculiar mark on one +arm). Not only had Mr. Gubb never seen such white arms and shoulders, +but he had never seen so much arm and shoulder on one woman, and from +that moment he was deeply and hopelessly in love. Like one hypnotized +he followed her to the side-show tent, paid his admission, and stood +all day before her platform. He was still there when the tent was +taken down that night.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb was not the only man in Riverbank to fall in love with +Syrilla. When the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service League heard +that the circus was coming to town they were distressed to think how +narrow the intellectual life of the side-show <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_23" id="Page_23">[Pg 23]</a></span>freaks must be and they +instructed their Field Secretary, Mr. Horace Winterberry, to go to the +side-show and organize the freaks into an Ibsen Literary and Debating +Society. This Mr. Winterberry did and the Tasmanian Wild Man was made +President, but so deeply did Mr. Winterberry fall in love with Syrilla +that he begged Mr. Dorgan, the manager of the side-show, to let him +join the side-show, and this Mr. Dorgan did, putting him in a cage as +Waw-Waw, the Mexican Hairless Dog-Man, as Mr. Winterberry was +exceedingly bald.</p> + +<p>At the very next stop made by the circus a strong, heavy-fisted woman +entered the side-show and dragged Mr. Winterberry away. This was his +wife. Of this the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service League knew +nothing, however. They believed Mr. Winterberry had been stolen by the +circus and that he was doubtless being forced to learn to swing on a +trapeze or ride a bareback horse, and they decided to hire Detective +Gubb to find and return him.</p> + +<p>At the very moment when the ladies were deciding to retain Mr. Gubb’s +services the paper-hanger detective was on his way to do a job of +paper-hanging, thinking of the fair Syrilla he might never see again, +when suddenly he put down the pail of paste he was carrying and +grasped the handle of his paste-brush more firmly. He stared with +amazement and fright at a remarkable creature that came toward him +from a small thicket near the railway tracks. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_24" id="Page_24">[Pg 24]</a></span>Mr. Gubb’s first and +correct impression was that this was some remarkable creature escaped +from the circus. The horrid thing loping toward him was, indeed, the +Tasmanian Wild Man!</p> + +<p>As the Wild Man approached, Philo Gubb prepared to defend himself. He +was prepared to defend himself to his last drop of blood.</p> + +<p>When halfway across the field, the Tasmanian Wild Man glanced back +over his shoulder and, as if fearing pursuit, increased his speed and +came toward Philo Gubb in great leaps and bounds. The Correspondence +School detective waved his paste-brush more frantically than ever. The +Tasmanian Wild Man stopped short within six feet of him.</p> + +<p>Viewed thus closely, the Wild Man was a sight to curdle the blood. +Remnants of chains hung from his wrists and ankles; his long hair was +matted about his face; and his finger nails were long and claw-like. +His face was daubed with ochre and red, with black rings around the +eyes, and the circles within the rings were painted white, giving him +an air of wildness possessed by but few wild men. His only garments +were a pair of very short trunks and the skin of some wild animal, +bound about his body with ropes of horse-hair.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb bent to receive the leap he felt the Tasmanian Wild Man was +about to make, but to his surprise the Wild Man held up one hand in +token of amity, and with the other removed the matted hair from his +head, revealing an under-crop of taffy <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_25" id="Page_25">[Pg 25]</a></span>yellow, neatly parted in the +middle and smoothed back carefully.</p> + +<p>“I say, old chap,” he said in a pleasant and well-bred tone, “stop +waving that dangerous-looking weapon at me, will you? My intentions +are most kindly, I assure you. Can you inform me where a chap can get +a pair of trousers hereabout?”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb’s experienced eye saw at once that this creature was less +wild than he was painted. He lowered the paste-brush.</p> + +<p>“Come into this house,” said Philo Gubb. “Inside the house we can +discuss pants in calmness.”</p> + +<p>The Tasmanian Wild Man accepted.</p> + +<p>“Now, then,” said Philo Gubb, when they were safe in the kitchen. He +seated himself on a roll of wall-paper, and the Tasmanian Wild Man, +whose real name was Waldo Emerson Snooks, told his brief story.</p> + +<p>Upon graduating from Harvard, he had sought employment, offering to +furnish entertainment by the evening, reading an essay entitled, “The +Comparative Mentality of Ibsen and Emerson, with Sidelights on the +Effect of Turnip Diet at Brook Farm,” but the agency was unable to get +him any engagements. They happened, however, to receive a request from +Mr. Dorgan, manager of the side-show, asking for a Tasmanian Wild Man, +and Mr. Snooks had taken that job. To his own surprise, he made an +excellent Wild Man. He was able to rattle his chains, dash up and down +the cage, gnaw the iron <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_26" id="Page_26">[Pg 26]</a></span>bars of the cage, eat raw meat, and howl as +no other Tasmanian Wild Man had ever done those things, and all would +have been well if an interloper had not entered the side-show.</p> + +<p>The interloper was Mr. Winterberry, who had introduced the subject of +Ibsen’s plays, and in a discussion of them the Tasmanian Wild Man and +Mr. Hoxie, the Strong Man, had quarreled, and Mr. Hoxie had threatened +to tear Mr. Snooks limb from limb.</p> + +<p>“And he would have done so,” said the Tasmanian Wild Man with emotion, +“if I had not fled. I dare not return. I mean to work my way back to +Boston and give up Tasmanian Wild Man-ing as a profession. But I +cannot without pants.”</p> + +<p>“I guess you can’t,” said Philo Gubb. “In any station of Boston life, +pants is expected to be worn.”</p> + +<p>“So the question is, old chap, where am I to be panted?” said Waldo +Emerson Snooks.</p> + +<p>“I can’t pant you,” said Philo Gubb, “but I can overall you.”</p> + +<p>The late Tasmanian Wild Man was most grateful. When he was dressed in +the overalls and had wiped the grease-paint from his face on an old +rag, no one would have recognized him.</p> + +<p>“And as for thanks,” said Philo Gubb, “don’t mention it. A deteckative +gent is obliged to keep up a set of disguises hitherto unsuspected by +the mortal world. This Tasmanian Wild Man outfit will <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_27" id="Page_27">[Pg 27]</a></span>do for a hermit +disguise. So you don’t owe me no thanks.”</p> + +<p>As Philo Gubb watched Waldo Emerson Snooks start in the direction of +Boston—only some thirteen hundred miles away—he had no idea how soon +he would have occasion to use the Tasmanian Wild Man disguise, but +hardly had the Wild Man departed than a small boy came to summon Mr. +Gubb, and it was with a sense of elation and importance that he +appeared before the meeting of the Riverbank Ladies’ Social Service +League.</p> + +<p>“And so,” said Mrs. Garthwaite, at the close of the interview, “you +understand us, Mr. Gubb?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” said Philo Gubb. “What you want me to do, is to find Mr. +Winterberry, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly,” agreed Mrs. Garthwaite.</p> + +<p>“And, when found,” said Mr. Gubb, “the said stolen goods is to be +returned to you?”</p> + +<p>“Just so.”</p> + +<p>“And the fiends in human form that stole him are to be given the full +limit of the law?”</p> + +<p>“They certainly deserve it, abducting a nice little gentleman like Mr. +Winterberry,” said Mrs. Garthwaite.</p> + +<p>“They do, indeed,” said Philo Gubb, “and they shall be. I would only +ask how far you want me to arrest. If the manager of the side-show +stole him, my natural and professional deteckative instincts would +tell me to arrest the manager; and if the whole side-show stole him I +would make bold to arrest the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_28" id="Page_28">[Pg 28]</a></span>whole side-show; but if the whole +circus stole him, am I to arrest the whole circus, and if so ought I +to include the menagerie? Ought I to arrest the elephants and the +camels?”</p> + +<p>“Arrest only those in human form,” said Mrs. Garthwaite.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb sat straight and put his hands on his knees.</p> + +<p>“In referring to human form, ma’am,” he asked, “do you include them +oorangootangs and apes?”</p> + +<p>“I do,” said Mrs. Garthwaite. “Association with criminals has probably +inclined their poor minds to criminality.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” said Philo Gubb, rising. “I leave on this case by the +first train.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb hastily packed the Tasmanian garment and six other disguises +in a suitcase, put the fourteen dollars given him by Mrs. Garthwaite +in his pocket, and hurried to catch the train for Bardville, where the +World’s Monster Combined Shows were to show the next day. With true +detective caution Philo Gubb disguised even this simple act.</p> + +<p>Having packed his suitcase, Mr. Gubb wrapped it carefully in manila +paper and inserted a laundry ticket under the twine. Thus, any one +seeing him might well suppose he was returning from the laundry and +not going to Bardville. To make this seem the more likely, he donned +his Chinese disguise, Number Seventeen, consisting of a pink, +skull-like wig with a long pigtail, a blue jumper, and a yellow +complexion. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_29" id="Page_29">[Pg 29]</a></span>Mr. Gubb rubbed his face with crude ochre powder, and his +complexion was a little high, being more the hue of a pumpkin than the +true Oriental skin tint. Those he met on his way to the station +imagined he was in the last stages of yellow fever, and fled from him +hastily.</p> + +<p>He reached the station just as the train’s wheels began to move; and +he was springing up the steps onto the platform of the last car when a +hand grasped his arm. He turned his head and saw that the man grasping +him was Jonas Medderbrook, one of Riverbank’s wealthiest men.</p> + +<p>“Gubb! I want you!” shouted Mr. Medderbrook energetically, but Philo +Gubb shook off the detaining arm.</p> + +<p>“Me no savvy Melican talkee,” he jabbered, bunting Mr. Medderbrook off +the car step.</p> + +<p>Bright and early next morning, Philo Gubb gave himself a healthy coat +of tan, with rather high color on his cheek-bones. From his collection +of beards and mustaches—carefully tagged from “Number One” to “Number +Eighteen” in harmony with the types of disguise mentioned in the +twelve lessons of the Rising Sun Detective Agency’s Correspondence +School of Detecting—he selected mustache Number Eight and inserted +the spring wires in his nostrils.</p> + +<p>Mustache Number Eight was a long, deadly black mustache with up-curled +ends, and when Philo Gubb had donned it he had a most sinister +appearance, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_30" id="Page_30">[Pg 30]</a></span>particularly as he failed to remove the string tag which +bore the legend, “Number Eight. Gambler or Card Sharp. Manufactured +and Sold by the Rising Sun Detective Agency’s Correspondence School of +Detecting Supply Bureau.” Having put on this mustache, Mr. Gubb took a +common splint market-basket from under the bed and placed in it the +matted hair of the Tasmanian Wild Man, his make-up materials, a small +mirror, two towels, a cake of soap, the Tasmanian Wild Man’s animal +skin robe, the hair rope, and the abbreviated trunks. He covered these +with a newspaper.</p> + +<p>The sun was just rising when he reached the railway siding, and hardly +had Mr. Gubb arrived when the work of unloading the circus began.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo3" id="Illo3"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 480px;"> +<img src="images/i037.jpg" class="ispace" width="480" height="500" alt="MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED AMONG +THEM" title="" /> +<span class="caption">MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED AMONG +THEM</span></div> + +<p>Mr. Gubb—searching for the abducted Mr. Winterberry—sped rapidly +from place to place, the string tag on his mustache napping over his +shoulder, but he saw no one answering Mrs. Garthwaite’s description of +Mr. Winterberry. When the tent wagons had departed, the elephants and +camels were unloaded, but Mr. Winterberry did not seem to be concealed +among them, and the animal cages—which came next—were all tightly +closed. There were four or five cars, however, that attracted Philo +Gubb’s attention, and one in particular made his heart beat rapidly. +This car bore the words, “World’s Monster Combined Shows Freak Car.” +And as Mr. Winterberry had gone as a social reform agent to the +side-show, Mr. Gubb rightly felt that here if anywhere <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_31" id="Page_31">[Pg 31]</a></span>he would find a clue, and he was doubly agitated since he knew the +beautiful Syrilla was doubtless in that car.</p> + +<p>Walking around the car, he heard the door at one end open. He crouched +under the platform, his ears and eyes on edge. Hardly was he concealed +before the head ruffian of the unloading gang approached.</p> + +<p>“Mister Dorgan,” he said, in quite another tone than he had used to +his laborers, “should I fetch that wild man cage to the grounds for +you to-day?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Dorgan. “What’s the use? I don’t like an empty cage +standing around. Leave it on the car, Jake. Or—hold on! I’ll use it. +Take it up to the grounds and put it in the side-show as usual. I’ll +put the Pet in it.”</p> + +<p>“Are ye foolin’?” asked the loading boss with a grin. “The cage won’t +know itself, Mister Dorgan, afther holdin’ that rip-snortin’ Wild Man +to be holdin’ a cold corpse like the Pet is.”</p> + +<p>“Never you mind,” said Dorgan shortly. “I know my business, Jake. You +and I know the Pet is a dead one, but these country yaps don’t know +it. I might as well make some use of the remains as long as I’ve got +’em on hand.”</p> + +<p>“Who you goin’ to fool, sweety?” asked a voice, and Mr. Dorgan looked +around to see Syrilla, the Fat Lady, standing in the car door.</p> + +<p>“Oh, just folks!” said Dorgan, laughing.</p> + +<p>“You’re goin’ to use the Pet,” said the Fat Lady <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_32" id="Page_32">[Pg 32]</a></span>reproachfully, “and +I don’t think it is nice of you. Say what you will, Mr. Dorgan, a +corpse is a corpse, and a respectable side-show ain’t no place for it. +I wish you would take it out in the lot and bury it, like I wanted you +to, or throw it in the river and get rid of it. Won’t you, dearie?”</p> + +<p>“I will not,” said Mr. Dorgan firmly. “A corpse may be a corpse, +Syrilla, any place but in a circus, but in a circus it is a feature. +He’s goin’ to be one of the Seven Sleepers.”</p> + +<p>“One of what?” asked Syrilla.</p> + +<p>“One of the Seven Sleepers,” said Dorgan. “I’m goin’ to put him in the +cage the Wild Man was in, and I’m goin’ to tell the audiences he’s +asleep. ‘He looks dead,’ I’ll say, ‘but I give my word he’s only +asleep. We offer five thousand dollars,’ I’ll say, ‘to any man, woman, +or child that proves contrary than that we have documents provin’ that +this human bein’ in this cage fell asleep in the year 1837 and has +been sleepin’ ever since. The longest nap on record,’ I’ll say. +That’ll fetch a laugh.”</p> + +<p>“And you don’t care, dearie, that I’ll be creepy all through the show, +do you?” said Syrilla.</p> + +<p>“I won’t care a hang,” said Dorgan.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb glided noiselessly from under the car and sped away. He had +heard enough to know that deviltry was afoot. There was no doubt in +his mind that the Pet was the late Mr. Winterberry, for if ever a man +deserved to be called “Pet,” Mr. Winterberry—according to Mrs. +Garthwaite’s description—was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_33" id="Page_33">[Pg 33]</a></span>that man. There was no doubt that Mr. +Winterberry had been murdered, and that these heartless wretches meant +to make capital of his body. The inference was logical. It was a +strong clue, and Mr. Gubb hurried to the circus grounds to study the +situation.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Syrilla tearfully, “you <i>don’t</i> care a hang for the nerves +of the lady and gent freaks under your care, Mr. Dorgan. It’s nothin’ +to you if repulsion from that corpse-like Pet drags seventy or eighty +pounds of fat off of me, for you well know what my contract is—so +much a week and so much for each additional pound of fat, and the less +fat I am the less you have to add onto your pay-roll. The day the Pet +come to the show first I fainted outright and busted down the +platform, but little do you care, Mr. Dorgan.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t you worry; you didn’t murder him,” said Mr. Dorgan.</p> + +<p>“He looks so lifelike!” sobbed Syrilla.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Hoxie!” shouted Mr. Dorgan.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir?” said the Strong Man, coming to the car door.</p> + +<p>“Take Syrilla in and tell the girls to put ice on her head. She’s +gettin’ hysterics again. And when you’ve told ’em, you go up to the +grounds and tell Blake and Skinny to unpack the Petrified Man. Tell +’em I’m goin’ to use him again to-day, and if he’s lookin’ shop-worn, +have one of the men go over his complexion and make him look nice and +lifelike.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_34" id="Page_34">[Pg 34]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Dorgan swung off from the car step and walked away.</p> + +<p>The Petrified Man had been one of his mistakes. In days past petrified +men had been important side-show features and Mr. Dorgan had supposed +the time had come to re-introduce them, and he had had an excellent +petrified man made of concrete, with steel reinforcements in the legs +and arms and a body of hollow tile so that it could stand rough +travel.</p> + +<p>Unfortunately, the features of the Petrified Man had been entrusted to +an artist devoted to the making of clothing dummies. Instead of an +Aztec or Cave Dweller cast of countenance, he had given the Petrified +Man the simpering features of the wax figures seen in cheap clothing +stores. The result was that, instead of gazing at the Petrified Man +with awe as a wonder of nature, the audiences laughed at him, and the +living freaks dubbed him “the Pet,” or, still more rudely, “the +Corpse,” and when the glass case broke at the end of the week, Mr. +Dorgan ordered the Pet packed in a box.</p> + +<p>Just now, however, the flight of the Tasmanian Wild Man, and the +involuntary departure of Mr. Winterberry at the command of his wife +after his short appearance as Waw-Waw, the Mexican Hairless Dog-Man, +suggested the new use for the Petrified Man.</p> + +<p>When Detective Gubb reached the circus grounds the glaring banners had +not yet been erected before <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_35" id="Page_35">[Pg 35]</a></span>the side-show tent, but all the tents +except the “big top” were up and all hands were at work on that one, +or supposed to be. Two were not. Two of the roughest-looking +roustabouts, after glancing here and there, glided into the property +tent and concealed themselves behind a pile of blue cases, hampers, +and canvas bags. One of them immediately drew from under his coat a +small but heavy parcel wrapped in an old rag.</p> + +<p>“Say, cul,” he said in a coarse voice, “you sure have got a head on +you. This here stuff will be just as safe in there as in a bank, see? +Gimme the screw-driver.”</p> + +<p>“‘Not to be opened until Chicago,’” said the other gleefully, pointing +to the words daubed on one of the blue cases. “But I guess it will +be—hey, old pal? I guess so!”</p> + +<p>Together they removed the lid of the box, and Detective Gubb, seeking +the side-show, crawled under the wall of the property tent just in +time to see the two ruffians hurriedly jam their parcel into the case +and screw the lid in place again. Mr. Gubb’s mustache was now in a +diagonal position, but little he cared for that. His eyes were +fastened on the countenances of the two roustabouts. The men were easy +to remember. One was red-headed and pockmarked and the other was dark +and the lobes of his ears were slit, as if some one had at some time +forcibly removed a pair of rings from them. Very quietly Philo Gubb +wiggled backward out of the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_36" id="Page_36">[Pg 36]</a></span>tent, but as he did so his eyes caught a +word painted on the side of the blue case. It was “<i>Pet</i>”!</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb proceeded to the next tent. Stooping, he peered inside, and +what he saw satisfied him that he had found the side-show. Around the +inside of the tent men were erecting a blue platform, and on the far +side four men were wheeling a tongueless cage into place. A door at +the back of the cage swung open and shut as the men moved the cage, +but another in front was securely bolted and barred. Mr. Gubb lowered +the tent wall and backed away. It was into this cage that the body of +Mr. Winterberry was to be put to make a public holiday for yokels! And +the murderer was still at large!</p> + +<p>Murderer? Murderers! For who were the two rough characters he had seen +tampering with the case containing the remains of the Pet? What had +they been putting in the case? If not the murderers, they were surely +accomplices. Walking like a wary flamingo, Mr. Gubb circled the tent. +He saw Mr. Dorgan and Syrilla enter it. Himself hidden in a clump of +bushes, he saw Mr. Lonergan, the Living Skeleton; Mr. Hoxie, the +Strong Man; Major Ching, the Chinese Giant; General Thumb, the Dwarf; +Princess Zozo, the Serpent Charmer; Maggie, the Circassian Girl; and +the rest of the side-show employees enter the tent. Then he removed +his Number Eight mustache and put it in his pocket, and balanced his +mirror against a twig. Mr. Gubb was changing his disguise.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_37" id="Page_37">[Pg 37]</a></span></p><p>For a while the lady and gentleman freaks stood talking, casting +reproachful glances at Mr. Dorgan. Syrilla, with traces of tears on +her face, was complaining of the cruel man who insisted that the Pet +become part of the show once more and Mr. Dorgan was resisting their +reproaches.</p> + +<p>“I’m the boss of the show,” he said firmly. “I’m goin’ to use that +cage, and I’m goin’ to use the Pet.”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you put Orlando in it, and get up a spiel about him?” asked +Princess Zozo, whose largest serpent was called Orlando. “If you got +him a bottle of cold cream from the make-up tent he’d lie for hours +with his dear little nose sniffin’ it. He’s pashnutly fond of cold +cream.”</p> + +<p>“Well, the public ain’t pashnutly fond of seein’ a snake smell it,” +said Mr. Dorgan. “The Pet is goin’ into that cage—see?”</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t you borry an ape from the menagerie?” asked Mr. Lonergan, +the Living Skeleton, who was as passionately fond of Syrilla as +Orlando was of cold cream. “And have him be the first man-monkey to +speak the human language, only he’s got a cold and can’t talk to-day? +You did that once.”</p> + +<p>“And got roasted by the whole crowd! No, sir, Mr. Lonergan. I can’t, +and I won’t. Bring that case right over here,” he added, turning to +the four roustabouts who were carrying the blue case into the tent. +“Got it open? Good! Now—”</p> + +<p>He looked toward the cage and stopped short, his mouth open and his +eyes staring. Sitting on his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_38" id="Page_38">[Pg 38]</a></span>haunches, his fore paws, or hands, +hanging down like those of a “begging” dog, a Tasmanian Wild Man +stared from between the bars of the cage. The matted hair, the bare +legs, the animal skin blanket, the streaks of ochre and red on the +face, the black circles around the eyes with the white inside the +circles, were those of a real Tasmanian Wild Man, but this Tasmanian +Wild Man was tall and thin, almost rivaling Mr. Lonergan in that +respect. The thin Roman nose and the blinky eyes, together with the +manner of holding the head on one side, suggested a bird—a large and +dissipated flamingo, for instance.</p> + +<p>Mr. Dorgan stared with his mouth open. He stared so steadily that he +even took a telegram from the messenger boy who entered the tent, and +signed for it without looking at the address. The messenger boy, too, +stopped to stare at the Tasmanian flamingo. The men who had brought +the blue case set it down and stared. The freaks gathered in front of +the cage and stared.</p> + +<p>“What is it?” asked Syrilla in a voice trembling with emotion.</p> + +<p>“Say! Where in the U.S.A. did <i>you</i> come from?” asked Mr. Dorgan +suddenly. “What in the dickens are you, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“I’m a Tasmanian Wild Man,” said Mr. Gubb mildly.</p> + +<p>“You a Tasmanian Wild Man?” said Mr. Dorgan. “You don’t think you look +like a Tasmanian <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_39" id="Page_39">[Pg 39]</a></span>Wild Man, do you? Why, you look like—you look +like—you look—”</p> + +<p>“He looks like an intoxicated pterodactyl,” said Mr. Lonergan, who had +some knowledge of prehistoric animals,—“only hairier.”</p> + +<p>“He looks like a human turkey with a piebald face,” suggested General +Thumb.</p> + +<p>“He don’t look like nothin’!” said Mr. Dorgan at last. “That’s what he +looks like. You get out of that cage!” he added sternly to Mr. Gubb. +“I don’t want nothin’ that looks like you nowhere near this show.”</p> + +<p>“But, Mr. Dorgan, dearie, think how he’d draw crowds,” said Syrilla.</p> + +<p>“Crowds? Of course he’d draw crowds,” said Mr. Dorgan. “But what would +I say when I lectured about him? What would I call him? No, he’s got +to go. Boys,” he said to the four roustabouts, two of whom were those +Mr. Gubb had seen in the property tent, “throw this feller out of the +tent.”</p> + +<p>“Stop!” said Mr. Gubb, raising one hand. “I will admit I have tried to +deceive you: I am not a Tasmanian Wild Man. I am a deteckative!”</p> + +<p>“Detective?” said Mr. Dorgan.</p> + +<p>“In disguise,” said Mr. Gubb modestly. “In the deteckative profession +the assuming of disguises is often necessary to the completion of the +clarification of a mystery plot.”</p> + +<p>He pointed down at the Pet, whose newly rouged <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_40" id="Page_40">[Pg 40]</a></span>and powdered face +rested smirkingly in the box below the cage.</p> + +<p>“I arrest you all,” he said, but before he could complete the +sentence, the red-headed man and the black-headed man turned and +bolted from the tent. Mr. Gubb beat and jerked at the bars of his cage +as frantically as Mr. Waldo Emerson Snooks had ever beaten and +jerked, but he could not rend them apart.</p> + +<p>“Get those two fellers,” Mr. Gubb shouted to Mr. Hoxie, and the strong +man ran from the tent.</p> + +<p>“What’s this about arrest?” asked Mr. Dorgan.</p> + +<p>“I arrest this whole side-show,” said Mr. Gubb, pressing his face +between the bars of the cage, “for the murder of that poor, gentle, +harmless man now a dead corpse into that blue box there—Mr. +Winterberry by name, but called by you by the alias of the ‘Pet.’”</p> + +<p>“Winterberry?” exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. “That Winterberry? That ain’t +Winterberry! That’s a stone man, a made-to-order concrete man, with +hollow tile stomach and reinforced concrete arms and legs. I had him +made to order.”</p> + +<p>“The criminal mind is well equipped with explanations for use in time +of stress,” said Mr. Gubb. “Lesson Six of the Correspondence School of +Deteckating warns the deteckative against explanations of murderers +when confronted by the victim. I demand an autopsy onto Mr. +Winterberry.”</p> + +<p>“Autopsy!” exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. “I’ll autopsy him for you!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_41" id="Page_41">[Pg 41]</a></span></p><p>He grasped one of the Pet’s hands and wrenched off one concrete arm. +He struck the head with a tent stake and shattered it into crumbling +concrete. He jerked the Roman tunic from the body and disclosed the +hollow tile stomach.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he said, lifting a rag-wrapped parcel from the interior of +the Pet. “What’s this?”</p> + +<p>When unwrapped it proved to be two dozen silver forks and spoons and a +good-sized silver trophy cup.</p> + +<p>“‘Riverbank Country Club, Duffers’ Golf Trophy, 1909?’” Mr. Dorgan +read. “‘Won by Jonas Medderbrook.’ How did that get there?”</p> + +<p>“Jonas Medderbrook,” said Mr. Gubb, “is a man of my own local town.”</p> + +<p>“He is, is he?” said Mr. Dorgan. “And what’s your name?”</p> + +<p>“Gubb,” said the detective. “Philo Gubb, Esquire, deteckative and +paper-hanger, Riverbank, Iowa.”</p> + +<p>“Then this is for you,” said Mr. Dorgan, and he handed the telegram to +Mr. Gubb. The detective opened it and read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p> +Gubb,<br /> +Care of Circus,<br /> +Bardville, Ia.<br /> +</p> + +<p>My house robbed circus night. Golf cup gone. Game now +rotten: never win another. Five hundred dollars reward for +return to me.</p> + +<p class="right"><span class="smcap">Jonas Medderbrook</span></p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_42" id="Page_42">[Pg 42]</a></span></p><p>“You didn’t actually come here to find Mr. Winterberry, did you?” +asked Syrilla.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb folded the telegram, raised his matted hair, and tucked the +telegram between it and his own hair for safe-keeping.</p> + +<p>“When a deteckative starts out to detect,” he said calmly, “sometimes +he detects one thing and sometimes he detects another. That cup is one +of the things I deteckated to-day. And now, if all are willing, I’ll +step outside and get my pants on. I’ll feel better.”</p> + +<p>“And you’ll look better,” said Mr. Dorgan. “You couldn’t look worse.”</p> + +<p>“In the course of the deteckative career,” said Mr. Gubb, “a gent has +to look a lot of different ways, and I thank you for the compliment. +The art of disguising the human physiology is difficult. This disguise +is but one of many I am frequently called upon to assume.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if any more are like this one,” said Mr. Dorgan with sincerity, +“I’m glad I’m not a detective.”</p> + +<p>Syrilla, however, heaved her several hundred pounds of bosom and cast +her eyes toward Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I think detectives are lovely in any disguise,” she said, and Mr. +Gubb’s heart beat wildly.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_43" id="Page_43">[Pg 43]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_EAGLES_CLAWS" id="THE_EAGLES_CLAWS"></a>THE EAGLE’S CLAWS</h2> + +<p>As Philo Gubb boarded the train for Riverbank after recovering the +silver loving-cup from the interior of the petrified man, he cast a +regretful glance backward. It was for Syrilla. There was half a ton of +her pinky-white beauty, and her placid, cow-like expression touched an +echoing chord in Philo Gubb’s heart.</p> + +<p>Philo felt, however, that his admiration must be hopeless, for Syrilla +must earn a salary in keeping with her size, and his income was too +irregular and small to keep even a thin wife.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Five hundred dollars was a large reward for a loving-cup that cost not +over thirty dollars, it is true, but Mr. Jonas Medderbrook could +afford to pay what he chose, and as he was passionately fond of golf +and passionately poor at the game, and as this was probably the only +golf prize he would ever win, he was justified in paying liberally, +especially as this cup was not merely a tankard, but almost large +enough to be called a tank.</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb hastened to the home of Mr. Medderbrook, but when the +door of that palatial house opened, the colored butler told Mr. Gubb +that Mr. Medderbrook was at the Golf Club, attending the annual +banquet of the Fifty Worst Duffers. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_44" id="Page_44">[Pg 44]</a></span>Mr. Gubb started for the Golf +Club. As he walked he thought of Syrilla, and he was at the gate of +the Golf Club before he knew it.</p> + +<p>He walked up the path toward the club-house, but when halfway, he +stopped short, all his detective instincts aroused. The windows of the +club-house glowed with light, and sounds of merriment issued from +them, but the cause of Philo Gubb’s sudden pause was a head +silhouetted against one of the glowing windows. As Mr. Gubb watched, +he saw the head disappear in the gloom below the window only to +reappear at another window. Mr. Gubb, following the directions as laid +down in Lesson Four of the Correspondence Lessons, dropped to his +hands and knees and crept silently toward the “Paul Pry.” When within +a few feet of him, Mr. Gubb seated himself tailor-fashion on the +grass.</p> + +<p>As Philo sat on the damp grass, the man at the window turned his head, +and Mr. Gubb noted with surprise that the stranger had none of the +marks of a sodden criminal. The face was that of a respectably +benevolent old German-American gentleman. Kindliness and good-nature +beamed from its lines; but at the moment the plump little man seemed +in trouble.</p> + +<p>“Good-evening,” said Mr. Gubb. “I presume you are taking an +observation of the dinner-party within the inside of the club.”</p> + +<p>The old gentleman turned sharply.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo4" id="Illo4"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i052.jpg" class="ispace" width="500" height="309" alt="A HEAD SILHOUETTED AGAINST ONE OF THE GLOWING WINDOWS" title="" /> +<span class="caption">A HEAD SILHOUETTED AGAINST ONE OF THE GLOWING WINDOWS</span> +</div> + +<p>“Shess!” he said. “I look at der peoples eading and drinking. Alvays I +like to see dot. Und sooch <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_45" id="Page_45">[Pg 45]</a></span>goot eaders! +Dot man mit der black beard, he vos a schplendid eader!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb raised himself to his knees and looked into the dining-room.</p> + +<p>“That,” he said, “is the Honorable Mr. Jonas Medderbrook, the +wealthiest rich man in Riverbank.”</p> + +<p>“Metterbrook? Mettercrook?” said the old German-American. “Not Chones, +eh?”</p> + +<p>“Not Jones, to my present personal knowledge at this time,” said Philo +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Not Chones!” repeated the plumply benevolent-looking German-American. +“Dot vos stranche! You vos sure he vos not Chones?”</p> + +<p>“I’m quite almost positive upon that point of knowledge,” said Philo +Gubb, “for I have under my arm a golf cup I am returning back to Mr. +Medderbrook to receive five hundred dollars reward from him for.”</p> + +<p>“So?” queried the stranger. “Fife hunderdt dollars? Und it is his +cup?”</p> + +<p>“It is,” said Philo Gubb. He raised the cup in his hand that the +stranger might read the inscription stating that the cup was Jonas +Medderbrook’s.</p> + +<p>The light of the window made the engraving easy to read, but the old +German-American first drew from his pocket a pair of gold-rimmed +spectacles and adjusted them carefully on his nose. He then took the +cup and moved closer to the window and read the inscription.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_46" id="Page_46">[Pg 46]</a></span></p><p>“Shess! Shess!” he agreed, nodding his head several times, and then he +smiled at Mr. Gubb a broadly benevolent smile. “Oxcoose me!” he added, +and with gentle deliberation he removed Mr. Gubb’s hat. “Shoost a +minute, please!” he continued, and with his free hand he felt gently +of the top of Mr. Gubb’s head. He turned Mr. Gubb’s head gently to the +right. “So!” he exclaimed: “Dot vos goot!” He raised the cup above his +head and brought it down on top of Mr. Gubb’s head in the exact spot +he had selected. For two moments Mr. Gubb made motions with his hands +resembling those of a swimmer, and then he collapsed in a heap. The +kindly looking old German-American gentleman, seeing he was quite +unconscious, tucked the golf cup under his own arm, and waddled slowly +down the path to the club gates.</p> + +<p>Ten minutes later a small automobile drove up and young Dr. Anson +Briggs hopped out. Mr. Gubb was just getting to his feet, feeling the +top of his head with his hand as he did so.</p> + +<p>“Here!” said Dr. Briggs. “You must not do that!”</p> + +<p>“Why can’t I do it?” Mr. Gubb asked crossly. “It is my own personal +head, and if I wish to desire to rub it, you are not concerned in the +occasion whatever.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, rub your head if you want to!” exclaimed the doctor. “I say you +must not stand up. A man that has just had a fit must not stand up.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_47" id="Page_47">[Pg 47]</a></span></p><p>“Who had a fit?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“You did,” said Dr. Briggs. “I am told you had a very bad fit, and +fell and knocked your head against the building. You’re dazed. Lie +down!”</p> + +<p>“I prefer to wish to stand erect on my feet,” said Mr. Gubb firmly. +“Where’s my cup?”</p> + +<p>“What cup?”</p> + +<p>“Who told you I was suffering from the symptom of a fit?” demanded +Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Why, a short, plump little German did,” said the doctor. “He sent me +here. And he gave me this to give to you.”</p> + +<p>The doctor held an envelope toward Mr. Gubb, and the detective took it +and tore it open. By the light of the window he read:—</p> + +<p class="center">Rec’d of J. Jones, golluf cup worth $500.<span class="right3"><span class="smcap">P. H. +Schreckenheim</span>.</span></p> + +<p>Philo Gubb turned to Dr. Briggs.</p> + +<p>“I am much obliged for the hastiness with which you came to relieve +one you considered to think in trouble, doctor,” he said, “but fits +are not in my line of sickness, which mainly is dyspeptic to date.”</p> + +<p>“Now, what is all this?” asked the doctor suspiciously. “What is that +letter, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“It is a clue,” said Philo Gubb, “which, connected with the bump on +the top of the cranium of my skull, will, no doubt, land somebody into +jail. So good-evening, doctor.”</p> + +<p>He picked his hat from the lawn, and in his most <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_48" id="Page_48">[Pg 48]</a></span>stately manner +walked around the club-house and in at the door.</p> + +<p>Inside the club-house, Mr. Gubb asked one of the waiters to call Mr. +Medderbrook, and Mr. Medderbrook immediately appeared.</p> + +<p>As he came from the dining-room rapidly, the napkin he had had tucked +in his neck fell over his shoulder behind him, and Mr. Medderbrook, +instead of turning around bent backward until he could pick up the +napkin with his teeth, after which he resumed his normal upright +position.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me, Gubb,” he said; “I didn’t think what I was doing. Where is +the cup?”</p> + +<p>The detective explained. He handed Mr. Medderbrook the receipt that +had been sent by Mr. Schreckenheim, and the moment Mr. Medderbrook’s +eyes fell upon it he turned red.</p> + +<p>“That infernal Dutchman!” he cried, although Mr. Schreckenheim was not +a Dutchman at all, but a German-American. “I’ll jail him for this!”</p> + +<p>He stopped short.</p> + +<p>“Gubb,” he said, “did that fellow tell you what his business was?”</p> + +<p>“He did not,” said Philo Gubb. “He failed to express any mention of +it.”</p> + +<p>“That man,” said Mr. Medderbrook bitterly, “is Schreckenheim, the +greatest tattoo artist in the world. He is the king of them all. A +connoisseur in tattooish art can tell a Schreckenheim as easily as a +picture-dealer can tell a Corot. But no matter! <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_49" id="Page_49">[Pg 49]</a></span>Mr. Gubb, you are a +detective and I believe what is told detectives is held inviolable. +Yes. You—and all Riverbank—see in me an ordinary citizen, wealthy, +perhaps, but ordinary. As a matter of fact, I was once”—he looked +cautiously around—“I was once a contortionist. I was once <i>the</i> +contortionist. And now I am a wealthy man. My wife left me because she +said I was stingy, and she took my child—my only daughter. I have +never seen either of them since. I have searched high and low, but I +cannot find them. Mr. Gubb, I would give the man that finds my +daughter—if she is alive—a thousand dollars.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t object to my attempting to try?” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mr. Jonas Medderbrook, “but that is not what I wish to +explain. In my contortion act, Mr. Gubb, I was obliged to wear the +most expensive silk tights. Wiggling on the floor destroys them +rapidly. I had a happy thought. I was known as the Man-Serpent. Could +I not save all expense of tights by having myself tattooed so that my +skin would represent scales? Look.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Medderbrook pulled up his cuff and showed Mr. Gubb his arm. It was +beautifully tattooed in red and blue, like the scales of a cobra.</p> + +<p>“The cost,” continued Mr. Medderbrook, “was great. Herr Schreckenheim +worked continuously on me, and when he reached my manly chest I had a +brilliant thought. I would have tattooed upon it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_50" id="Page_50">[Pg 50]</a></span>an American eagle. +Imagine the enthusiasm of an audience when I stood straight, spread my +arms and showed that noble emblem of our nation’s strength and +freedom! I told Herr Schreckenheim and he set to work. When—and the +contract price, by the way, for doing that eagle was five hundred +dollars—when the eagle was about completed, I said to Herr +Schreckenheim, ‘Of course you will do no more eagles?’</p> + +<p>“‘More eagles?’ he said questioningly.</p> + +<p>“‘On other men,’ I said. ‘I want to be the only man with an eagle on +my chest.’</p> + +<p>“‘I am doing an eagle on another man now,’ he said.</p> + +<p>“I was angry at once. I jumped from the table and threw on my clothes. +‘Cheater!’ I cried. ‘Not another spot or dot shall you make on me! Go! +I will never pay you a cent!’</p> + +<p>“He was very angry. ‘It is a contract!’ he cried. ‘Five hundred +dollars you owe me!’</p> + +<p>“‘I owe it to you when the job is complete,’ I declared. ‘That was the +contract. Is this job complete? Where are the eagle’s claws? I’ll +never pay you a cent!’</p> + +<p>“We had a lot of angry words. He demanded that I give him a chance to +put the claws on the eagle. I refused. I said I would never pay. He +said he would follow me to the end of the world and collect. He said +he would do those eagle claws if he had to do them on my infant +daughter. I dared him <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_51" id="Page_51">[Pg 51]</a></span>to touch the child. And now,” said Mr. +Medderbrook, “he has taken the golf cup I value at five hundred +dollars. He has won.”</p> + +<p>At the mention of the threat regarding the child, Philo Gubb’s eyes +opened wide, but he kept silence.</p> + +<p>“Gubb,” said Mr. Medderbrook suddenly, “I’ll give you a thousand +dollars if you can recover my poor child.”</p> + +<p>“The deteckative profession is full of complicity of detail,” said Mr. +Gubb, “and the impossible is quite possible when put in the right +hands. The cup—”</p> + +<p>“Bother the cup!” said Mr. Medderbrook carelessly. “I want my +child—I’ll give <i>ten</i> thousand dollars for my child, Gubb.”</p> + +<p>With difficulty could Philo Gubb restrain his eagerness to depart. He +had a clue!</p> + +<p>Ordinarily Mr. Gubb would have taken any disguise that seemed to him +best suited for the work in hand; but now he was going to see and be +seen by Syrilla!</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb ran down the list—Number Seven, Card Sharp; Number Nine, +Minister of the Gospel; Number Twelve, Butcher; Number Sixteen, Negro +Hack-Driver; Number Seventeen, Chinese Laundryman; Number Twenty, +Cowboy.... Philo Gubb paused there. He would be a cowboy, for it was a +jaunty disguise—“chaps,” sombrero, spurs, buckskin gloves, holsters +and pistols, blue shirt, yellow hair, stubby mustache. He donned the +complete <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_52" id="Page_52">[Pg 52]</a></span>disguise, put his street garments in a suitcase and viewed +himself in his small mirror. He highly approved of the disguise. He +touched his cheeks with red to give himself a healthy, outdoor +appearance.</p> + +<p>Early the next morning, before the earliest merchants had opened their +shops, Philo Gubb boarded the train for West Higgins, for it was there +the World’s Greatest Combined Shows were to appear. The few sleepy +passengers did not open their eyes; the conductor, as he took Mr. +Gubb’s ticket, merely remarked, “Joining the show at West Higgins?” +and passed on. Boys were already gathering on the West Higgins station +platform when the train pulled in, and they cheered Mr. Gubb, thinking +him part of the show. This greatly increased the difficulty of Mr. +Gubb’s detective work. He had hoped to steal unobserved to the circus +grounds, but a dozen small boys immediately attached themselves to +him, running before him and whooping with joy.</p> + +<p>“Boys,” said Mr. Gubb sternly, “I wish you to run away and play +elsewhere than in front of me continuously and all the time,”—and +they cheered because he had spoken. Only the glad news that the circus +trains had reached town finally dragged them reluctantly away. +Detective Gubb hurried to the circus grounds. The cook tent was +already up, and the grub tent was being put up. Presently the +side-show tent was up and the “big top” rising. It was not until nine +o’clock, however, that the side-show ladies and gentlemen began to +appear, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_53" id="Page_53">[Pg 53]</a></span>when they arrived they went at once to the grub tent and +seated themselves at the table. From a corner of the “big top’s” side +wall, Detective Gubb watched them.</p> + +<p>“Look there, dearie,” said Syrilla suddenly to Princess Zozo, “don’t +that cowboy look like Mr. Gubb that was at Bardville and got the golf +cup?”</p> + +<p>“It don’t look like him,” said Princess Zozo; “it is him. Why don’t +you ask him to come over and help at the eats? You seemed to like him +yesterday.”</p> + +<p>“I thought he was a real gentlem’nly gentlemun, dearie, if that’s what +you mean,” said Syrilla; and raising her voice she called to Mr. Gubb. +For a moment he hesitated, and then he came forward. “We knowed you +the minute we seen you, Mr. Gubb. Come and sit in beside me and have +some breakfast if you ain’t dined. I thought you went home last night. +You ain’t after no more crim’nals, are you?”</p> + +<p>“There are variously many ends to the deteckative business,” said Mr. +Gubb, as he seated himself beside Syrilla. “I’m upon a most important +case at the present time.”</p> + +<p>Syrilla reached for her fifth boiled potato, and as her arm passed Mr. +Gubb’s face he thrilled. He had not been mistaken. Upon that arm was a +pair of eagle’s claws, tattooed in red and blue! How little these had +meant to him before, and how much they meant now!</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_54" id="Page_54">[Pg 54]</a></span></p><p>“I presume you don’t hardly ever long for a home in one place, Miss +Syrilla,” he began, with his eye fixed on her arm just above the +elbow.</p> + +<p>“Well, believe me, dearie,” said Syrilla, “you don’t want to think +that just because I travel with a side-show I don’t long for the +refinements of a true home just like other folks. Some folks think I’m +easy to see through and that I ain’t nothin’ but fat and appetite, but +they’ve got me down wrong, Mr. Gubb. I was unfortunate in gettin’ lost +from my father and mother when a babe, but many is the time I’ve said +to Zozo, ‘I got a refined strain in my nature.’ Haven’t I, Zozo?”</p> + +<p>“You say it every time we begin to rag you about fallin’ in love with +every new thin man you see,” said Princess Zozo. “You said it last +night when we was joshin’ you about Mr. Gubb here.”</p> + +<p>Syrilla colored, but Mr. Gubb thrilled joyously.</p> + +<p>“Just the same, dearie,” Syrilla said to Princess Zozo, “I’ve got +myself listed right when I say I got a refined nature. I’ve got all +the instincts of a real society lady and sometimes it irks me awful +not to be able to let myself loose and bant like—”</p> + +<p>“Pant?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“<i>Bant</i> was the word I used, Mr. Gubb,” Syrilla replied. “Maybe you +wouldn’t guess it, lookin’ at me shovelin’ in the eatables this way, +but eatin’ food is the croolest thing I have to do. It jars me +somethin’ terrible. Yes, dearie, what I long for day and night is a +chance to take my place in the social <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_55" id="Page_55">[Pg 55]</a></span>stratums I was born for and +bant off the fat like other social ladies is doin’ right along. I +don’t eat food because I like it, Mr. Gubb, but because a lady in a +profession like mine has got to keep fatted up. My outside may be fat, +Mr. Gubb, but I got a soul inside of me as skinny as any fash’nable +lady would care to have, and as soon as possible I’m goin’ to quit the +road and bant off six or seven hundred pounds. Would you believe it +possible that I ain’t dared to eat a pickle for over seven years, +because it might start me on the thinward road?”</p> + +<p>“I presume to suppose,” said Mr. Gubb politely, “that if you was to be +offered a home that was rich with wealth and I was to take you there +and place you beside your parental father, you wouldn’t refuse?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb awaited the reply with eagerness. He tried to remain calm, +but in spite of himself he was nervous.</p> + +<p>“Watch me!” said Syrilla. “If you could show me a nook like that, you +couldn’t hold me in this show business with a tent-stake and bull +tackle. But that’s a rosy dream!”</p> + +<p>“You ain’t got a locket with the photo’ of your mother’s picture into +it?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“No,” said Syrilla. “My pa and ma was unknown to me. I dare say they +got sick of hearin’ me bawl and left me on a doorstep. The first I +knew of things was that I was travelin’ with a show, representin’ a +newborn babe in an incubator machine. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_56" id="Page_56">[Pg 56]</a></span>I was incubated up to the time +I was five years old, and got too long to go in the glass case.”</p> + +<p>“But some one was your guardian in charge of you, no doubt?” asked +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I had forty of them, dearie,” said Syrilla. “Whenever money run low, +they quit because they couldn’t get paid on Saturday night.”</p> + +<p>“Hah!” said Mr. Gubb. “And does the name Jones bring back the memory +of any rememberance to you?”</p> + +<p>“No, Mr. Gubb,” said Syrilla regretfully, seeing how eager he was. “It +don’t.”</p> + +<p>“In that state of the case of things,” said Mr. Gubb, “I’ve got to go +over to that wagon-pole and sit down and think awhile. I’ve got a +certain clue I’ve got to think over and make sure it leads right, and +if it does I’ll have something important to say to you.”</p> + +<p>The wagon-pole in question was attached to a canvas wagon near by, and +Detective Gubb seated himself on it and thought. The side-show ladies +and gentlemen, having finished, entered the side-show tent—with the +exception of Syrilla, who remained to finish her meal. She ate a great +deal at meals, before meals, and after meals. Mr. Gubb, from his seat +on the wagon-pole, looked at Syrilla thoughtfully. He had not the +least doubt that Syrilla was the lost daughter of Mr. Jones (or +Medderbrook as he now called himself). The German-American tattoo +artist had sworn to complete the eagle by <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_57" id="Page_57">[Pg 57]</a></span>putting its claws on Mr. +Jones’s daughter, if need be, and here were the claws on Syrilla’s +arm. But, just as it is desirable at times to have a handwriting +expert identify a bit of writing, Mr. Gubb felt that if he could prove +that the claws tattooed on Syrilla’s arm were the work of Mr. +Schreckenheim, his case would be complete. He longed for Mr. +Schreckenheim’s presence, but, lacking that, he had a happy idea. Mr. +Enderbury, the tattooed man of the side-show, should be a connoisseur +and would perhaps be able to identify the eagle’s claws. Leaving +Syrilla still eating, Mr. Gubb entered the side-show tent.</p> + +<p>Mr. Enderbury, seated on a blue property case, was engaged in biting +the entire row of finger nails on his right hand, and a frown creased +his brow. He was enwrapped by a long purple bathrobe which tied +closely about his neck. As he caught sight of Mr. Gubb, he started +slightly and doubled his hand into a fist, but he immediately calmed +himself and assumed a nonchalant air. As a matter of fact, Mr. +Enderbury led a dog’s life. For years he had loved Syrilla devotedly, +but he was so bashful he had never dared to confess his love to her, +and year after year he saw her smile upon one thin man after another. +Now it was Mr. Lonergan; again it was Mr. Winterberry—or it was Mr. +Gubb, or Smith, or Jones, or Doe; but for Mr. Enderbury she seemed to +have nothing but contempt. Mr. Enderbury had first seen her when she +was posing in the infant incubator, and had loved her even then, for +he was <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_58" id="Page_58">[Pg 58]</a></span>twenty when she was but five. The coming of a new rival always +affected him as the coming of Mr. Gubb had, but for good reason he +hated Mr. Gubb worse than any of the others.</p> + +<p>“Excuse me for begging your pardon,” said Mr. Gubb, “but in the +deteckative business questions have to be asked. Have you ever chanced +to happen to notice some tattoo work upon the arm of Miss Syrilla of +this side-show?”</p> + +<p>“I have,” said Mr. Enderbury shortly.</p> + +<p>“A pair of eagle’s claws,” said Mr. Gubb. “Can you tell me, from your +knowledge and belief, if the work there done was the work of a Mr. +Herr Schreckenheim?”</p> + +<p>“I can tell you if I want to,” said Mr. Enderbury. “What do you want +to know for?”</p> + +<p>“If those claws are the work of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim,” said Mr. +Gubb, “I am prepared to offer to Miss Syrilla her daughterly place in +a home of wealth at Riverbank, Iowa. If those claws are Schreckenheim +claws, Miss Syrilla is the daughter of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook of the +said burg, beyond the question of a particle of doubt.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Enderbury looked at Mr. Gubb with surprise.</p> + +<p>“That’s non—” he began. “And if Schreckenheim did those claws, you’ll +take Syrilla away from this show? Forever?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I will,” said Philo Gubb, “if she desires to wish to go.”</p> + +<p>“Then I have nothing whatever to say,” said <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_59" id="Page_59">[Pg 59]</a></span>Mr. Enderbury, and he +shut his mouth firmly; nor would he say more.</p> + +<p>“Do you desire to wish me to understand that they are not the work of +Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?” persisted Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I have nothing to say!” said Mr. Enderbury.</p> + +<p>“I consider that conclusive circumstantial evidence that they are,” +said Detective Gubb, and he clanked out of the side-show.</p> + +<p>Syrilla was still seated at the grub table, finishing her meal, and +Mr. Gubb seated himself opposite her. As delicately as he could, he +told of Jonas Medderbrook and his lost daughter, of the home of wealth +that awaited that daughter, and finally, of his belief that Syrilla +was that daughter. It was clear that Syrilla was quite willing to take +up a life of refinement and dieting if she was given an opportunity +such as Mr. Gubb was able to offer in the name of Jonas Medderbrook; +and, this being so, he questioned her regarding the eagle’s claws.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb,” she said, “I wish to die on the spot if I know how I got +them claws tattooed onto me. If you ask me, I’ll say it is the mystery +of my life. They’ve been on me since I was a little girl no bigger +than—why, who is that?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb turned his head quickly, but he was not in time to see a +plump, good-natured looking little German-American slip quickly out of +sight behind the cook tent. Neither did he see the glitter of the sun +on a large silver golf cup the plump <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_60" id="Page_60">[Pg 60]</a></span>German-American carried under +his arm; but the German-American had recognized Mr. Gubb, even through +his disguise of a cowboy.</p> + +<p>“No matter,” said Syrilla. “But these claws have been on my arm since +I was a wee little girl, Mr. Gubb. I always thought they was a +trademark of a hospital.”</p> + +<p>“I was not knowingly aware that hospitals had trademarks,” said Mr. +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Maybe they don’t,” said Syrilla. “But when I was a small child I had +an accident and had to be took to a hospital, and it wasn’t until +after that that anybody saw the eagle’s claws on me. I considered that +maybe it was like the mark the laundry puts on a handkerchief it has +laundered.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know much about the manners of the ways of hospitals,” +admitted Mr. Gubb, “and that may be so, but I have another idea. Did +you ever hear of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?”</p> + +<p>“Only that Mr. Enderbury is always cross on the days of the month that +he gets Mr. Schreckenheim’s statements of money due. Mr. Schreckenheim +is the man that tattooed Mr. Enderbury so beautiful, but poor Mr. +Enderbury has never been able to pay him in full.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb arose.</p> + +<p>“I am going to telegraph Mr. Medderbrook to come on to West Higgins +immediately by the three <span class="smcap">p.m.</span> afternoon train,” he said, “and you will +meet him as your paternal father and arrange to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_61" id="Page_61">[Pg 61]</a></span>make your home with +him as soon as you desire to wish it.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>At five o’clock that afternoon, Mr. Medderbrook, escorted by Mr. Gubb, +entered the side-show tent. The lady and gentlemen freaks were resting +before evening grub, and all were gathered around Syrilla’s platform, +for the news that she was to leave the show to enter a home of wealth +and refinement had spread quickly. Syrilla herself was in tears. Now +that the time had come she was loath to part from her kind companions.</p> + +<p>“I tell you, Mr. Gubb,” Mr. Medderbrook said, as they entered the +side-show, “if you have indeed found my daughter you have made me a +happy man. You cannot know how lonesome my life has been. Now, which +is she?”</p> + +<p>“She is the female lady in the pink satin dress on that platform,” +said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>Mr. Medderbrook looked toward Syrilla and gasped.</p> + +<p>“Why, that—that’s the Fat Woman! That’s the Fat Woman of the +side-show!” he exclaimed. “I thought—I—why, my daughter wouldn’t be +a Fat Woman in a side-show!”</p> + +<p>“But she is,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Great Scott!” exclaimed Mr. Medderbrook.</p> + +<p>For years Mr. Medderbrook had retained a memory of his daughter +as he had seen her last, a tender babe in long clothes. As he rode +toward <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_62" id="Page_62">[Pg 62]</a></span>West Higgins, however, he had thought about his daughter and +he had revised his conception of her. She was older now, of course, +and he had finally settled the matter by deciding that she would be +a dainty slip of a girl—probably a tight-rope walker or one of the +toe-dancers in the Grand Spectacle, or perhaps even engaged as the +Ten-Thousand-Dollar Beauty. But a Fat Lady! Mr. Medderbrook walked +toward Syrilla. Every eye in the tent was upon him. There was utter +silence except for Syrilla’s happy sobbing.</p> + +<p>“Shess!” said a voice suddenly. “You bet I vos here! Und I vant my +money! Years I haf been collecding dot bill, und still you owe me. Now +I come, and you pay me all vot you owe or I make troubles!”</p> + +<p>The voice came from outside the tent, and with surprising agility +Detective Gubb dived under the platform and wriggled under the canvas +wall.</p> + +<p>“I don’t owe you a cent!” exclaimed the voice of Mr. Enderbury. “I’ve +paid you for every bit of tattoo I have on me.”</p> + +<p>“Seven hunderdt dollars vos der contract,” cried the voice of Herr +Schreckenheim. “Und ten dollars is due me yet. I vant it.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you’ll keep on wanting it,” said Mr. Enderbury’s voice. “Look +here! Look at my chest. There’s the eagle you did on me—do you see +any claws on it? No, you don’t! Well, I’m not going to pay for claws +that are not on me. No, sir!”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_63" id="Page_63">[Pg 63]</a></span></p><p>“Claws? I do some claws on you, don’t I, ven I do dot eagle?” asked +the German-American.</p> + +<p>“Yes, but they’re not on me now, are they?” asked Mr. Enderbury, “You +can go and collect from the person that has them. What do I care for +her now? She’s going to quit the circus business. I’ve paid for all +the tattoo that’s on me; you go and collect ten dollars for those +claws from Syrilla.”</p> + +<p>“Und how does she get those claws on her?” asked Herr Schreckenheim +shrewdly.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you how,” said Mr. Enderbury. “You remember when Griggs’ & +Barton’s Circus burned down years ago? Well, Syrilla was burned in +that fire—burned on the arm—and they took her to a hospital and her +arm wouldn’t heal. So somebody had to furnish some skin for a +skin-grafting job, and I did it. The piece they took had those claws +on it. That’s what happened. I gave those eagle’s claws to cure her, +and I’ve hung around her all these years like a faithful dog, and she +don’t care a hang for me, and now she’s going away. Go and collect for +those claws from her. I haven’t got them. She’s going to be rich; she +can pay you!”</p> + +<p>Simultaneously there was an exclamation from Mr. Medderbrook, a cry +from Syrilla, and a short, sharp yell from outside the tent. Mr. Gubb +entered, spurs first, creeping backward under the canvas. As he backed +from under the platform it was observed that he held a shoe—about No. +8 size—in one hand, and that a foot was in the shoe, and the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_64" id="Page_64">[Pg 64]</a></span>foot on +a leg, and the leg on a short, plump, elderly German-American, who +yelled as he was dragged into the tent on his back. In one hand of the +German-American was a large silver golf cup with a deep dent on one +side. As Mr. Gubb arose to his feet, still holding the German-American +tattoo artist’s foot in his hand, he said:—</p> + +<p>“Mr. Medderbrook, the deteckative business is not always completely +satisfactory in all kinds of respects, and it looks as if it appeared +that the daughter I found for you is somebody else’s, but if you will +look at the other end of the assaulter and batterer I have in hand, +you will see that I have recovered the silver golf cup trophy once +again for the second time.”</p> + +<p>“And that,” said Mr. Medderbrook as he took the cup from the +German-American’s hand, “is remarkable work. The ordinary detective is +usually satisfied to recover stolen property once, but you have +recovered this cup twice.”</p> + +<p>“The motto of my deteckative business,” said Mr. Gubb modestly, “is +‘Perfection, no matter how many times.’”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb might have said more, but he was interrupted by Princess +Zozo, the Snake Charmer, who had walked around Syrilla and unhooked +two of the hooks at the top of Syrilla’s low-necked gown.</p> + +<p>“Look!” she exclaimed, and she pointed to a second pair of eagle’s +claws tattooed between Syrilla’s shoulder blades. Without a word Mr. +Medderbrook <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_65" id="Page_65">[Pg 65]</a></span>took five hundred dollars from his purse and handed them +to Mr. Schreckenheim.</p> + +<p>“That pays you for the cup,” he said. And then, turning to Syrilla: +“Come to my arms, my long-lost daughter!”</p> + +<p>After Syrilla had hugged her father affectionately, Mr. Gubb and the +freaks laid him on the ground and, by fanning him vigorously, were +able to bring him back to life. Mr. Medderbrook’s first act upon +opening his eyes was to hold out his hand to Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Thank you, Gubb,” he panted. “It’s a big price, but I’ll keep my +word. The ten thousand dollars shall be yours.”</p> + +<p>“Into ordinary circumstances,” said Mr. Gubb gravely, “ten thousand +dollars would be a largely big price to pay for recovering back a lost +daughter, Mr. Medderbrook, but into the present case it don’t amount +to more than ten dollars per pound of daughter, which ain’t a largely +great rate per pound.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_66" id="Page_66">[Pg 66]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_OUBLIETTE" id="THE_OUBLIETTE"></a>THE OUBLIETTE</h2> + +<p>The discovery that Syrilla was the daughter of Jonas Medderbrook (born +Jones) was a great triumph for Philo Gubb, but while the “Riverbank +Eagle” made a great hurrah about it, Philo Gubb was not entirely happy +over the matter. Having won a reward of ten thousand dollars for +discovering Syrilla and five hundred dollars for recovering Mr. +Medderbrook’s golf cup, Mr. Gubb might have ventured to tell Syrilla +of his love for her but for three reasons.</p> + +<p>The first reason was that Mr. Gubb was so bashful that it was +impossible for him to speak his love openly and immediately. If +Syrilla had returned to Riverbank with her father, Mr. Gubb would have +courted her by degrees, or if Syrilla had weighed only two hundred +pounds, Mr. Gubb might have had the bravery to propose to her +instantly, but she weighed one thousand pounds, and it required five +times the bravery to propose to a thousand pounds that was required to +propose to two hundred pounds.</p> + +<p>The second reason was that Mr. Dorgan, the manager of the side-show, +would not release Syrilla from her contract.</p> + +<p>“She’s a beauty of a Fat Lady,” said Mr. Dorgan, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_67" id="Page_67">[Pg 67]</a></span>“and I’ve got a +five-year contract with her and I’m going to hold her to it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Medderbrook and Mr. Gubb would have been quite hopeless when Mr. +Dorgan said this if Syrilla had not taken them to one side.</p> + +<p>“Listen, dearies,” she said, “he’s a mean, old brute, but don’t you +fret! I got a hunch how to make him cancel my contract in a perfectly +refined an’ ladylike manner. Right now I start in bantin’ and dietin’ +in the scientific-est manner an’ the way I can lose three or four +hundred pounds when I set out to do it is something grand. It won’t be +no time at all until I’m thin and wisp-like, an’ Mr. Dorgan will be +glad to get rid of me.”</p> + +<p>This information greatly cheered Mr. Gubb. While he admired Syrilla +just as she was, a rapid mental calculation assured him that she would +still be quite plump at seven hundred pounds and he knew he could love +seven tenths of Syrilla more than he could love ten tenths of any +other lady in the world.</p> + +<p>The third reason had to do with the ten-thousand-dollar reward. When +Mr. Gubb and Mr. Medderbrook were proceeding homeward on the train, +Mr. Medderbrook brought up the subject of the reward again.</p> + +<p>“I’m going to pay you that ten thousand dollars, Gubb,” he said, “but +I’m going to pay it so it will be worth a lot more than ten thousand +dollars to you.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_68" id="Page_68">[Pg 68]</a></span></p><p>“You are very overly kind,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It’s because I know you are fond of Syrilla,” said Mr. Medderbrook.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb blushed.</p> + +<p>“So I ain’t going to give you ten thousand dollars in cash,” said Mr. +Medderbrook. “I’m going to do a lot better by you than that. I’m going +to give you gold-mine stock. The only trouble—”</p> + +<p>“Gold-mine stock sounds quite elegantly nice,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“The only trouble,” said Mr. Medderbrook, “is that the gold-mine stock +I want to give you is in a block of twenty-five thousand dollars. It’s +nice stock. It’s as neatly engraved as any stock I ever saw, and it is +genuine common stock in the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine Company.”</p> + +<p>“The name sounds sort of unhopeful,” ventured Mr. Gubb timidly.</p> + +<p>“That shows you don’t know anything about gold mines,” said Mr. +Medderbrook cheerfully. “The reason I—the reason the miners gave it +that name is because this mine lies right between two of the best +gold-mines in Minnesota. One of them is the Utterly Good Gold-Mine, +and the other is the Far-From-Hopeless. So when I—so when the miners +named this mine they took part of the names of the two others and +called this one the Utterly Hopeless. That’s the way I—the way it is +always done.”</p> + +<p>“It’s very cleverly bright,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It’s an old trick—I should say an old and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_69" id="Page_69">[Pg 69]</a></span>approved method,” said +Mr. Medderbrook. “So what I’m going to do, Mr. Gubb, is to let you in +on the ground floor on this mine. It’s a chance I wouldn’t offer to +everybody. This mine hasn’t paid out all its money in dividends. I +tell you as an actual fact, Mr. Gubb, that so far it hasn’t paid out a +cent in dividends, not even to the preferred stock. No, sir! And it +ain’t one of these mines that has been mined until all the gold is +mined out of it. No, sir! Not an ounce of gold has ever been taken out +of the Utterly Hopeless Mine. Not an ounce.”</p> + +<p>“It is all there yet!” exclaimed Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“All there ever was,” said Mr. Medderbrook. “Yes, sir! If you want me +to I’ll give you a written guarantee that the Utterly Hopeless Mine +has never paid a cent in dividends and that not an ounce of gold has +ever been taken out of the mine. That shows you I’m square about this. +So what I’m going to do,” he said impressively, “is to turn over to +you a block of twenty-five thousand dollars’ worth of Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock and apply the ten thousand dollars I owe you as part +of the purchase price. All you need to do then is to pay me the other +fifteen thousand dollars as rapidly as you can.”</p> + +<p>“That’s very kindly generous of you,” said Mr. Gubb gratefully.</p> + +<p>“And that isn’t all,” said Mr. Medderbrook. “I own every single share +of the stock of that mine, Mr. Gubb, and as soon as you get the +fifteen thousand dollars paid up I’ll advance the price of that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_70" id="Page_70">[Pg 70]</a></span>stock +one hundred per cent! Yes, sir, I’ll double the price of the stock, +and what you own will be worth fifty thousand dollars!”</p> + +<p>There were tears in Philo Gubb’s eyes as he grasped Mr. Medderbrook’s +hand.</p> + +<p>“And all I ask,” said Mr. Medderbrook, “is that you hustle up and pay +that fifteen thousand dollars as quick as you can. So that,” he added, +“you’ll be worth fifty thousand dollars all the sooner.”</p> + +<p>Upon reaching Riverbank Mr. Medderbrook took Mr. Gubb to his home and +turned over to him the stock in the Utterly Hopeless Mine.</p> + +<p>“And here,” said Mr. Medderbrook, “is a receipt for ten thousand five +hundred dollars, and you can give me back that five hundred I paid you +for recovering of my golf cup. That’s to show you everything is fair +and square when you deal with me. Now you owe me only fourteen +thousand five hundred dollars.”</p> + +<p>While Mr. Gubb was handing the five hundred dollars back to Mr. +Medderbrook the colored butler entered with a telegram. Mr. +Medderbrook tore it open hastily.</p> + +<p>“Good news already,” he said and handed it to Mr. Gubb. It was from +Syrilla and said:—</p> + +<p class="center">Be brave. Have lost four ounces already. Kind regards and +best love to Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>With only partial satisfaction Mr. Gubb left Mr. Medderbrook and +proceeded downtown. He now <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_71" id="Page_71">[Pg 71]</a></span>had a double incentive for seeking the +rewards that fall to detectives, for he had Syrilla to win and the +Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock to pay for. He started for the +Pie-Wagon, for he was hungry, but on the way certain suspicious +actions of Joe Henry (the liveryman who had twice beaten him up while +he was working on the dynamiter case), stopped him, and it was much +later when he entered the Pie-Wagon.</p> + +<p>As Philo Gubb entered, Billy Getz sat on one of the stools and stirred +his coffee. He held a dime novel with his other hand, reading; but +Pie-Wagon Pete kept an eye on him. He knew Billy Getz and his +practical jokes. If unwatched for a moment, the young whipper-snapper +might empty the salt into the sugar-bowl, or play some other prank +that came under his idea of fun.</p> + +<p>Billy Getz was a good example of the spoiled only son. He went in for +all the vice there was in town, and to occupy his spare time he +planned practical jokes. He was thirty years old, rather bald, had a +pale and leathery skin, and a preternaturally serious expression. In +his pranks he was aided by the group of young poker-playing, +cigarette-smoking fellows known as the “Kidders.”</p> + +<p>Billy Getz, as he read the last line of the thrilling tale of “The +Pale Avengers,” tucked the book in his pocket, and looked up and saw +Philo Gubb. The hawk-eyes of Billy Getz sparkled.</p> + +<p>“Hello, detective!” he cried. “Sit down and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_72" id="Page_72">[Pg 72]</a></span>have something! You’re +just the man I’ve been lookin’ for. Was askin’ Pete about you not a +minute ago—wasn’t I, Pete?”</p> + +<p>Pie-Wagon Pete nodded.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Billy Getz eagerly, “I’ve got something right in your +line—something big; mighty big—and—say, detective, have you ever +read ‘The Pale Avengers’?”</p> + +<p>“I ain’t had that pleasure, Mr. Getz,” said Philo Gubb, straddling a +stool.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter? You’re out of breath,” said Pie-Wagon.</p> + +<p>“I been runnin’,” said Philo Gubb. “I had to run a little. +Deteckatives have to run at times occasionally.”</p> + +<p>“You bet they do,” said Billy Getz earnestly. “You ain’t been after +the dynamiters, have you?”</p> + +<p>“I am from time to time working upon that case,” said Philo Gubb with +dignity.</p> + +<p>“Well, you be careful. You be mighty careful! We can’t afford to lose +a man like you,” said Billy Getz. “You can’t be too careful. Got any +of the ghouls yet?”</p> + +<p>“Not yet,” said Philo Gubb stiffly. “It’s a difficult case for one +that’s just graduated out of a deteckative school. It’s like Lesson +Nine says—I got to proceed cautiously when workin’ in the dark.”</p> + +<p>“Or they’ll get you before you get them,” said Billy Getz. “Like in +‘The Pale Avengers.’ Here, I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_73" id="Page_73">[Pg 73]</a></span>want you to read this book. It’ll teach +you some things you don’t know about crooks, maybe.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Philo Gubb, taking the dime novel. “Anything that +can help me in my deteckative career is real welcome. I’ll read it, +Mr. Getz, and—Look out!” he shouted, and in one leap was over the +counter and crouching behind it.</p> + +<p>Billy Getz turned toward the door, where a short, red-faced man was +standing with a pine slab held in his hand. Intense anger glittered in +his eyes, and he darted to the counter and, leaning over, brought the +slab down on Philo Gubb’s back with a resounding whack.</p> + +<p>“Here! Here! None o’ that stuff in here, Joe,” cried Pie-Wagon Pete, +grasping the intruder’s arm.</p> + +<p>“I’ll kill him, that’s what I’ll do!” shouted the intruder. “Snoopin’ +around my place, and follerin’ me up an’ down all the time! I told him +I wasn’t goin’ to have him doggin’ me an’ pesterin’ me. I’ve beat him +up twice, an’ now I’m goin’ to give him the worst lickin’ he ever had. +Come out of there, you half-baked ostrich, you.”</p> + +<p>“Now, you stop that,” said Pie-Wagon Pete sternly. “You’re goin’ to be +sorry if you beat him up. He don’t mean no harm. He’s just foolish. He +don’t know no better. All you got to do is to explain it to him +right.”</p> + +<p>“Explain?” said Joe Henry. “I’d look nice explainin’ anything, +wouldn’t I? Hand him over here, Pete.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_74" id="Page_74">[Pg 74]</a></span></p><p>“Now, listen,” shouted Pie-Wagon Pete angrily. “You ain’t everything. +I’m your pardner, ain’t I? Well, you let me fix this.” He winked at +Joe Henry. “You let me explain to Mr. Gubb, an’ if he ain’t satisfied, +why—all right.”</p> + +<p>For a moment Joe Henry studied Pie-Wagon’s face, and then he put down +the slab.</p> + +<p>“All right, you explain,” he said ungraciously, and Philo Gubb raised +his white face above the counter.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Upon the passage of the State prohibitory law every saloon in +Riverbank had been closed and there had been growlings from the saloon +element. Five of the leading prohibitionists had received threatening +letters and, a few nights later, the houses of four of the five were +blown up. Kegs of powder had been placed in the cellar windows of each +of the four houses, wrecking them, and the fifth house was saved only +because the fuse there was damp. Luckily no one was killed, but that +was not the fault of the “dynamiters,” as every one called them.</p> + +<p>The town and State immediately offered a reward of five thousand +dollars for the arrest and conviction of the dynamiters, and +detectives flocked to Riverbank. Real detectives came to try for the +noble prize. Amateur detectives came in hordes. Citizens who were not +detectives at all tried their hands at the work.</p> + +<p>For the first few days rumors of the immediate capture of the “ghouls” +were flying everywhere, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_75" id="Page_75">[Pg 75]</a></span>but day followed day and week followed week, +and no one was incarcerated. The citizen-detectives went back to their +ordinary occupations, the amateur detectives went home, the real +detectives were called off on other and more promising jobs, and soon +the field was left clear for Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>Not that he made much progress. Each night he hid himself in the dark +doorway of Willcox Hall waiting to pick up (Lesson Four, Rule Four) +some suspicious-looking person, and having picked him up, he proceeded +to trail and shadow him (Lesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen). Six +times—twice by Joe Henry—he was well beaten by those he followed. It +became such a nuisance to be followed by Philo Gubb in false mustache +or whiskers, that it was a public relief when Billy Getz and other +young fellows took upon themselves the duty of being shadowed. With +hats pulled over their eyes and coat-collars turned up, they would +pass the dark doorway of Willcox Hall, let themselves be picked up, +and then lead poor Detective Gubb across rubbish-encumbered vacant +lots, over mud flats or among dark lumber piles, only to give him the +slip with infinite ease when they tired of the game.</p> + +<p>But Philo Gubb was back the next night, waiting in the shadow of the +doorway of Willcox Hall. He did not progress very rapidly toward the +goal of the reward, but he counted it all good practice.</p> + +<p>But being beaten twice in succession by Joe Henry aroused his +suspicion.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_76" id="Page_76">[Pg 76]</a></span></p><p>Joe Henry ran a small carting business. He had three teams and three +drays, and a small stable on Locust Street, on the alley corner. He +was a great friend of Pie-Wagon Pete and he ate at the Pie-Wagon.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb, after leaving Mr. Medderbrook, had not intentionally +picked up Joe Henry. On his way to the Pie-Wagon it had been necessary +for him to pass the alley opposite Joe Henry’s stable and his +detective instinct told him to hide himself behind a manure bin in the +alley and watch the stable. In the warm June dusk he had crouched +there, watching and waiting.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb could see into the stable, but there was not much to see. The +stable boy sat at the door, his chair tipped back, until a few minutes +after eleven, when one of Joe Henry’s drays drove up with a load of +baled hay.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb heard the voices of the men as they hoisted the hay to the +hay-loft, and he saw Joe Henry helping with the hoisting-rope. The hay +was water-soaked. Water dripped from it onto the floor of the stable.</p> + +<p>But nothing exciting occurred, and Philo Gubb was about to consider +this a dull evening’s work, when Joe Henry appeared in the doorway, a +pitchfork in one hand and the slab of pine in the other. He looked up +and down the street and then, with surprising agility, sprang across +the street toward where Philo Gubb lay hid. With a wild cry, Philo +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_77" id="Page_77">[Pg 77]</a></span>Gubb fled. The pitchfork clattered at his feet, but missed him, and +he had every advantage of long legs and speed. His heels clattered on +the alley pave, and Joe Henry’s clattered farther and farther behind +at each leap of the Correspondence School detective.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>“All right, you explain,” said Joe Henry sullenly.</p> + +<p>“Now you ain’t to breathe a word of this, cross-your-heart, +hope-to-die, Philo Gubb. Nor you neither, Billy,” said Pie-Wagon Pete. +“Listen! Me an’ Joe Henry ain’t what we let on to be. That’s why we +don’t want to be follered. We’re detectives. Reg’lar detectives. From +Chicago. An’ we’re hired by the Law an’ Order League to run down them +gools. We’re right clost onto ’em now, ain’t we, Joe? An’ that’s why +we don’t want to have no one botherin’ us. You wouldn’t want no one +shadowin’ you when you was on a trail, would you, Gubby?”</p> + +<p>“No, I don’t feel like I would,” admitted Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” said Pie-Wagon Pete approvingly. “An’ when these here +dynamite gools is the kind of murderers they is, an’ me and Joe is +expectin’ to be murdered by them any minute, it makes Joe nervous to +be follered an’ spied on, don’t it, Joe?”</p> + +<p>“You bet,” said Joe. “I’m liable to turn an’ maller up anybody I see +sneakin’ on me. I can’t take chances.”</p> + +<p>“So you won’t interfere with Joe in the pursoot <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_78" id="Page_78">[Pg 78]</a></span>of his dooty no more, +will you, Gubby?” said Pie-Wagon Pete.</p> + +<p>“I don’t aim to interfere with nobody, Peter,” said Philo Gubb. “I +just want to pursoo my own dooty, as I see it. I won’t foller Mr. +Henry no more, if he don’t like it; but I got a dooty to do, as a full +graduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency’s Correspondence School +of Deteckating. I got to do my level best to catch them dynamiters +myself.”</p> + +<p>Joe Henry frowned, and Pie-Wagon Pete shook his head.</p> + +<p>“If you’ll take my advice, Gubby,” he said, “you’ll drop that case +right here an’ now. You don’t know what dangerous characters them +gools are. If they start to get you—”</p> + +<p>“You want to read that book—‘The Pale Avengers’—I just gave you,” +said Billy Getz, “and then you’ll know more.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I won’t interfere with you, Mr. Henry,” said Philo Gubb. “But +I’ll do my dooty as I see it. Fear don’t frighten me. The first words +in Lesson One is these: ‘The deteckative must be a man devoid of +fear.’ I can’t go back on that. If them gools want to kill me, I can’t +object. Deteckating is a dangerous employment, and I know it.”</p> + +<p>He went out and closed the door.</p> + +<p>“There,” said Pie-Wagon Pete. “Ain’t that better than beatin’ him up?”</p> + +<p>“Maybe,” said Joe Henry grudgingly. “Chances are—he’s such a +dummy—he’ll go right ahead <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_79" id="Page_79">[Pg 79]</a></span>follerin’ me. He needs a good scare +thrown into him.”</p> + +<p>Billy Getz slid from his stool and ran his hands deep into his +pockets, jingling a few coins and a bunch of keys.</p> + +<p>“Want me to scare him?” he asked pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Say! You can do it, too!” said Joe Henry eagerly. “You’re the feller +that can kid him to death. Go ahead. If you do, I’ll give you a case +of Six Star. Ain’t that so, Pete?”</p> + +<p>“Absolutely,” said Pie-Wagon.</p> + +<p>“That’s a bet,” said Billy Getz pleasantly. “Leave it to the Kidders.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb went straight to his room at the Widow Murphy’s, and having +taken off his shoes and coat, leaned back in his chair with his feet +on the bed, and opened “The Pale Avengers.” He had never before read a +dime novel, and this opened a new world to him. He read breathlessly. +The style of the story was somewhat like this:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>The picture on the wall swung aside and Detective Brown +stared into the muzzles of two revolvers and the sharp eyes +of the youngest of the Pale Avengers. A thrill of horror +swept through the detective. He felt his doom was at hand. +But he did not cringe.</p> + +<p>“Your time has come!” said the Avenger.</p> + +<p>“Be not too sure,” said Detective Brown haughtily.</p> + +<p>“Are you ready to die?”</p> + +<p>“Ever ready!”</p> + +<p>The detective extended his hand toward the table, on which +his revolver lay. A cruel laugh greeted him. It <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_80" id="Page_80">[Pg 80]</a></span>was the +last human voice he was to hear. As if by magic the floor +under his feet gave way. Down, down, down, a thousand feet +he was precipitated. He tried to grasp the well-like walls +of masonry, but in vain. Nothing could stay him. As he +plunged into the deep water of the oubliette a fiendish +laugh echoed in his ears. The Pale Avengers had destroyed +one more of their adversaries.</p></div> + +<p>Until he read this thrilling tale, Philo Gubb had not guessed the +fiendishness of malefactors when brought to bay, and yet here it was +in black and white. The oubliette—a dark, dank dungeon hidden beneath +the ground—was a favorite method of killing detectives, it seemed. +Generally speaking, the oubliette seemed to be the prevailing fashion +in vengeful murder. Sometimes the bed sank into the oubliette; +sometimes the floor gave way and cast the victim into the oubliette; +sometimes the whole room sank slowly into the oubliette; but death for +the victim always lurked in the pit.</p> + +<p>Before getting into bed Philo Gubb examined the walls, the floor, and +the ceiling of his room. They seemed safe and secure, but twice during +the night he awoke with a cry, imagining himself sinking through the +floor.</p> + +<p>Three nights later, as Philo Gubb stood in the dark doorway of the +Willcox Building waiting to pick up any suspicious character, Billy +Getz slipped in beside him and drew him hastily to the back of the +entry.</p> + +<p>“Hush! Not a word!” he whispered. “Did you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_81" id="Page_81">[Pg 81]</a></span>see a man in the window +across the street? The third window on the top floor?”</p> + +<p>“No,” whispered Philo Gubb. “Was—was there one?”</p> + +<p>“With a rifle!” whispered Billy Getz. “Ready to pick you off. Come! It +is suicide for you to try to go out the front way now. Follow me; I +have news for you. Step quietly!”</p> + +<p>He led the paper-hanger through the back corridor to the open air and +up the outside back stairs to the third floor and into the building. +He tapped lightly on a door and it was opened the merest crack.</p> + +<p>“Friends,” whispered Billy Getz, and the door opened wide and admitted +them.</p> + +<p>The room was the club-room of the Kidders, where they gathered night +after night to play cards and drink illicit whiskey. Green shades over +which were hung heavy curtains protected the windows. A large, round +table stood in the middle of the floor under the gas-lights; a couch +was in one corner of the room; and these, with the chairs and a +formless heap in a far corner, over which a couch-cover was thrown, +constituted all the furniture, except for the iron cuspidors. Here the +young fellows came for their sport, feeling safe from intrusion, for +the possession of whiskey was against the law. There was a fine of +five hundred dollars—one half to the informer—for the misdemeanor of +having whiskey in one’s possession, but the Kidders had no fear. They +knew each other.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_82" id="Page_82">[Pg 82]</a></span></p><p>For the moment the cards were put away and the couch-cover hid the +four cases of Six Star that represented the club’s stock of liquor. +The five young men already in the room were sitting around the table.</p> + +<p>“Sit down, Detective Gubb,” said Billy Getz. “Here we are safe. Here +we may talk freely. And we have something big to talk to-night.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb moved a chair to the table. He had to push one of the +cuspidors aside to make room, and as he pushed it with his foot he saw +an oblong of paper lying in it among the sand and cigar stubs. It was +a Six Star whiskey label. He turned his head from it with his +bird-like twist of the neck and let his eyes rest on Billy Getz.</p> + +<p>“We know who dynamited those houses!” said Billy Getz suddenly. “Do +you know Jack Harburger?”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Philo Gubb. “I don’t know him.”</p> + +<p>“Well, we do,” said Billy Getz. “He’s the slickest ever. He was the +boss of the gang. Read this!”</p> + +<p>He slid a sheet of note-paper across to Philo Gubb, and the detective +read it slowly:—</p> + +<p class="center">Billy: Send me five hundred dollars quick. I’ve got to get +away from here.<span class="right3">J. H.</span></p> + +<p>“And we made him our friend,” said Billy Getz resentfully. “Why, he +was here the night of the dynamiting—wasn’t he, boys?”</p> + +<p>“He sure was,” said the Kidders.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_83" id="Page_83">[Pg 83]</a></span></p><p>“Now, he’s nothing to us,” said Billy Getz. “Now, what do you say, +Detective Gubb? If we fix it so you can grab him, will you split the +reward with us?”</p> + +<p>“Half for you and half for me?” asked Philo Gubb, his eyes as big as +poker chips.</p> + +<p>“Three thousand for you and two for us, was what we figured was fair,” +said Billy Getz. “You ought to have the most. You put in your +experience and your education in detective work.”</p> + +<p>“And that ought to be worth something,” admitted Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>So it was agreed. They explained to Philo Gubb that Jack Harburger was +the son of old Harburger of the Harburger House at Derlingport, and +that they could count on the clerk of that hotel to help them. Billy +Getz would go up and get things ready, and the next day Philo Gubb +would appear at the hotel—in disguise, of course—and do his part. +The clerk would give him a room next to Jack Harburger’s room, and see +that there was a hidden opening in the partition; and Billy Getz, +pretending he was bringing the money, would wring a full confession +from Jack Harburger. Then Philo Gubb need only step into the room and +snap the handcuffs on Jack Harburger and collect the reward.</p> + +<p>They shook hands all ’round, finally, and Billy Getz went to the +window to see that no ghoul was lurking in the street, ready to murder +Philo Gubb when he went out. As he turned away from the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_84" id="Page_84">[Pg 84]</a></span>window the +toe of his shoe caught in the fringe of the couch-cover and dragged it +partially from the odd-shaped pile in the corner. With a quick sweep +of his hand Billy Getz replaced the cover, but not before Philo Gubb +had seen the necks of a full case of bottles and had caught the glint +of the label on one of them, bearing the six silver stars, like that +in the cuspidor. Billy Getz cast a quick glance at the Correspondence +School detective’s face, but Philo Gubb, his head well back on his +stiff neck, was already gazing at the door.</p> + +<p>Two days later Philo Gubb, with his telescope valise in his hand, +boarded the morning train for Derlingport. The river was on one of its +“rampages” and the water came close to the tracks. Here and there, on +the way to Derlingport, the water was over the tracks, and in many +places the wagon-road, which followed the railway, was completely +swamped, and the passing vehicles sank in the muddy water to their +hubs. The year is still known as the “year of the big flood.” In +Riverbank the water had flooded the Front Street cellars, and in +Derlingport the sewers had backed up, flooding the entire lower part +of the town.</p> + +<p>When the train reached Derlingport Philo Gubb, with his telescope +valise, which contained his twelve Correspondence School lessons, “The +Pale Avengers,” a pair of handcuffs, his revolver, and three extra +disguises, walked toward the Harburger House. He was already +thoroughly disguised, wearing <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_85" id="Page_85">[Pg 85]</a></span>a coal-black beard and a red mustache +and an iron-gray wig with long hair. Luckily he passed no one. With +that disguise he would have drawn an immense crowd. Nothing like it +had ever been seen on the streets of Derlingport—or elsewhere, for +that matter.</p> + +<p>A full block away Philo Gubb saw the sign of the hotel, and he +immediately became cautious, as a detective should. He crossed the +street and observed the exits. There was a main entrance on the +corner, a “Ladies’ Entrance” at the side, and an entrance to what had +once been the bar-room. From the fire-escape one could drop to the +street without great injury.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb noted all these, and then walked to the alley. There were +two doors opening on the alley—one a cook’s door, and the other +evidently leading to the cellar. At the latter a dray stood, and as +Philo Gubb paused there, two men came from this door and laid a bale +of hay on the dray, pushing it forward carefully. They did not toss it +carelessly onto the dray but slid it onto the dray. And the hay was +wet. Moreover, the two men were two of Joe Henry’s men, and that was +odd. It was odd that Joe Henry should send a dray the full thirty +miles to Derlingport to get a load of wet hay, when he could get all +the dry hay he wanted in Riverbank. But it did not impress Philo Gubb. +He hurried to the main entrance of the hotel, and entered.</p> + +<p>The lobby of the Harburger House was large, and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_86" id="Page_86">[Pg 86]</a></span>gloomy in its +old-fashioned black-walnut woodwork. Except for one man sitting at a +desk by the window and writing industriously, and the clerk behind the +counter, the lobby was untenanted. To the left a huge stairway led to +the gloom above, for the hotel boasted no elevator except the huge +“baggage lift,” which had been put in in the palmy days of the house, +when the great river packets were still a business factor.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb walked across the lobby to the clerk’s desk. The +industrious penman by the window glanced over his shoulder. He looked +more like a hotel clerk than like a traveling salesman, but Philo Gubb +gave this no thought. The clerk behind the desk put his fingers on his +lips.</p> + +<p>“Sh!” he whispered. “Are you Detective Gubb? Good! I’ve been expecting +you. Have you a gun?”</p> + +<p>“In my telescope case,” whispered Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Take this one,” said the clerk, handing the paper-hanger-detective a +glittering revolver. “Be careful. Come—I’ll show you the room.”</p> + +<p>He came from behind the desk and picked up Philo Gubb’s telescope +valise and led the way up the dingy stairway. Luckily for Billy Getz’s +great practical joke, Philo Gubb had never seen Jack Harburger, or he +would have recognized him in the plump little man carrying his +telescope valise. Up three flights of dark stairs, Jack Harburger led +Philo Gubb, and at the landing of the fourth floor he stopped.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo5" id="Illo5"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 373px;"> +<img src="images/i095.jpg" class="ispace" width="373" height="500" alt="“THESE HERE IS FALSE WHISKERS AND HAIR”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“THESE HERE IS FALSE WHISKERS AND HAIR”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_87" id="Page_87">[Pg 87]</a></span></p><p>“You were taking a risk—a big risk—coming undisguised,” he said.</p> + +<p>“But I am disguised,” said Philo Gubb. “These here is false whiskers +and hair.”</p> + +<p>“What!” exclaimed Jack Harburger. “Wonderful work! A splendid make-up, +detective! You fooled me with it, and I was on my guard. You’ll do. +Bend down like an old man. That’s it! Now, listen: I have cut a hole +through the wall from your room into Jack’s. You can hear every word +he speaks. Have you pencil and paper? Good! Jot down every word you +hear. And don’t make a sound. If you are discovered—well, they’re a +desperate gang. Come!”</p> + +<p>He led the way through a long, dark corridor that turned and twisted. +At the extreme end he stopped, put down the telescope valise, and drew +a key from his pocket.</p> + +<p>“That’s Jack’s room,” he breathed softly, “and you go in here. Sorry +it isn’t a better room. We had to use it, and you won’t be here long, +anyway.”</p> + +<p>He opened the door. It was a large door that swung outward, and it +occupied one half of one side of the room. The floor of the room was +carpeted, and the walls were papered, as was the ceiling. There was no +window, but an electric light burned in the center of the ceiling. +Across the far side of the room stood a narrow iron bed, with a small +bureau beside it. Jack Harburger pointed to a hole in the wall-paper.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_88" id="Page_88">[Pg 88]</a></span></p><p>“That’s your ear-hole,” he whispered, and Philo Gubb stepped into the +room. Instantly the door slammed behind him, the key turned in the +lock, and he heard a heavy iron bar clank as it fell into place +outside. He was a prisoner, caught like a rat in a trap, and he knew +it! He threw himself against the door, but it did not give. The +electric light above his head went dark. He put out his hand, and the +wall gave slightly. He drew the revolver and waited, dreading what +might next occur. He heard soft footsteps outside the door, and, +raising the revolver, pulled the trigger. The trigger snapped +harmlessly. He had been tricked, tricked all around.</p> + +<p>“Is the oubliette prepared?” whispered a voice outside.</p> + +<p>“All ready for him. Twelve feet of water. He’ll drown like a rat.”</p> + +<p>“Good. A slow death, like a rat in a trap—like we served the other +two. Then get rid of his body the same way.”</p> + +<p>“A stone on it, and the river?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. They never come up again.”</p> + +<p>The voices died away along the corridor, and Philo Gubb was left in +utter silence. Oubliette! The fate of the detectives of “The Pale +Avengers” was to be his! Suddenly the room began to quiver. The floor +and the walls trembled and creaked, and Philo Gubb threw himself once +more against the door. He shouted and beat upon it with his hands. +Inch <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_89" id="Page_89">[Pg 89]</a></span>by inch, creaking and swaying, the room glided downward. The +door seemed to glide upward beyond the ceiling, giving place to a +solid wall. He turned and beat on the side of the room, and it gave +forth a hollow sound. As he moved, the room swayed under his feet. He +was doomed!</p> + +<p>Alone in the darkness, his fear suddenly gave way to a feeling of +pride. He was dangerous enough, then, to be thought worthy of death? +His last drop of doubt oozed out of his mind. He was—he must be—a +great detective, or such means would not have been taken to get rid of +him. He felt a sort of calm joy in this. His murderers knew his +prowess.</p> + +<p>Locked in the room, going down to certain death, he exulted. And if he +was as great as all that, it could not be that his position was +hopeless. Time and again Carl Carroll, the Boy Detective, had been in +equally precarious positions, but in the end he had brought the Pale +Avengers low. And what a boy, untrained, could do, a graduate of the +Rising Sun Correspondence School of Detecting ought to be able to do! +He drew his knife from his pocket and cut into the wall-paper of the +side wall.</p> + +<p>Being a paper-hanger, the first touch of his hand against the side +wall had told him the wall-paper was pasted on canvas and not on a +solid wall, and now he ripped the canvas away. The wall was of rough +boards, scarred and marred. The opposite wall was the same. He kneeled +on the bed and tried the rear wall. He felt the plastered wall gliding +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_90" id="Page_90">[Pg 90]</a></span>upward. He stood on the bed and ripped the canvas ceiling away.</p> + +<p>As he ripped the ceiling away, light entered the cage from a dirty +skylight far above. Just over his head a heavy iron grating covered +the cage, barring him in, but high up he could see the great drum, +from which the cable slowly unwound as the car descended. He was in an +elevator, but this knowledge gave him small comfort. Cage, room, or +elevator—call it what he chose—it was relentlessly descending into +the flooded cellar. He watched the drum with fascinated eyes, as the +wire cable unwound itself. He lay back on the bed, his feet hanging to +the floor, and stared upward. He could not take his eyes from the +revolving drum. It was like a clock, marking the moments he still had +to live.</p> + +<p>But suddenly he was galvanized into action. Over his feet something +cold ran, making him jerk them from the floor. It was the water of the +oubliette, and he gazed on it with horror as it rose, inch by inch, +toward him. Slowly, as the car dropped, the water crept up. It reached +the first drawer of the small bureau. It crept up to the side rails of +the bed. It wet the mattress—and still it rose. He stood on the bed +and grasped the iron grating above his head.</p> + +<p>“Stop!” whispered a voice above his head, and the creaking cage +stopped.</p> + +<p>“Gubb! Detective Gubb!” whispered the voice, and Philo Gubb looked +upward. “Listen, Detective <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_91" id="Page_91">[Pg 91]</a></span>Gubb,” said the voice. “One touch of my +hand on the lever, and you will be dropped beneath the waters, never +to appear again, except dead. One only chance remains for your life, +and, blackened with crime though we are, we offer you that chance. If +you will swear to leave the State, never to return, we will spare you. +What say you, Philo Gubb?”</p> + +<p>It was an offer no mortal could refuse. Life, after all, is sweet. +Philo Gubb, the relentless Correspondence School detective, opened his +mouth, but as he turned his head upward, he closed it again and licked +his lips twice.</p> + +<p>“No, durn ye!” he shouted angrily. “I won’t never do no such thing!”</p> + +<p>There was a hurried whispering of many voices above him.</p> + +<p>“Think well,” said the voice again. “We will give you until midnight +to reconsider your rashness. Until midnight, Detective Gubb!”</p> + +<p>“You can’t scare <i>me</i>!” shouted Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Until midnight!” repeated the voice, and then there was silence.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb immediately drew his heavy pocket-knife from his pocket and +began cutting out one of the panels of the door that shut him in on +one side. He did not work hurriedly. He was not at all frightened. +Looking up, he had seen the drum, and there was no more cable on the +drum to be unwound. The car could descend no farther. His feet were as +wet as they could get. Unless the river rose to unbelievable <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_92" id="Page_92">[Pg 92]</a></span>height, +he could not be drowned in the makeshift oubliette, unless he +voluntarily lay down in the shallow water and inhaled it. He worked on +the panel slowly, but with the earnestness of a very angry victim of a +hoax. The panel fell outward with a splash, and floated away. Philo +Gubb bent sideways and squeezed out of the small opening into the +cellar.</p> + +<p>The huge cellar was dusky in the dim light that entered through the +cobwebbed panes, high in the wall. It was an immense place, and now +knee-deep in water, except for a gangway of boards laid on low +trestles, which led from one side of the cellar to the cellar door. +There were coal-bins and vegetable-bins, like watery bays leading from +the general cellar sea, and—strange appliance to discover in a hotel +cellar—a small hay-baling press stood on an extemporized platform +against one wall, and alongside it, on a long table, such as are seen +in factories, bales of hay, some complete and some torn open—and +cases! The cases were labeled “Blue River Canned Tomatoes,” but one, +split across the end, gave evidence that their contents were not +canned tomatoes at all. Through the crack in the case glittered the +six silver stars of the Six Star whiskey. There were twenty-six of the +cases.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb waded to the raised gangway and walked to the cellar door. +It was double-barred on the inside, and he lifted the bars cautiously +and stepped into the alley, closing the door carefully <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_93" id="Page_93">[Pg 93]</a></span>behind him. He +pulled his false whiskers and wig from his face and stuffed them in +his pockets and hurried down the alley.</p> + +<p>When he returned, Billy Getz, Jack Harburger, and six of the Kidders +were holding high revel in the closed bar-room of the Harburger House, +but they all fell silent when the door opened and the Sheriff of +Derling County entered, with Philo Gubb and three deputies in company. +It was evident that the Sheriff did not consider Philo Gubb a joke.</p> + +<p>“Search-warrant, Jack,” he said to Harburger. “Detective Gubb, of +Riverbank, has been doing some sleuthing in your hotel, he says. We +want to have a look at the cellar.”</p> + +<p>The next morning the “Riverbank Eagle” was full of Philo Gubb again. +Through the superb acumen of that wonderful detective, three stores of +whiskey had been discovered and confiscated—one in the cellar of the +Harburger House at Derlingport; one in Joe Henry’s stable at +Riverbank; and a smaller one in the room in the Willcox Building +frequented by the “Kidders.”</p> + +<p>“How I done it?” said Philo Gubb to one of his admirers. “I done it +like a deteckative does it—a deteckative that wants to detect—picks +up some feller that looks suspicious-like, like it says in Lesson +Four, Rule Four. And then he shadows and trails him, like it says in +Lesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen. And then somethin’s bound to +happen.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_94" id="Page_94">[Pg 94]</a></span></p><p>“But how can you tell what’s goin’ to happen?” asked his admirer.</p> + +<p>“Well, sir,” said Philo Gubb, “that’s the beauty of the deteckative +business. You don’t ever know what’s goin’ to happen until it +happens.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_95" id="Page_95">[Pg 95]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_UN-BURGLARS" id="THE_UN-BURGLARS"></a>THE UN-BURGLARS</h2> + +<p>Although Detective Gubb’s experience with the oubliette-elevator did +not lead to the detection of the dynamiters for whom a reward of five +thousand dollars was offered, it resulted in the payment to him of one +half of three fines of five hundred dollars for each of the three +stores of whiskey he had unearthed. With this money, amounting to +seven hundred and fifty dollars, Mr. Gubb went to the home of Jonas +Medderbrook and paid that gentleman the entire amount.</p> + +<p>“That there payment,” Mr. Gubb said, “deducted from what I owe onto +them shares of Perfectly Worthless Gold-Mine Stock—”</p> + +<p>“The name of the mine, if you please, is Utterly Hopeless and not +Perfectly Worthless,” said Mr. Medderbrook severely.</p> + +<p>“Just so,” said Mr. Gubb apologetically. “You must excuse me, Mr. +Medderbrook. I ain’t no expert onto gold-mines’ names and, offhand, +them two names seem about the same to me. But my remark was to be that +the indebtedness of the liability I now owe you is only thirteen +thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars.”</p> + +<p>“And the sooner you get it paid up the better it will suit me,” said +Mr. Medderbrook.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Gubb, and hesitated. Then, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_96" id="Page_96">[Pg 96]</a></span>assuming an air of +little concern, he asked: “It ain’t likely to suppose we’ve had any +word from Miss Syrilla, is it, Mr. Medderbrook?”</p> + +<p>For answer Mr. Medderbrook went to his desk and brought Mr. Gubb a +telegram. It was from Syrilla. It said:—</p> + +<p class="center">Eating no potatoes, drinking no water. Have lost eight +pounds. Kind love to Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“She’s wore herself down to nine hundred and ninety-two pounds, +according to that,” said Mr. Gubb. “She has only got to wear off two +hundred and ninety-two pounds more before Mr. Dorgan will discharge +her away from the side-show.”</p> + +<p>“And at the rate she is wearing herself away,” said Mr. Medderbrook, +“that will be in about ten years! What interests me more is that the +telegram came collect and cost me forty cents. If you want to do the +square thing, Mr. Gubb, you’ll pay me twenty cents for your share of +that telegram.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb immediately gave Mr. Medderbrook twenty cents and Mr. +Medderbrook kindly allowed him to keep the telegram. Mr. Gubb placed +it in the pocket nearest his heart and proceeded to a house on Tenth +Street where he had a job of paper-hanging.</p> + +<p>At about this same time Smith Wittaker, the Riverbank Marshal—or +Chief of Police, as he would have been called in a larger +city—knocked the ashes from his pipe against the edge of his +much-whittled desk in the dingy Marshal’s room on the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_97" id="Page_97">[Pg 97]</a></span>ground floor of +the City Hall, and grinned at Mr. Griscom, one of Riverbank’s +citizens.</p> + +<p>“Well, I don’t know,” he said with a grin. “I don’t know but what I’d +be glad to be un-burgled like that. I guess it was just somebody +playing a joke on you.”</p> + +<p>“If it was,” said Mr. Griscom, “I am ready to do a little joking +myself. I’m just enough of a joker to want to see whoever it was in +jail. My house is my house—it is my castle, as the saying is—and I +don’t want strangers wandering in and out of it, whether they come to +take away my property, or leave property that is not mine. Is there, +or is there not, a law against such things as happened at my house?”</p> + +<p>“Oh, there’s a law all right,” said Marshal Wittaker. “It’s burglary, +whether the burglar breaks into your house or breaks out of it. How do +you know he broke out?”</p> + +<p>“Well, my wife and I went to the Riverbank Theater last night,” said +Mr. Griscom, “and when I got home and went to put the key in the +keyhole, there was another key in it. Here are the two keys.”</p> + +<p>Marshal Wittaker took the two keys and examined them. One was an old +doorkey, much worn, and the other a new key, evidently the work of an +amateur key-maker.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Marshal Wittaker, when he had examined the keys. +“This new one was made out of an old spoon. Go ahead.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_98" id="Page_98">[Pg 98]</a></span></p><p>“We never had a key like that in the house,” said Mr. Griscom. “But +when we reached home last night, this nickel-silver key was sticking +in the lock of the front door, on the outside, and the door was +unlocked and standing ajar.”</p> + +<p>“Just as if some one had gone in at the front door and left it +unlocked,” said Mr. Wittaker.</p> + +<p>“Exactly!” said Mr. Griscom. “So the first thing we thought was +‘Burglars!’ and the first place my wife looked was the sideboard, in +the dining-room, and there—”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Wittaker. “There, on the sideboard, were a dozen solid +silver spoons you had never seen before.”</p> + +<p>“And marked with my wife’s initials—understand!” said Mr. Griscom. +“And the cellar window—the one on the east side of the house—had +been broken out of.”</p> + +<p>“Why not broken into?” asked the Marshal.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m not quite a fool,” said Mr. Griscom with some heat. “I know +because of the marks his jimmy made on the sill.”</p> + +<p>“Some one has been playing a joke on you,” said Mr. Wittaker. “You +wait, and you’ll see. You won’t be offended if I ask you a question?”</p> + +<p>“My wife knows no more about it than I do,” said Mr. Griscom hotly.</p> + +<p>“Now, now,” said Mr. Wittaker soothingly. “I didn’t mean that. What +are your own spoons, solid or plated?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_99" id="Page_99">[Pg 99]</a></span></p><p>“Plated,” said Mr. Griscom.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Wittaker, “there’s where to look for the joke. Try to +think who would consider it a joke to send you solid silver spoons.”</p> + +<p>“Billy Getz!” exclaimed Mr. Griscom, mentioning the town joker.</p> + +<p>“That’s the man I had in mind,” said Mr. Wittaker. “Now, I guess you +can handle this alone, Mr. Griscom.”</p> + +<p>“I guess I can,” agreed Mr. Griscom. And he went out.</p> + +<p>The Marshal chuckled.</p> + +<p>“Un-burgled!” he said to himself. “That’s a new one for sure! That’s +the sort of burglary to set Philo Gubb, the un-detective, on.”</p> + +<p>He was still grinning as he went out, but he tried to hide the grin +when he met Billy Getz on Main Street. Billy uttered a hasty “Can’t +stop now, Wittaker!” but the head of the Riverbank police grasped his +arm.</p> + +<p>“What’s your rush? I’ve got some fun for you,” said Wittaker.</p> + +<p>“Some other time,” said Billy. “I just borrowed this from Doc Mortimer +and promised to take it back quick.”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” asked the Marshal, gazing at the curious affair Billy +had in his hands. It looked very much like a coffeepot, and on the lid +was a wheel, like a small tin windmill. Just below the lid, and above +the spout, was a hole as large as a dime.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_100" id="Page_100">[Pg 100]</a></span></p><p>“Lung-tester,” said Billy, trying to pull away. “Let me go, will you, +Wittaker? I’m in a hurry. Just borrowed it to settle a bet with Sam +Simmons. I show two pounds more lung pressure than he does. Twenty-six +pounds.”</p> + +<p>“You?” scoffed Wittaker. “I bet I can show twenty-eight, if you can +show twenty-six.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, well! I suppose I can’t get away until baby tries the new toy. +But hurry up, will you?”</p> + +<p>The Marshal put his lips to the spout and blew. Instantly, from the +hole under the lid, a great cloud of flour shot out, covering his face +and head, and deluging his garments. From up and down the street came +shouts of joy, and the Marshal, brushing at his face, grinned.</p> + +<p>“One on me, Billy,” he said, good-naturedly, patting the flour out of +his hair, “and just when I was coming to put you onto some fun, too. +What do you know about the Griscom un-burglary?”</p> + +<p>“Not a thing!” Billy said. “Tell me.”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t expect you would know anything about it,” said the Marshal +with a wink. “But how about putting Correspondence School Detective +Gubb onto the job?”</p> + +<p>“Fine!” said Billy. “Tell me what the un-burgled Griscom thing is, and +I’ll do the rest.”</p> + +<p>Billy found Philo Gubb at work in the house on Tenth Street, hanging +paper on the second floor, and the lank detective looked at Billy +solemnly as the story of the Griscom affair was explained to him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_101" id="Page_101">[Pg 101]</a></span></p><p>“When I started in takin’ lessons from the Rising Sun Deteckative +Agency’s Correspondence School of Deteckating,” said Mr. Gubb +solemnly, “I aimed to do a strictly retail business in deteckating, +and let the wholesale alone.”</p> + +<p>“Seeing that you learned by mail,” said Billy Getz, “I should think +you’d be better fitted to do a mail-order business.”</p> + +<p>“Them terms of retail and wholesale is my own,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“You don’t believe anybody would un-burgle a house, I guess,” said +Billy.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I do,” Philo Gubb said. “A fellow can tie a knot, or he can +un-tie it, can’t he? He can hitch a horse, or he can un-hitch it. And +if a man can burgle, he can un-burgle. A mercenary burglar would +naturally burgle things out of a house after he had burgled himself +in, but a generous-hearted burglar would just as naturally un-burgle +things into a house and then un-burgle himself out. That stands to +reason.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it does,” said Billy Getz. “And I knew you would see it +that way.”</p> + +<p>“I see things reasonable,” said Philo Gubb. “But I guess I won’t take +up the case; un-burgling ain’t no common crime. It ain’t mentioned in +the twelve lessons I got from the Rising Sun Correspondence School. I +wouldn’t hardly know how to go about catching an un-burglar—”</p> + +<p>“Just do the opposite from what it says to do to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_102" id="Page_102">[Pg 102]</a></span>catch a burglar,” +said Billy Getz. “Common sense would tell you that, wouldn’t it? But, +listen, Mr. Gubb: I’d let Wittaker catch his own burglars. The reason +I ask you to take this case is because I know you have a good heart.”</p> + +<p>“It’s good, but it’s hard,” said Philo Gubb. “A deteckative has to +have a hard heart.”</p> + +<p>“All right! Here is this man, un-burgling houses. For all we know he +is honest and upright,” said Billy Getz. “He continues un-burgling +houses. The habit grows. Each house he un-burgles tempts him to +un-burgle two. Each set of spoons he leaves in a house tempts him to +leave two sets in the next house, or four sets, or a solid silver +punch-bowl. In a short time he wipes out his little fortune. He +borrows. He begs. At last he steals! In order to un-burgle one house +he burgles another. He leads a dual life, a sort of Jekyll-Hyde +life—”</p> + +<p>“But what if I caught him?” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Oh, you won’t catch—I mean, we will leave that to you. Frighten him +out of the un-burgling habit. I’ll tell Marshal Wittaker you will get +on the trail?”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Philo Gubb. “I feel sorry for the feller. Maybe he’s +lettin’ his wife and children suffer for food whilst he un-burgles +away his substance.”</p> + +<p>“Then,” said Billy Getz, taking up his lung-tester, “suppose you stop +in at the Marshal’s office to-night at eight-thirty. Wittaker will +tell you all about it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_103" id="Page_103">[Pg 103]</a></span></p><p>Philo Gubb waited until Billy was well out of the house, and then he +said: “He done it, and I know he done it, and he done it to make a +fool out of me, but I guess I owe Billy Getz a scare, and if I can +prove that un-burglary onto him, he’ll get the scare all right!”</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb, when it was time to go to the Marshal’s office, pinned +his large nickel-plated star on his vest, put three false beards in +his pocket, and went.</p> + +<p>The Marshal received him cordially. Billy Getz was there.</p> + +<p>“You understand,” said Wittaker, “I have nothing to do with putting +you on this case. But I want to ask you to report to me every +evening.”</p> + +<p>“I could write out a docket,” said Philo Gubb. “That’s what them +French deteckatives did always.”</p> + +<p>“Good idea!” said Wittaker. “Write out a docket, and bring it in every +night. Now, I’ll go over this Griscom case, so you’ll understand how +to go at it. Here, for instance, is the house—”</p> + +<p>The clock on the Marshal’s desk marked ten before they were aware. +Billy had arisen from his chair, for he had a poker game waiting for +him at the Kidders’ Club, when the telephone bell rang. The Marshal +drew the ’phone toward him.</p> + +<p>“Yes!” he said, into the telephone. “Yes, this is Marshal Wittaker. +Mr. Millbrook? Yes, I know—765 Locust Avenue. Broken into? What? Oh, +broken out of! While you were out at dinner. Yes. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_104" id="Page_104">[Pg 104]</a></span>Opened the front +door with a key. Yes. What kind of a key, Mr. Millbrook? Thin, +nickel-silver key. Nothing taken? What’s that? Left a dozen solid +silver spoons engraved with your wife’s initials? I see. And broke out +through a cellar window. Yes, I understand. No, it doesn’t seem +possible, but such things have happened. I’ll send—”</p> + +<p>He looked around, but Philo Gubb, who had heard the name and address, +was already gone.</p> + +<p>“I’ll attend to it at once,” he concluded, and hung up the receiver. +He turned to Billy Getz. “Billy,” he said severely, “is this another +of your jokes?”</p> + +<p>“Wittaker,” said Billy, “I give you my word I had nothing to do with +this.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll believe you,” said Wittaker rather reluctantly. “I thought +it was you. Who do you suppose is trying to take the honor of town +cut-up from you?”</p> + +<p>“I can’t imagine,” said Billy. “Are you going to leave the thing in +Gubb’s hands?”</p> + +<p>“That mail-order detective? Not much! It is getting serious. I’ll send +Purcell up to look the ground over. A man can’t make nickel-silver +keys, and break out of houses and leave engraved spoons and forks +around without leaving plenty of traces. We’ll have the man to-morrow, +and give him a good scare.”</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb in the meanwhile had gone directly to Mr. Millbrook’s +un-burgled house at 765 Locust Avenue. Mr. Millbrook, a short, stout +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_105" id="Page_105">[Pg 105]</a></span>man with a husky voice that gurgled when he was excited, opened the +door.</p> + +<p>“I’m Deteckative Gubb, of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency’s +Correspondence School of Deteckating, come to see about your +un-burglary,” said Philo Gubb, opening his coat to show his badge. +“This is a most peculiar case.”</p> + +<p>“I never heard anything like it in my life!” gurgled Mr. Millbrook. +“Didn’t take a thing. Left a dozen spoons. Came in at the front door +and broke out through the cellar window.”</p> + +<p>“How long have you been married?” asked Mr. Gubb, seating himself on +the edge of a chair and drawing out a notebook and pencil.</p> + +<p>“Married? Married? What’s that got to do with it?” asked Mr. +Millbrook. “Twenty years next June, if you want to know.”</p> + +<p>“That makes it a difficult case,” said Philo Gubb. “If you was a bride +and a groom it would be easier, but I guess maybe you can tell me the +names of some of the folks you’ve had to dinner.”</p> + +<p>“Dinner?” gurgled Mr. Millbrook. “Dinner? When?”</p> + +<p>“Since you were married,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“My dear man,” exclaimed Mr. Millbrook, “we’ve had thousands to +dinner! Dining out and giving dinners is our favorite amusement. I +can’t see what you mean. I can’t understand you.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you got plated spoons and forks, ain’t you?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_106" id="Page_106">[Pg 106]</a></span></p><p>“What if we have?” gurgled Mr. Millbrook. “That’s our affair, ain’t +it?”</p> + +<p>“It’s my affair too,” said Detective Gubb. “Mr. Griscom’s house was +un-burgled last night, and he had plated spoons. The un-burglar left +solid ones on him, like he did on you. Now, I reason induc-i-tively, +like Sherlock Holmes. You both got plated spoons. An un-burglar leaves +you solid ones. So he must have known you had plated ones and needed +solid ones. So it must be some one who has had dinner with you.”</p> + +<p>“My dear man,” gurgled Mr. Millbrook, “we never have had a plated +spoon in this house! Who sent you here, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody,” said Philo Gubb. “I come of myself.”</p> + +<p>“Well, you can go of yourself!” gurgled Mr. Millbrook angrily. +“There’s the door. Get out!”</p> + +<p>On his way out Mr. Gubb met Patrolman Purcell coming in.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo6" id="Illo6"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/i116.jpg" class="ispace" width="400" height="390" alt="“WHO SENT YOU HERE, ANYWAY?”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“WHO SENT YOU HERE, ANYWAY?”</span> +</div> + +<p>Detective Gubb, outside the house, examined the cellar window as well +as he could. There was not a mark to be seen from the outside, but a +pansy-bed bore the marks of the un-burglar’s exit. To get out of the +cellar, the un-burglar had had to wiggle himself out of the small +window, and had crushed the pansies flat. Detective Gubb felt +carefully among the crushed pansies, and his hand found something hard +and round. It was the drumstick bone of a chicken’s leg. Detective +Gubb threw it away. Even <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_107" id="Page_107">[Pg 107]</a></span>an un-burglar would not have chosen a chicken’s leg bone as a weapon. +Evidently Billy Getz had not left any clue in the pansy-bed.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb had no doubt that Billy was putting up a joke on him. The +detective decided that his best method would be to shadow Billy Getz +from sundown each day, until he caught him un-burgling another house, +or found something to connect him with the un-burglaries. So he went +home. It was eleven when he began to undress.</p> + +<p>It was then he first realized that the knees of his light trousers +were damp from kneeling in the pansy-bed, and he looked at them +ruefully. The knees were stained like Joseph’s coat of many colors, +and they were his best trousers. He hung them carefully over the back +of his chair, and went to bed.</p> + +<p>The next morning he rolled the trousers in a bundle and took them with +him on his way to his paper-hanging job. On Main Street he stopped at +Frank the Tailor’s—“Pants Cleaned and Pressed, 35 Cents.” He unrolled +the trousers and laid them across the counter.</p> + +<p>“Can you remove those stains?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Oh, sure I couldt!” said Frank. “I make me no droubles by dot, Mister +Gupp. Shust dis morning alretty I didt it der same ding. You fall ofer +der vire too, yes?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly. I expect it was the same wire. Into a flower-bed.”</p> + +<p>“Chess,” said Frank. “Like Misder Vestcote, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_108" id="Page_108">[Pg 108]</a></span>yes? Cudding across der +corner, yes, und didn’t see der vire?”</p> + +<p>“That so?” said Detective Gubb. “You don’t mean old Mr. Westcote, do +you?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, yes!” said Frank. “He falls by der flower-bed in, und stains +his knees alretty, shust like dot. Vell, I have me dese pants retty by +you dis efenings. You vant dem pressed too?”</p> + +<p>“Press ’em, an’ clean ’em, an’ make ’em nice,” said Philo Gubb, and +went out.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo7" id="Illo7"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/i119.jpg" class="ispace" width="400" height="380" alt="UNDER HIS ARM HE CARRIED A SMALL BUNDLE" title="" /> +<span class="caption">UNDER HIS ARM HE CARRIED A SMALL BUNDLE</span> +</div> + +<p>Old John Westcote, and pansy stains on his trouser knees, was it? The +thing seemed impossible, but so did un-burglary, for that matter. Old +John Westcote was one of the richest men in Riverbank. He was a +retired merchant and as mean as sin. He was the last man in Riverbank +any one would suspect of leaving spoons and forks in other people’s +houses. But how did it come that he had pansy stains on the knees of +his trousers? Philo Gubb thought of old John Westcote all day, and +toward night he hit on a solution. Wedding presents! From what he had +heard, old John was—or had been—the sort of man to accept a wedding +invitation, go to the reception and eat his fill, and never send the +bride so much as a black wire hairpin. And now, grown old, his +conscience might be hurting him. He might be in that semi-senile state +when restitution becomes a craze, and the ungiven wedding presents +might press upon his conscience. It was not at all unlikely that he +had chosen the un-burglary method <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_109" id="Page_109">[Pg 109]</a></span>of giving the presents at this late date. The form of the un-burgled +goods—forks and spoons—and the initials engraved upon them, made +this more likely.</p> + +<p>That night Detective Gubb did not report in person or by docket to +Marshal Wittaker. At seven o’clock he was hiding in the hazel brush +opposite old John Westcote’s lonely house on Pottex Lane. At +seven-fifteen the old man tottered from his gate and tottered down the +lane toward the more thickly settled part of the town. Under his arm +he carried a small bundle—a bundle wrapped in newspaper!</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb waited until the old man was well in advance, and then +slipped from the hazel brush and followed him, observing all the rules +for Shadowing and Trailing as taught by the Rising Sun Detective +Agency’s Correspondence School of Detecting. For three hours the old +man wandered the streets. Now he walked along Main Street, peering +anxiously into the faces of the pedestrians, with purblind eyes, and +now walking the residence streets. Detective Gubb kept close behind.</p> + +<p>As ten o’clock struck from the clock in the High School tower, old +John Westcote quickened his steps a little and walked toward the +opposite end of the town, where the lumber-yards are. Down the hill +into the lumber district he walked, and Detective Gubb dodged from +tree to tree. Halfway down the hill the old man hesitated. He glanced +around. At his side was a mass of lilac bushes, seeming <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_110" id="Page_110">[Pg 110]</a></span>strangely out +of place among the huge piles of lumber. Without stopping, the old man +let the bundle slide from under his arm and fall on the walk. For a +moment it lay like a white spot on the walk, and then it moved rapidly +out of sight into the bushes.</p> + +<p>Bundles do not move thus, unless assisted, but Philo Gubb was too far +away to see the hand he knew must have reached out for the bundle. He +ran rapidly, keeping in the sawdust that formed the unfruitful soil of +the lumber-yard, until he dared come no nearer, and then he climbed to +the top of the tallest lumber-pile and lay flat. He commanded every +side of the hillside lumber-yard, and he did not have long to wait. +From the lower side of the yard he saw a black figure emerge, cross +the street and disappear over the bank into the railway switch-yard +below. Mr. Gubb scrambled down and followed.</p> + +<p>At the bank above the switch-yard he paused, keeping in a shadow, and +looked here and there. Flat cars and box cars stood on the tracks in +great numbers, most of them closed and sealed—some partly open. He +heard a car door grate as it was closed. He slipped down the bank and +crept on his hands and knees. He was halfway down the line of cars +when he heard a voice. It came from car 7887, C. B. & Q.</p> + +<p>“Run all the breath out of me,” said the voice in a wheeze.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_111" id="Page_111">[Pg 111]</a></span></p><p>“Well, did you get it?” whispered another voice.</p> + +<p>“Sure I got it! Got something, anyway. Strike a match, Bill, and let’s +see if he put up a job on us. If he did, we’ll blow him up to-morrow +night, hey?”</p> + +<p>“That’s right. We got a can o’ powder left under the pile by the +laylocks. How much is it?”</p> + +<p>“We tol’ him one thousand, didn’t we? Same as he give the Law and +Order to help grab us. Now, listen! You take half of this and go one +way, an’ I’ll take half an’ go the other. We can get away with five +hundred apiece.”</p> + +<p>“And we got the five hundred apiece we got for doin’ the dynamite job, +too. Say, I never thought to have a thousand dollars at once in me +life. What’s that?”</p> + +<p>It was Philo Gubb, slipping the car door latch over the staple and +hammering home the hasp with a rock. It was the engine, backing +against the long row of cars to make a coupling, and then moving +slowly forward toward Derlingport as the heavy train got under way. +The two rascals hammered on the side of the car with their fists. They +swore. They kicked against the doors. Philo Gubb drew himself into the +next open car as the train moved away.</p> + +<p>About the same time, Officer Purcell entered the Marshal’s office, +where Wittaker and Billy Getz sat awaiting the coming of Philo Gubb. +Purcell led John Gutman, the town half-wit.</p> + +<p>“I got him,” he said proudly. “Caught him comin’ out of Sam Wentz’s +cellar window. Says he <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_112" id="Page_112">[Pg 112]</a></span>didn’t mean no harm. Had a dream he was to +leave spoons on all the society folks an’ he’d be invited to all their +parties.”</p> + +<p>“Did he fight you?” asked Wittaker. “Your pants is all stained up.”</p> + +<p>“Fight? No, he wouldn’t fight a sheep. I tripped over a wire fence +cuttin’ a corner an’ fell into a flower-bed. Got Hail Columbia from +the lady, too. She said old man Westcote fell into the flowers +yesterday, and she didn’t mean to have her flower-bed used as no +landin’ place. Heard from Detective Gubb yet?”</p> + +<p>Wittaker grinned. “We ought to hear from him soon. And I reckon he’ll +be worth waiting to hear from.”</p> + +<p>And he was. Word came from him about an hour later. It was a telegram +from the Sheriff of Derling County:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Detective Gubb captured two of the dynamiters to-night. Have +their confession. Arrest Pie-Wagon Pete, Long Sam Underbury, +and Shorty Billings. All implicated.</p></div> + +<p>“An’ the rewards tot up to five thousand dollars,” said Officer +Purcell. “Let’s hustle out an’ nab the other three, an’ maybe we can +split it with Gubb.”</p> + +<p>“And us sitting here thinking we had a joke on him!” exclaimed Marshal +Wittaker with disgust. “It makes me sick!”</p> + +<p>“Well, I feel a little bilious myself,” said Billy Getz.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_113" id="Page_113">[Pg 113]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_TWO-CENT_STAMP" id="THE_TWO-CENT_STAMP"></a>THE TWO-CENT STAMP</h2> + +<p>The house in Tenth Street where Philo Gubb was doing a job of +paper-hanging when he made the happy error of capturing the dynamiters +while seeking the un-burglars was the home of Aunt Martha Turner, a +member of the Ladies’ Temperance League of Riverbank.</p> + +<p>The members of the Ladies’ Temperance League—and Aunt Martha Turner +particularly—had recently begun a movement to have City Attorney +Mullen impeached and thrown out of office, for they claimed that while +he had been elected by the Prohibition-Republican Party, and had +pledged himself to close every saloon, he had not closed one single +saloon. Aunt Martha Turner and her associates believed this was +because Attorney Mullen was himself a drinker of beer, and it was to +get proof of this that the hot-headed ladies had engaged a youth named +Slippery Williams to make a raid on his home.</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb was, however, quite unconscious of all this when he +proceeded to the home of Aunt Martha to complete his work there. He +was in an unhappy frame of mind, for he had in his pocket nothing but +one two-cent stamp and he had immediate need for one hundred dollars.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb had, early that morning, visited the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_114" id="Page_114">[Pg 114]</a></span>home of Mr. +Medderbrook, from whom he hoped to have news of Syrilla, but the +colored butler informed him that Mr. Medderbrook had been called to +Chicago.</p> + +<p>“He done lef word, howsomedever,” said the butler, “dat ef you come +an’ was willin’ to pay thutty cents you could have dis telegraf whut +come from Mis’ Syrilla. An’ he lef dis note fo’ you, whut you can have +whever you pay or not.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb quite willingly gave the negro thirty cents, the very last +money he possessed, and read the telegram. It said:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Hope on, hope ever. Have given up wheat bread, corn bread, +rye bread, home-made bread, bakers’ bread, biscuit and +rolls. Have lost six pounds more. Love to Gubby.</p></div> + +<p>This would have sent Mr. Gubb to his work in a happy frame of mind, +had it not been for the note Mr. Medderbrook had left. This note +said:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Called to Chicago suddenly. I must have one hundred dollars +payment on account of the gold stock immediately. Cannot let +my daughter marry a man who puts off paying for gold stock +forever. Unless I hear from you with money to-morrow, all is +over between us.</p></div> + +<p>Such a letter would have made any lover sad. Mr. Gubb had no idea +where he could raise one hundred dollars during the day and he saw his +promising romance cut short just when Syrilla was beginning to lose +weight handsomely. The greeting he received <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_115" id="Page_115">[Pg 115]</a></span>when he reached Aunt +Martha Turner’s was not of a sort to cheer him. Mrs. Turner met him +with a sour face.</p> + +<p>“No, you can’t go ahead with puttin’ the wall-paper on this kitchen +ceilin’ to-day, Mr. Gubb,” she said.</p> + +<p>“I’d like to, if I could,” said Philo Gubb wistfully. “My financial +condition ain’t such as to allow me to waste a day. I’m very low in a +monetary shape, right now.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Martha Turner seemed worried.</p> + +<p>“Well,” she said reluctantly, “I guess if that’s the case you might as +well go ahead. I expect I’ll have to be out of the house ’most all +day. If you get done before I get back, lock the kitchen door and put +the key behind a shutter.”</p> + +<p>She departed, and Philo Gubb set up his trestle, unrolled and trimmed +a strip of ceiling-paper, pasted it, and climbed his ladder. At the +top he seated himself a moment and shook his head.</p> + +<p>He sighed and picked up the paste-covered strip of ceiling-paper, but +before he could get to his feet the kitchen door opened and “Snooks” +Turner put his head in cautiously.</p> + +<p>“Say, Gubb, where’s Aunt Martha?” he asked in a whisper.</p> + +<p>“She’s gone out,” said Philo Gubb. “She won’t be back for quite some +time, I guess, Snooksy.”</p> + +<p>“Good!” said Snooks, and he entered the kitchen. Some weeks before he +had met Nan Kilfillan. He <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_116" id="Page_116">[Pg 116]</a></span>was deeply in love with Nan, and Nan was a +good girl, although Aunt Martha Turner did not approve of her, because +she was “hired girl” to City Attorney Mullen. Before she had met +Snooks Nan had done her best to “make something” of “Slippery” +Williams, who was courting her then, but that task was beyond even +Nan’s powers.</p> + +<p>Snooks held a job on the “Eagle” as city reporter, with the dignified +title of City Editor, and he was making good. He got the news. He +seemed able to smell news. When there was big news in the air he would +become uneasy and feel nervous.</p> + +<p>“I got the twitches again,” he would say to the editor of the “Eagle.” +“There’s some big item around. I’ve got to get it.” And he would get +it.</p> + +<p>“She’s gone out, has she?” said Snooks, when he had entered his aunt’s +kitchen and asked Philo Gubb about Aunt Martha. “That’s good. I wanted +to see you on a matter of business—detective business.”</p> + +<p>He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small roll of bills. He +was not the usually neat Snooks. One eye was blackened and one side of +his face was scratched. His clothes were badly torn and soiled. He +looked as if some one had tried to murder him.</p> + +<p>“There!” he said, holding the bills up to Philo Gubb after counting +them. “There’s twenty-five dollars. You take that and find out what I +have done, and what’s the matter with me, and all about it.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_117" id="Page_117">[Pg 117]</a></span></p><p>“What do you want me to find out?” asked Mr. Gubb, fondling the bills.</p> + +<p>“If I knew, I wouldn’t ask you,” said Snooks peevishly. “I don’t know +what it is. I’d go and find out myself, but I’m in jail.”</p> + +<p>“Where did you say you was?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“In jail,” said Snooks. “I’m in jail, and I’m in bad. When the marshal +put me in last night I gave him my word I’d stay in all day to-day, +and it ain’t right for me to be here now.</p> + +<p>“‘Dog-gone you, Snooks!’ he says, ‘you ain’t got no consideration for +me at all. Here I figgered that there wouldn’t be no wave of crime +strike town for some days, and I went and took the jail door down to +the blacksmith to have a panel put in where the one rusted out, and my +wife made me promise to drive out to the farm with her to-morrow, and +now you come and spoil everything. I got to stay in town and watch +you.’</p> + +<p>“‘Go on,’ I says, ‘and take your drive. I’ll stay in jail. I got a +strong imagination. I’ll imagine there’s a door.’</p> + +<p>“‘Honor bright?’ he says.</p> + +<p>“‘Yes, honor bright,’ I says.</p> + +<p>“So he went,” said Snooks, “and he’s trusting me, and here I am. You +can see it wouldn’t do for me to be running all over town when, by +rights, I’m locked and barred and bolted in jail. I’m locked and +barred and bolted in jail, and well started on my way to the +penitentiary as a burglar.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_118" id="Page_118">[Pg 118]</a></span></p><p>“As a burglar!” exclaimed Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That’s it!” said Snooks. “I can’t see head or tail of it. You got to +help me out, Gubb. See if you can make any sense of this:—</p> + +<p>“Last night I went out for a walk with Nan. She’s my girl, you know, +and she’s going to marry me. Maybe she won’t now, but she was going +to. She works for Mullen. We got back to Mullen’s house about eleven +o’clock, and Mrs. Mullen always locks the door at half-past ten, +whether Nan is in or not. So, being late, we had to ring the doorbell, +and Mr. Mullen came to the door to let Nan in, and when he saw I was +with her he shook hands with me and asked me to come in and have a +cigar, and sit awhile, but I told him I had to hustle up some news for +to-day’s paper, and he let me go. That’s how pleasant he was. So I +went downtown, and the first fellow I met was Sammy Wilmerton.”</p> + +<p>“Widow Wilmerton’s boy?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Exactly!” said Snooks, feeling his eye with his finger. “And he says, +‘Snooks, did you hear what the Ladies’ Temperance League did last +night?’ I hadn’t heard. ‘I heard ma say,’ says Sammy, ‘but don’t say I +told you. They got up a petition to have City Attorney Mullen +impeached by the City Council.’</p> + +<p>“Well, that was news! I went into the ‘Eagle’ office and called up +Mullen.</p> + +<p>“‘Hello! Is that Attorney Mullen?’ I says.</p> + +<p>“‘Yes,’ he says.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_119" id="Page_119">[Pg 119]</a></span></p><p>“‘Well, something happened last night,’ I says, ‘and I’d like to see +you about it.’</p> + +<p>“‘How do you know what happened?’ he says.</p> + +<p>“‘No matter,’ I says; ‘can I come up?’</p> + +<p>“After a half a minute he says, ‘Oh, yes! Come up. Come right away. +I’ll be waiting for you.’</p> + +<p>“So I went.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing strange about that,” said Philo Gubb, shifting himself on the +ladder.</p> + +<p>“So I went,” continued Snooks. “I rang the doorbell and, the moment it +rang, the door flew open and—<i>bliff!</i>—down came a bed-blanket over +me and somebody grabbed me in his arms and lugged me into the house. I +guess it was Attorney Mullen—you know how big and husky he is. But I +couldn’t see him. I couldn’t see anything. Only, every two seconds, +bump! he hit at my head through the blanket. That’s how I got this +eye. And, all the time, he was talking to me, mad as a hatter, and I +couldn’t hear a word he said. But I could hear his wife screaming at +the top of the stairs, and I could hear Nan screaming, and I heard a +window go up.</p> + +<p>“‘Stop that yelling!’ says Mullen, in a voice I <i>could</i> hear, and then +he picked me up again and carried me to the back door, and opened it +and threw me all the way down the eight steps. I chucked off the +blanket, and I was going up the steps again, to show him he couldn’t +treat me that way, when—<i>bing!</i>—somebody next door took a shot at me +with a revolver. Thought I was a burglar, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_120" id="Page_120">[Pg 120]</a></span>I guess. I started to run +for the back gate, when—<i>bing!</i>—somebody shot at me from the other +house. What do you think of that? For a few minutes it sounded like +the battle of San Juan, and I can’t understand yet why I didn’t suffer +an awful loss of life.”</p> + +<p>“But you didn’t?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“No, siree! I made a dive for the cellar door, just as they got the +range. I stayed in the cellarway, with the bullets pattering on it +like hail, until the cop came. Tim Fogarty was the cop. He ordered +‘Cease firing!’ and the shower stopped, and I let him capture me. He +took me to the calaboose, and this morning, early, he had me before +the judge, and I’m held for the grand jury, and the charge is burglary +and petit larceny. Now what is the answer?”</p> + +<p>“Being pulled into a house and thrown out the other door isn’t +burglary,” said Philo Gubb. “Burglary is breaking in or breaking out. +Maybe Attorney Mullen mistook you for some one else.”</p> + +<p>“Mistook nothing!” said Snooks. “He was in the court-room this +morning. He handled the case against me. Who is that?”</p> + +<p>Some one was climbing the back steps, and Snooks made one dive for the +cellar door, and slipped inside. He knew how to get out through the +cellar, for he was familiar with it. He did not wait now, but opened +the outside cellar door, and after looking to see that the way was +clear, hurried back to the jail.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_121" id="Page_121">[Pg 121]</a></span></p><p>Philo Gubb did not have time to descend from his ladder before the +kitchen door opened. The visitor was Policeman Fogarty.</p> + +<p>“Mawrnin’!” he said, removing his hat and wiping the sweat-band with +his red handkerchief. “Don’t ye get down, Misther Gubb, sor. I want +but a wurrd with ye. I seen Snooksy Tur-rner here but a sicond ago, me +lookin’ in at the windy, an’ you an’ him conversin’. Mayhap he was +speakin’ t’ ye iv his arrist?”</p> + +<p>“He was conversing with me of that occurrence,” said Philo Gubb. “He +was consulting me in my professional capacity.”</p> + +<p>“An’ a fine young lad he is!” said Policeman Fogarty, reaching into +his pocket. “I got th’ divvil for arristin’ him. ’Twas that dark, ye +see, Misther Gubb, I cud not see who I was arristin’. Maybe he was +consultin’ ye about gettin’ clear iv th’ charge ag’inst him?”</p> + +<p>“He retained my deteckative services,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Poor young man!” said Fogarty. “I’ll warrant he has none too much +money. Me hear-rt bleeds for him. Ye’ll have no ind iv trailin’ an’ +shadowin’ an’ other detective wurrk to do awn th’ case, no doubt. ’Tis +ixpinsive wurrk, that! I was thinkin’ maybe ye’d permit me t’ +contribute a five-dollar bill t’ th’ wurrk, for I’m that sad t’ have +had a hand in arristin’ him.”</p> + +<p>Fogarty held up the bill and Philo Gubb took it.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_122" id="Page_122">[Pg 122]</a></span></p><p>“Contingent expenses are always numerously present in deteckative +operations,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Right ye ar-re!” said Fogarty. “An’ ye’ll remimber, if anny wan asks +ye, that I ixprissed me contrition for arristin’ Snooksy. Whist!” he +said, putting his hand alongside his mouth and whispering: “Some wan +wanted me t’ search th’ house here t’ see did Snooksy have sivin +bottles iv beer an’ a silver beer-opener in his room.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb sat on the ladder and contemplated the five-dollar bill +until he heard Fogarty returning.</p> + +<p>“Hist!” Fogarty said. “I did not see him, mind ye!”</p> + +<p>Fogarty slipped out of the back door and was gone, and Philo Gubb, +after a thoughtful moment, decided that the five-dollar bill was +rightfully his, and slipped it into his pocket. To earn it, however, +he must get to work on the case. He raised the pasted strip of paper, +but before he could place the loose end on the ceiling, some one +tapped at the kitchen door.</p> + +<p>“Come in!” he called, and the door opened.</p> + +<p>“Slippery” Williams glided into the room. His crafty eyes sought Philo +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“’Lo, Gubby! Watcha doin’ up there? Where’s Miss Turner?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Miss Turner is out on business, I presume,” said the Correspondence +School detective coldly, “and I am pursuing my professional duties in +the deteckating line.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_123" id="Page_123">[Pg 123]</a></span></p><p>“Yar, hey?” said Slippery. “Who you detectin’ for now?”</p> + +<p>“Snooks Turner,” said Philo Gubb. “I’m solving a case for him.”</p> + +<p>Instantly Slippery’s manner changed. From rough he became smooth. From +bold he became cringing.</p> + +<p>“Why, I’m Snooksy’s friend,” he said. “You know me and Snooksy was +always chums, don’t you, Gubby? Yes, sir, I think a lot of Snooksy. He +says, ‘Slippery, you go up to my room and get me a bundle of clean +clothes—these are all torn and dirty, and—’ Well, I guess I’ll get +’em, and get back. Snooks is waitin’ for me.”</p> + +<p>He turned to the hall, but Philo Gubb called him back.</p> + +<p>“You can’t go up there,” said Philo Gubb, from his ladder-top. +“There’s been enough folks up there already.”</p> + +<p>“Who was up?” asked Slippery hastily.</p> + +<p>“Policeman Fogarty was,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“What’d he find up there?” asked Slippery anxiously.</p> + +<p>“Nothin’,” said Philo Gubb. “He told me he couldn’t find seven bottles +of beer and a beer-opener.”</p> + +<p>“Look here!” said Slippery sweetly. “If I gave you five dollars to +hire you to hunt for them, could you find them seven bottles of beer +and that beer-opener, for me? Straight detective work? Could you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_124" id="Page_124">[Pg 124]</a></span></p><p>“I could try to find them,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, that’s all I want,” said Slippery. “I don’t want to do nothin’ +with them. All I want to know is—where are they? Here’s five +dollars.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb took the money.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said Slippery, “now, you find them. They’re upstairs in +Mrs. Turner’s bed, between the quilt and the mattress. Go find them.”</p> + +<p>“Not until Miss Turner comes home,” said Philo firmly. “It’s her +house.”</p> + +<p>“Why, you long-legged stork you!” said Slippery, “she knows I’m here +for that beer. She sent me.”</p> + +<p>“I thought you said Snooks sent you for his clothes,” said Philo.</p> + +<p>“Never you mind who sent me for what!” said Slippery, angrily. “You’re +a dandy detective, ain’t you? Sittin’ on top of a ladder, and not +lettin’ a friend of Snooks help him out. Say, listen, Gubby! +Everybody’s goin’ to get into worse trouble if I don’t get away with +that beer. Understand? Come on! Let me take it away!”</p> + +<p>“When Miss Turner comes back!” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>A new knock on the door interrupted them, and Slippery glided to the +cellar door, through which Snooks had so recently fled. The kitchen +door opened to admit Attorney Smith. He was a thin man, but +intelligent-looking, as thin men quite frequently are.</p> + +<p>“Don’t get down, Mr. Gubb, don’t get down!” <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_125" id="Page_125">[Pg 125]</a></span>he said. “I came in the +back way, hoping to find Miss Turner. She is not here?”</p> + +<p>“She’s out,” said Philo.</p> + +<p>“Too bad!” said Attorney Smith. “I wanted to see her about her nephew. +You have heard he is in jail?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes,” said Philo, crossing one leg over the other. “He hired me +to do some deteckating. I’m sort of in charge of that case. I’m just +going to start in looking it up.”</p> + +<p>Attorney Smith took a turn to the end of the room and back. He was +known in Riverbank as the unsuccessful competitor against Attorney +Mullen for the City Attorneyship, and was supposed to be the counselor +of the liquor interests.</p> + +<p>“You have done nothing yet?” he asked suddenly, stopping below Philo +Gubb’s elevated seat.</p> + +<p>“No, I’m just about beginning to commence,” said Philo.</p> + +<p>“Then you know nothing regarding the—the articles young Turner is +charged with stealing?”</p> + +<p>“Well, maybe I do know something about that,” said Philo. “If you mean +seven bottles of beer and a beer-opener, I do.”</p> + +<p>“Where are they?” asked Attorney Smith in the sharp tone he used in +addressing a witness for the other side when he was trying a case.</p> + +<p>“I guess I’ve told about all I’m going to tell about them,” said Philo +thoughtfully. “I don’t want to be disobliging, Mister Smith, but I +look on them <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_126" id="Page_126">[Pg 126]</a></span>bottles of beer as a clue, and that beer-opener as a +clue, and they’re about the only clue I’ve got. I got to save up my +clues.”</p> + +<p>“Are they in this house?” asked Mr. Smith sharply.</p> + +<p>“If they ain’t, they’re somewheres else,” said Philo.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb,” said Mr. Smith impressively “there are large interests at +stake in this case. Larger interests than you imagine. We are all +interested at this moment in clearing your client of the +suspicion—which I hope is an unjust suspicion—now resting over and +upon him. I need not say what the interests are, but they are very +powerful. I feel confident that those interests could succeed in +clearing Snooks Turner.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I guess, if I was left alone long enough to get down from this +ladder, I could clear him myself. I didn’t study in the Rising Sun +Deteckative Agency’s Correspondence School of Deteckating for +nothing,” said Philo Gubb. “Snooks hired me—”</p> + +<p>“And he did well!” said Attorney Smith heartily. “I praise his acumen. +I wonder if I might be permitted, on behalf of the powerful interests +I represent, to contribute to the expense of the work you will do?”</p> + +<p>“I guess you might,” said Philo Gubb. “Deteckating runs into money.”</p> + +<p>“The interests I represent,” said Mr. Smith, taking out his wallet, +“will contribute ten dollars.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_127" id="Page_127">[Pg 127]</a></span></p><p>And they did. They put a crisp ten-dollar bill in Philo Gubb’s hands.</p> + +<p>“And now, having shown our unity of interest with young Mr. Turner, +there can be no harm in telling us where that beer is, can there?”</p> + +<p>He turned toward the kitchen door—for Nan Kilfillan stood there. Her +eyes were red and swollen. Attorney Smith hastily excused himself and +went away, and Nan came into the kitchen.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Gubb!” she exclaimed. “You <i>will</i> get Snooks out of jail, +won’t you? It would break my heart if he was sent to the penitentiary, +and I <i>know</i> he has done nothing wrong! He is depending on you, Mr. +Gubb. I brought you ten dollars—it is all I have left of last month’s +wages, but it will help a little, won’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Philo Gubb, taking the money. “I cannot estimate in +advance what the cost of his clearance will be. It may be more, and it +may be less. It is a complicated case. I am just about going to get +down from this ladder and start working on it vigorously. If you—”</p> + +<p>He stopped.</p> + +<p>“If you wish to help us in this case, Miss Kilfillan,” he said, “will +you go to the jail and ask Snooks where is the beer and the +beer-opener?”</p> + +<p>“Where is—” Her face went white. “What beer and what beer-opener?” +she asked tensely.</p> + +<p>“Seven bottles and a beer-opener,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_128" id="Page_128">[Pg 128]</a></span></p><p>“Oh!” she moaned. “And he said he didn’t do it! He swore he didn’t do +it! Oh, Snooks, how could you—how could you!”</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t you weep like that,” said Philo Gubb soothingly. “You go +and ask him. I’ll have my things ready for my immediate departure onto +the case by the time you get back.”</p> + +<p>Nan hurried away, and Philo Gubb waited only to count the money he had +so far received. It amounted to fifty-five dollars. He slipped it into +his pocket and stood up on the stepladder. He had even proceeded so +far as to put one foot on a lower step, when Mrs. Wilmerton entered +the kitchen.</p> + +<p>She was a stout woman, and she was almost out of breath. She had to +stand a minute before she could speak, but as she stood she made +gestures with her hands, as if <i>that</i> much of her delivery could be +given, at any rate, and the words might catch up with their +appropriate gestures if they could.</p> + +<p>“Mister Gubb! Mister Gubb!” she gasped. “Oh, this is terrible! +Terrible! Miss Turner should never have dared it! Oh, my breath! Do +you—do you know where the beer is?”</p> + +<p>“I wouldn’t advise you to take beer for shortness of the breath,” said +Philo Gubb. “Just rest a minute.”</p> + +<p>“But,” gasped poor Mrs. Wilmerton, “I <i>told</i> Miss Turner it was folly! +She’s so stubborn! Ah—h! I thought I’d never get a full breath again +as long as I lived. How can we get rid of the beer?”</p> + +<p><a name="Illo8" id="Illo8"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 350px;"> +<img src="images/i140.jpg" class="ispace jpg" width="350" height="500" alt="SHE MADE GESTURES WITH HER HANDS" title="" /> +<span class="caption">SHE MADE GESTURES WITH HER HANDS</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_129" id="Page_129">[Pg 129]</a></span></p><p>“There’s plenty want to take it,” said Mr. Gubb. “Attorney Smith—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I knew it! I knew it!” moaned Mrs. Wilmerton. “He threatened it!”</p> + +<p>“Threatened what?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That he would find the beer in this house!” cried Mrs. Wilmerton. “He +threatened Aunt Martha that if she did not give it to him freely, he +would have it found here, and make a scandal! Beer hidden between the +quilt and the mattress of Aunt Martha’s bed, and she Secretary of the +Ladies’ Temperance League! It’s awful! Martha is so headstrong! She’s +getting herself in an awful fix! She never should have had a thing to +do with that Slippery fellow!”</p> + +<p>“With who? With Slippery Williams?” asked Philo Gubb, intensely +surprised. “Aunt Martha Turner? What did she have to do with Slippery +Williams?”</p> + +<p>“Well, she had plenty, and enough, and more than that to do with him,” +said Mrs. Wilmerton angrily. “Getting bottles of beer in her bed, and +robbing houses at her time of life, and wanting the Ladies’ Temperance +League to have a special meeting this morning to approve of burglary +and larceny! At her age!”</p> + +<p>“Now, Miss Wilmerton,” said Philo Gubb, from the top of the ladder, +“I’d ought to warn you, before you go any farther, that Snooks Turner +has engaged me and my services to detect for him in this <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_130" id="Page_130">[Pg 130]</a></span>burglar +case. If Aunt Martha Turner burgled the burglary that Snooks is in +jail for, maybe you ought not say anything about it to me. I got to do +what I can to free Snooksy, no matter who it gets into trouble.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton suddenly—“Mr. Gubb, I’m not +authorized so to do, but I’ll warrant I’ll get the other ladies to +authorize, or I’ll know why. If I was to give you twenty dollars on +behalf of the Ladies’ Temperance League to help get Snooksy out of +jail,—and land only knows why he is in jail,—would you be so kind as +to beg and plead with Snooksy to leave Attorney Mullen alone, in the +‘Eagle,’ after this?”</p> + +<p>She held four five-dollar bills up to Philo Gubb, and he took them.</p> + +<p>“From what I saw of his eye,” said Mr. Gubb, “I guess Snooks will be +willing to leave Attorney Mullen alone in every shape and form from +now on. Now, maybe you can tell me how Snooks got into this business.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t the slightest idea in the world!” said Mrs. Wilmerton. “All +I know about it is—”</p> + +<p>Both Mrs. Wilmerton and Philo Gubb turned their heads toward the door. +The greater duskiness of the kitchen was caused by the large form of +City Attorney Mullen. He bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Wilmerton, who +turned bright red with embarrassment, probably because of her part in +the efforts of the League to have Mr. Mullen impeached by the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_131" id="Page_131">[Pg 131]</a></span>City +Council. Attorney Mullen was not, however, embarrassed.</p> + +<p>“I am glad you are here, Mrs. Wilmerton,” he said, “for I wish a +witness. I do not wish to have any stigma of bribery rest on me. I +came here,” he continued, taking a leather purse from the inner pocket +of his coat, “to give these twenty-five dollars to Mr. Gubb. Mr. Gubb, +I have just visited Snooks—so called—Turner at the jail. I went +there with the intention of bailing him out, pending the simple +process of his ultimate and speedy release from the charges against +him. I am convinced that I was wrong when I made the charge of +burglary against him. I am convinced that no burglary was ever +committed on my premises—”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton. “Not even seven bottles of beer and a +beer-opener, I suppose!”</p> + +<p>Attorney Mullen turned on her like a flash.</p> + +<p>“What do you know about beer and beer-openers?” he snapped.</p> + +<p>“I may not know as much as Detective Gubb, but I know what I know!” +she answered, and Mr. Mullen restrained himself sufficiently to hide +the glare of hatred in his eyes by turning to Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Exactly!” he said with forced calmness. “And perhaps I know more +about them than Mr. Gubb knows. In fact, I do know more about them. I +know they are upstairs between a blanket and a mattress. I know, Mrs. +Wilmerton,” he almost <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_132" id="Page_132">[Pg 132]</a></span>shouted, turning on her with an accusing +forefinger, “that they were stolen from a house in this town by some +one representing the Ladies’ Temperance League. I know that burglary +was committed by, or at the behest of, some one representing the +Ladies’ Temperance League! I know that, if this matter is carried to +the end, a respectable old lady—a leader in the Ladies’ Temperance +League—will go behind the bars, sentenced as a burglar! That’s what I +know!”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my!” gasped Mrs. Wilmerton, and sank into a chair.</p> + +<p>“Now, then!” said Attorney Mullen, turning to Philo Gubb again, and +handing him the twenty-five dollars, “I give you this money as my +share of the fund that is to pay you for the work you do for Snooks +Turner. I make no request, because of the money. It is yours. But if +you love justice, for Heaven’s sake, send word to him to come out of +jail!”</p> + +<p>“Won’t he come out?” asked Philo Gubb, puzzled.</p> + +<p>“No, he won’t!” said Attorney Mullen. “I begged him to, but he said, +‘No! Not until Philo Gubb gets to the bottom of this case.’ But should +we, as citizens, and as members of the Prohibition Party, permit you, +Mr. Gubb, to land Aunt Martha Turner in the calaboose?”</p> + +<p>“Well, if what I find out, when I get down from this ladder and start +to work, sends her there, I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_133" id="Page_133">[Pg 133]</a></span>don’t see that I can help it,” said Philo +Gubb. “Deteckative work is a science, as operated by them that has +studied in the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency’s Correspondence School +of Deteckating—”</p> + +<p>“Snooks says he don’t know anything about any beer,” said Nan +Kilfillan, entering hastily, and then pausing, as she saw Mr. Mullen.</p> + +<p>“Did you tell him it was upstairs, in bed?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“In his room? In his bed?” said Attorney Mullen eagerly. “Why, that +puts an entirely different aspect on the matter! That gives me, as +City Attorney, all the proof I shall need to convict the respectable +Miss Martha Turner and her honorable nephew of the ‘Eagle.’ And, by +the gods! I <i>will</i> convict them!”</p> + +<p>He glared at Mrs. Wilmerton. Nan broke into sobs.</p> + +<p>“Unless,” he added gently, “this whole matter is dropped.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb took out all the money he had received and counted it, +sitting cross-legged on the ladder.</p> + +<p>“I guess,” he said thoughtfully, “you had better run up to the jail +and tell Snooksy I want to see him right away, Miss Kilfillan. Maybe +he can stretch the jail that much again. Tell him I’m just going to +get down from this ladder and start to work, and I want to ask his +advice.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_134" id="Page_134">[Pg 134]</a></span></p><p>“What do you want to ask him?” inquired Attorney Mullen, as Nan +hurried away.</p> + +<p>“I want to ask him about those seven bottles of beer and that +beer-opener,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb,” said the City Attorney, “I can tell you about those +bottles of beer. If those bottles of beer came from my house Aunt +Martha Turner goes to the penitentiary. If she does not go to the +penitentiary, there are no bottles of beer and there is no +beer-opener. And never were!”</p> + +<p>“I told her she had done a foolish, foolish thing!” exclaimed Mrs. +Wilmerton.</p> + +<p>“Just so! And it <i>was</i> foolish,” said Attorney Mullen, “<i>If</i> it was +done. And, if it was done, and Snooks Turner telephoned, and I thought +he meant the burglary, I would, naturally, assault him.”</p> + +<p>“You hurt him bad,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“And I meant to!” said Attorney Mullen.</p> + +<p>All turned toward the door, where Policeman Fogarty entered with +Snooksy and Nan.</p> + +<p>“I’ve done ivrything I cud t’ quiet th’ matter up,” said Fogarty to +Mullen, thus explaining his interest in the affair.</p> + +<p>“I like jail,” said Snooks cheerfully. “I’m going to stay in jail.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Martha Turner interrupted him. She came into the kitchen like a +gust of wind, scattering the others like leaves, and threw her arms +around her nephew Snooksy.</p> + +<p>“Oh, my Snooksy! My Snooksy!” she moaned. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_135" id="Page_135">[Pg 135]</a></span>“Don’t you love your old +auntie any more? Won’t you be a good boy for your poor old auntie? +Don’t you love her at all any more?”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” said Snooks happily. “A fellow can love you in jail, can’t +he?”</p> + +<p>“But won’t you come out?” she pleaded. “Everybody wants you to come +out, dear, dear boy. See—they all want you to come out. Every last +one of them. Please come out.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I like it in jail,” said Snooks. “It gives me time for +meditation. Well, good-bye, folks, I’ll be going back.”</p> + +<p>His aunt grasped him firmly by the arm and wailed. So did Nan.</p> + +<p>“But, Snooksy,” begged Mrs. Turner, “don’t you know they’ll send me to +the penitentiary if you go back to that old jail?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, but don’t you care, auntie. They say the penitentiary is nicer +than the jail. Better doors. Nobody can break in and steal things from +you.”</p> + +<p>“Snooks Turner!” said his aunt. “You know as well as I do that Mr. +Mullen will forgive and forget, if you will. Would you rather see me +go to prison—suffer?”</p> + +<p>“No, of course not, auntie,” said Snooks, laughing. “But you see, I’ve +hired Detective Gubb to work on this case, and if there’s no case, it +will not be fair to him. He’s all worked up about it. He’s so eager to +be at it that he has almost come down from the top of that ladder. In +another day or two <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_136" id="Page_136">[Pg 136]</a></span>he would come all the way down, and then there’s +no telling what would happen. No, I’m a newspaper man. I want Philo +Gubb to discover something we don’t know anything about.”</p> + +<p>“I might start in trailing and shadowing somebody that hasn’t anything +to do with this case,” suggested Philo Gubb. “That wouldn’t discommode +none of you folks, and I’d sort of feel as if I was giving you your +money’s worth. Somebody has been writin’ on the front of the Methodist +Church with black chalk. I might try to detect who done that.”</p> + +<p>“But that would be a very difficult job,” said Snooks.</p> + +<p>“It would be some hard,” admitted Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Then you ought to have more money,” said Snooks. “Aunt Martha ought +to contribute to the fund. If Aunt Martha contributes to the fund, +I’ll be good. I’ll come out of jail.”</p> + +<p>Aunt Martha opened her shopping bag, and fumbled in it with her old +fingers. Philo Gubb took from his pocket the bills he had been given +during the morning. He counted them. He had exactly one hundred +dollars, just enough to send to Mr. Medderbrook.</p> + +<p>“How much should I give you, Mr. Gubb?” asked Aunt Martha tremulously, +and Philo Gubb stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes. +When he spoke, his words were cryptic to all those in the room.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_137" id="Page_137">[Pg 137]</a></span></p><p>“Well, ma’am,” he said, “I guess ten cents will be about enough. I’ve +got a two-cent postage stamp myself.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t detectives wonderful?” whispered Nan, clinging to Snooks’s arm. +“You can’t ever tell what they really mean.”</p> + +<p>Nobody seemed to care what Philo Gubb meant, but a week later Snooks +stopped him on the street and asked him why he had asked for ten +cents.</p> + +<p>“For to register a letter,” said Philo Gubb. “A letter I had to send +off.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_138" id="Page_138">[Pg 138]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_CHICKEN" id="THE_CHICKEN"></a>THE CHICKEN</h2> + +<p>Philo Gubb, with three rolls of wall-paper under his arm and a pail of +mixed paste in one hand, walked along Cherry Street near the +brick-yard.</p> + +<p>On this occasion Mr. Gubb was in a reasonably contented frame of mind, +for he had just received his share of the reward for capturing the +dynamiters and had this very morning paid the full amount to Mr. +Medderbrook, leaving but eleven thousand six hundred and fifty dollars +still to be paid that gentleman for the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine +Stock, and upon the further payment of seventy-five cents—half its +cost—Mr. Medderbrook gave him a telegram he had received from +Syrilla. The telegram was as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Rapidly shrinking. Have given up all soups, including tomato +soup, chicken soup, mulligatawny, mock turtle, green pea, +vegetable, gumbo, lentil, consommé, bouillon and clam broth. +Now weigh only nine hundred and fifty pounds. Wire at once +whether clam chowder is a soup or a food. Fond remembrances +to Gubby.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Gubb was thinking of this telegram as he walked toward his work. +Just ahead of him a short lane led, between Mrs. Smith’s house and the +Cherry Street Methodist Chapel, to the brick-yard. Mrs. Smith’s +chicken coop stood on the fence line between her property and the +brick-yard!</p> + +<p><a name="Illo9" id="Illo9"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/i151.jpg" class="ispace jpg2" width="400" height="399" alt="“DETECKATING IS MY AIM AND MY PROFESSION”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“DETECKATING IS MY AIM AND MY PROFESSION”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_139" id="Page_139">[Pg 139]</a></span></p><p>Philo Gubb had passed Mrs. Smith’s front gate when Mrs. Smith waddled +to her fence and hailed him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Gubb!” she panted. “You got to excuse me for speakin’ to you +when I don’t know you. Mrs. Miffin says you’re a detective.”</p> + +<p>“Deteckating is my aim and my profession,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mrs. Smith, “I want to ask a word of you about crime. +I’ve had a chicken stole.”</p> + +<p>“Chicken-stealing is a crime if ever there was one,” said Philo Gubb +seriously. “What was the chicken worth?”</p> + +<p>“Forty cents,” said Mrs. Smith.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Philo Gubb, “it wouldn’t hardly pay me.”</p> + +<p>“It ain’t much,” admitted Mrs. Smith.</p> + +<p>“No. You’re right, it ain’t,” said Philo Gubb. “Was this a rooster or +a hen?”</p> + +<p>“It was a hen,” said Mrs. Smith.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Gubb, “if you was to offer a reward of a hundred +dollars for the capture of the thief—”</p> + +<p>“Oh, my land!” exclaimed Mrs. Smith. “It would be cheaper for me to +pay somebody five dollars to come and steal the rest of the chickens. +It seems to me, that you ought to make the thief pay. I ain’t the one +that did the crime, am I? It’s only right that a thief should pay for +the time and trouble he puts you to, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_140" id="Page_140">[Pg 140]</a></span></p><p>“I never before looked at it that way,” said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully, +“but it stands to reason.”</p> + +<p>“Of course it does!” said Mrs. Smith. “You catch that thief and you +can offer yourself a million dollars reward if you want to. That’s +none of my business.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Philo Gubb, picking up his paste-pail, “I guess if there +ain’t any important murders or things turn up by seven to-night, I’ll +start in to work for that reward. I guess I can’t ask more than five +dollars reward.”</p> + +<p>At seven the evening was still light, and Philo Gubb, to cover his +intentions and avert suspicion in case his interview with Mrs. Smith +had been observed by the thief, put a false beard in his pocket and a +revolver beside it and left his office in the Opera House Block +cautiously. He slipped into the alley and glided down it, keeping +close to the stables. A detective must be cautious.</p> + +<p>The abandoned brick-kilns offered admirable seclusion. A brick-kiln is +built entirely, or almost so, of the brick that are to be burned, and +the kilns are torn down and carted away as the brick are sold. The +over-structure of the kilns was a mere roof of half-inch planks laid +on timbers that were upheld by poles.</p> + +<p>A ladder leaning against one of the poles gave access to the roof. In +the darkness it was impossible for Philo Gubb to find a finger-print +of the culprit on the kilns, although he looked for one. He did not +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_141" id="Page_141">[Pg 141]</a></span>even find the usual and highly helpful button, torn from its place in +the criminal’s eagerness to depart. He found only an old horseshoe and +a broken tobacco pipe. As there were evidences that the pipe had been +abandoned on that spot several years earlier, neither of these was a +very valuable clue.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb next gave his attention to the chicken coop. It was +preëminently a hand-made chicken coop of the rough-and-ready variety.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb entered the chicken-house and looked around, lighting his +dark lantern and throwing its rays here and there that he might see +better. The house was so low of roof that he had to stoop to avoid the +roosts, and the tails of the chickens brushed his hat. It needed +brushing, so this did no harm. The hens and the two roosters +complained gently of this interruption of their beauty sleep, and +moved along the roosts, and Mr. Gubb went outside again. It was quite +evident that the thief had had no great hardships to undergo in +robbing that roost. All he had to do was to enter the chicken-house, +choose a chicken, and walk away with it.</p> + +<p>Why had he not taken ten chickens? Mr. Gubb, as he put the keg hoop +over the end board of the gate, studied this.</p> + +<p>The theory that Mr. Gubb adopted was that the thief, coming for a raid +on the coop, had been surprised to find it so poorly guarded. It had +been so easy to enter the coop and steal the chicken that he had +decided it would be folly to take eight or ten <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_142" id="Page_142">[Pg 142]</a></span>chickens and thus +arouse instant suspicion and reprisal. Instead of this he had taken +but one, trusting that the loss of one would be unnoticed or laid to +rats or cats or weasels. Thus he would be able to return again and +again as fowl meat was needed or desired, and the chickens would be +like money in the bank—a fund on which to draw. This theory was so +sound that Mr. Gubb believed it would require nothing more than +patience to capture the criminal. The thief would come back for more +chickens!</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb looked around for an advantageous position in which to +await the coming of the thief, and be unseen himself, and the loose +board roof of the brick-kiln met his eye. No position could be better. +He climbed the ladder inside the kiln, pushed one of the boards aside +enough to permit him to squeeze through onto the roof, and creeping +carefully over the loose boards, reached the edge of the roof. Here he +stretched himself out flat on the boards, and waited.</p> + +<p>Nothing—absolutely nothing—happened! The mosquitoes, numerous indeed +because of the nearness of the pond, buzzed around his head and stung +him on the neck and hands, but he did not dare slap at them lest he +betray his hiding-place. Hour followed hour and no chicken thief +appeared. And when the first rays of the sun lighted the east he +climbed down and stalked stiffly away to a short hour of sleep.</p> + +<p>The next night the Correspondence School detective <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_143" id="Page_143">[Pg 143]</a></span>wasted no time in +preliminary observations of the lay of the land. He kept out of sight +until the sun had set and dusk covered the land with shade, and then +he went at once to the roof of the brick-kiln. This time he was +disguised in a red mustache, a pair of flowing white side-whiskers, +and a woolen cap. And he wore two revolvers—large ones—in a belt +about his waist.</p> + +<p>It was still too early for brisk business in chicken-stealing when +Philo Gubb climbed to the roof of the kiln and spread himself out +there, and he felt that he had time for a few minutes’ sleep.</p> + +<p>He was tremendously sleepy. Sleep fairly pushed his eyelids down over +his eyes, and he put his crooked arm under his head and, after +thinking fondly of Syrilla for a few minutes, went to sleep so +suddenly that it was like falling off a cliff into dreamland. He +dreamed, uneasily, of having been captured by an array of forty +chicken thieves, of having been led in triumph before the Supreme +Court of the United States, and of having been condemned as a +Detective Trust on the charge of acting in restraint of trade—as +injuring the Chicken Stealers’ Association’s business—and required to +dissolve himself.</p> + +<p>The dream was agonizing as he tried one dissolvent after another +without success. Turpentine merely dissolved his skin; alcohol had no +effect whatever. He imagined himself in a long room in which stood +vast rows of vats bearing different <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_144" id="Page_144">[Pg 144]</a></span>labels, and in and out of these +he climbed, trying to obey the order of the court, but nothing seemed +capable of dissolving him, and he suddenly discovered that he was made +of rubber. He seemed to remember that rubber was soluble in benzine, +and he started on a tour of the vats, trying to find a benzine vat.</p> + +<p>He walked many miles. Sometimes he arose in the air, with ease and +grace, and flew a few miles. Finally he found the vat of benzine, +immersed himself in it, and began to dissolve calmly and with a +blessed sense of having done his duty.</p> + +<p>It was then that Philo Gubb entered the dreamless sleep of the utterly +weary, and, about the same time, two men slunk under the roof of the +brick-kiln and after looking carefully around took seats on the fallen +bricks, resting their backs against the partly demolished kiln. They +arranged the bricks as comfortably as possible before seating +themselves, and when they were seated, one of them drew a whiskey +bottle from his pocket and, after taking a good swig, offered it to +his partner.</p> + +<p>“Nope!” said he. “I’m going to steer clear of that stuff until I know +where I’m at, and you’re a fool for not doing the same, Wixy. First +thing you know you’ll be soused, and if you are, and anything turns +up, what’ll I do? I got all I can do to take care of you sober.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, turn up! What’s goin’ to turn up ’way out here?” asked Wixy. +“They ain’t nobody follerin’ <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_145" id="Page_145">[Pg 145]</a></span>us anyway. That’s just a notion you got. +Your nerves has gone back on you, Sandlot.”</p> + +<p>“My nerve is all right, and don’t you worry about that,” said Sandlot. +“I’ve got plenty of nerve so I don’t have to brace it up with booze, +and you ain’t. That’s what’s the matter with you. You saw that feller +as well as I did. Didn’t you see him at Bureau?”</p> + +<p>“That feller with the white whiskers?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, him. And didn’t you see him again at Derlingport? Well, what was +he follerin’ us that way for when he told us at Joliet he was goin’ +East?”</p> + +<p>“A tramp has as good a right to change his mind as what we have,” said +Wixy. “Didn’t we tell him we was goin’ East ourselves? Maybe he ain’t +lookin’ for steady company any more than we be. Maybe he come this way +to get away from us, like we did to get away from—say!—Sandlot,” he +said almost pleadingly, “you don’t really think old White-Whiskers was +a-trailin’ us, do you? You ain’t got a notion he’s a detective?”</p> + +<p>“How do I know what he is?” asked Sandlot. “All I know is that when I +see a feller like that once, and then again, and he looks like he was +tryin’ to keep hid from us, I want to shake him off. I know that. And +I know I’m goin’ to shake him off. And I know that if you get all +boozed up, and full of liquor, and can’t walk, and that feller shows +up, I’m a-goin’ to quit you and look out for myself. When a feller +steals something, or does any little <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_146" id="Page_146">[Pg 146]</a></span>harmless thing like that, it’s +different. He can afford to stick to a pal, even if he gets nabbed. +But when it’s a case of—”</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t use that word!” said Wixy angrily. “It wasn’t no more +murder than nothing. Was we going to let Chicago Chicken bash our +heads in just because we stood up for our rights? Him wantin’ a full +half just because he put us onto the job! He’d ought to been killed +for askin’ such a thing.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he was, wasn’t he?” asked Sandlot. “You killed him all right. +It was you swung on him with the rock, Wixy, remember that!”</p> + +<p>“Tryin’ to put it off on me, ain’t you!” said Wixy angrily. “Well, you +can’t do it. If I hang, you hang. Maybe I did take a rock to him, but +you had him strangled to death before I ever hit him.”</p> + +<p>“What’s the use gabbin’ about it?” said Sandlot. “He’s dead, and we +made our get-away, and all we got to do is to keep got away. There +ain’t anybody ever goin’ to find him, not where we sunk him in that +deep water.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t I been sayin’ that right along?” asked Wixy. “Ain’t I been +tellin’ you you was a fool to be scared of an old feller like +White-Whiskers? Cuttin’ across country this way when we might as well +be forty miles more down the Rock Island, travelin’ along as nice as +you please in a box car.”</p> + +<p>“Now, look here!” said Sandlot menacingly. “I ain’t goin’ to take no +abuse from you, drunk or sober. If you don’t like my way, you go back +to the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_147" id="Page_147">[Pg 147]</a></span>railroad and leave me go my own way. I’m goin’ on across +country until I come to another railroad, I am. And if I come to a +river, and I run across a boat, I’m goin’ to take that boat and float +a ways. When I says nobody is goin’ to know anything about what we did +to the Chicken, over there in Chicago, I mean it. Nobody is. But +didn’t Sal know all three of us was goin’ out on that job that night? +And when the Chicken don’t come back, ain’t she goin’ to guess +something happened to the Chicken?”</p> + +<p>“She’s goin’ to think he made a rich haul, like he did, and that he up +and quit her,” said Wixy. “That’s what she’ll think.”</p> + +<p>“And what if she does?” said Sandlot. “She and him has been boardin’ +with Mother Smith, ain’t they? Ain’t Mother Smith been handin’ the +Chicken money when he needed it, because he said he was workin’ up +this job with us? I bet the Chicken owed Mother Smith a hundred +dollars, and when he don’t come back, then what? Sal will say she +ain’t got no money because the Chicken quit her, and Mother Smith +will—”</p> + +<p>“Well, what?” asked Wixy.</p> + +<p>“She’ll send word to every crook in the country to spot the Chicken, +and you know it. And when word comes back that there ain’t no trace of +him—”</p> + +<p>“You’ve lost your nerve, that’s what ails you,” said Wixy scornfully.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_148" id="Page_148">[Pg 148]</a></span></p><p>“No, I ain’t,” Sandlot insisted. “I’ve heard plenty of fellers tell +how Mother Smith keeps tabs on anybody that tries to do her out of ten +cents even. Why, maybe the Chicken promised to come back that night +and pay up. I bet he did! And I bet he <i>was</i> sour on Sal. And I bet +Mother Smith knew it all the time, and that when he didn’t come back +that night she sent out word to spot him or us. I bet you!”</p> + +<p>“You’ve lost your nerve!” said Wixy drunkenly. “You never did have no +nerve. You’re so scared you’re seein’ ghosts.”</p> + +<p>“All right!” said Sandlot, rising. “I’ll see ghosts, then. But I’ll +see them by myself. You can go—”</p> + +<p>“Goo’-bye!” said Wixy carelessly, and finished the last drop in his +bottle. “Goo’-bye, ol’ Sandlot! Goo’-bye!”</p> + +<p>Sandlot hesitated a moment and then arose and, after a parting glance +at Wixy, struck out across the drying floor of the brick-yard, and was +lost in the darkness. Wixy blinked and balanced the empty bottle in +his hand.</p> + +<p>“He’s afraid!” he boasted to himself. “He’s coward. ’Fraid of dark. +’Fraid of ghosts. Los’ his nerve. I ain’ ’fraid.”</p> + +<p>He arose to his feet unsteadily.</p> + +<p>“Sandlot’s coward!” he said, and threw down the empty bottle with a +motion of disgust at the cowardice of Sandlot. The bottle burst with a +jangling of glass.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_149" id="Page_149">[Pg 149]</a></span></p><p>On the loose board roof Philo Gubb raised his head suddenly. For an +instant he imagined he was a disembodied spirit, his body having been +dissolved in benzine, but as he became wider awake he was conscious of +a noise beneath him. Wixy was shifting twenty or thirty bricks that +had fallen from the kiln upon a truss of straw, used the last winter +to cover new-moulded bricks to protect them from the frost against +their drying. He was preparing a bed. He muttered to himself as he +worked, and Philo Gubb, placing his eye to a crack between the boards +of the roof, tried to observe him. The darkness was so absolute he +could see nothing whatever.</p> + +<p>He heard Wixy stretch out on the straw, and in a minute more he heard +the heavy breathing of a sleeper. Wixy was not letting any cowardice +disturb his repose, at all events, and Philo Gubb considered how he +could best get himself off the roof.</p> + +<p>The sleeping man was immediately beneath him; the ladder was a full +ten yards away; every motion made the loose boards complain. Looking +down, Mr. Gubb saw that the top of the kiln reached within a few feet +of where he lay, and that the partially removed sides had left a +series of giant steps.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb loosened his pistols in his belt. Now that he had the chicken +thief so near, he meant to capture him. With the utmost care he slid +one of the boards of the roof aside and put his long legs into the +opening thus made, feeling for the kiln until he touched it, and when +he had a firm footing on <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_150" id="Page_150">[Pg 150]</a></span>it he lowered the upper part of his body +through the roof.</p> + +<p>Five feet away a cross-timber reached from one pillar of the roof to +another, and just below that was one of the steps of the kiln. Philo +Gubb lighted his dark lantern, and casting its ray, saw this +cross-piece. If he could jump and reach it he could drop to the lower +step and avoid the danger of bringing the side of the kiln down with +him. He slipped the lantern into his pocket, reached out his hands, +and jumped into the dark.</p> + +<p>For an instant his fingers grappled with the cross-piece; he struggled +to gain a firmer hold; and then he dropped straight upon the sleeping +Wixy. He alighted fair and square on the murderer’s stomach, and the +air went out of Wixy in a sudden <i>whoof</i>!</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb, in the unreasoning excitement of the moment, grappled with +Wixy, but the unresistance of the man told that he was unconscious, +and the Correspondence School detective released him and stood up. He +uncovered the lens of his dark lantern and turned the ray on Wixy.</p> + +<p>The murderer lay flat on his back, his eyes closed and his mouth open. +Mr. Gubb put his hand on Wixy’s heart. It still beat! The man was not +dead!</p> + +<p><a name="Illo10" id="Illo10"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i164.jpg" class="ispace" width="500" height="327" alt="WITH ANOTHER GROAN WIXY RAISED HIS HANDS" title="" /> +<span class="caption">WITH ANOTHER GROAN WIXY RAISED HIS HANDS</span> +</div> + +<p>With the dark lantern in one hand and a rusty tin can in the other, +Mr. Gubb hurried to the pond and returned with the can full of water, +but even in this crisis he did not act thoughtlessly. He set the dark +lantern on a shelf of the kiln, so that its rays <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_151" id="Page_151">[Pg 151]</a></span>might illuminate Wixy and himself alike, drew one of his pistols and +pointed it full at Wixy’s head, and holding it so, he dashed the can +of water in the face of the unconscious man. Wixy moved uneasily. He +emitted a long sigh and opened his eyes.</p> + +<p>“I got you!” said Philo Gubb sternly. “There ain’t no use to make a +move, because I’m a deteckative, and if you do I’ll shoot this pistol +at you. If you’re able so to do, just put up your hands.”</p> + +<p>Wixy blinked in the strong light of the lantern. He groaned and placed +one of his hands on his stomach.</p> + +<p>“Put ’em up!” said Philo Gubb, and with another groan Wixy raised his +hands. He was still flat on his back. He looked as if he were doing +some sort of health exercise. In a minute the hands fell to the +ground.</p> + +<p>“I guess you’d better set up,” said Philo Gubb. “You ain’t goin’ to be +able to hold up your hands if you lay down that way.”</p> + +<p>As he helped Wixy to a sitting position, he kept his pistol against +the fellow’s head.</p> + +<p>“Now, then,” said Philo Gubb, when he had arranged his captive to suit +his taste, “what you got to say?”</p> + +<p>“I got to say I never done what you think I done, whatever it is,” +said Wixy. “I don’t know what it is, but I never done it. Some other +feller done it.”</p> + +<p>“That don’t bother me none,” said Philo Gubb. “If you didn’t do it, I +don’t know who did. Just <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_152" id="Page_152">[Pg 152]</a></span>about the best thing you can do is to +account for the chicken and pay my expenses of getting you, and the +quicker you do it the better off you’ll be.”</p> + +<p>Pale as Wixy was, he turned still paler when Philo Gubb mentioned the +chicken.</p> + +<p>“I never killed the Chicken!” he almost shouted. “I never did it!”</p> + +<p>“I don’t care whether you killed the chicken or not,” said Philo Gubb +calmly. “The chicken is gone, and I reckon that’s the end of the +chicken. But Mrs. Smith has got to be paid.”</p> + +<p>“Did she send you?” asked Wixy, trembling. “Did Mother Smith put you +onto me?”</p> + +<p>“She did so,” said the Correspondence School detective. “And you can +pay up or go to jail. How’d you like that?”</p> + +<p>Wixy studied the tall detective.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said. “S’pose I give you fifty and we call it square.” +He meant fifty dollars.</p> + +<p>“Maybe that would satisfy Mrs. Smith,” said Philo Gubb, thinking of +fifty cents, “but it don’t satisfy me. My time’s valuable and it’s got +to be paid for. Ten times fifty ain’t a bit too much, and if it had +took longer to catch you I’d have asked more. If you want to give that +much, all right. And if you don’t, all right too.”</p> + +<p>Wixy studied the face of Philo Gubb carefully. There was no sign of +mercy in the bird-like face of the paper-hanger detective. Indeed, his +face was severe. It was relentless in its sternness. Five <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_153" id="Page_153">[Pg 153]</a></span>dollars was +little enough to ask for two nights of first-class Correspondence +School detective work. Rather than take less he would lead the chicken +thief to jail. And Wixy, with his third, and half of the Chicken’s +third, of the proceeds of the criminal job that had led to the death +of the Chicken, knowing the relentlessness of Mother Smith, that +female Fagin of Chicago, considered that he would be doing well to +purchase his freedom for five hundred dollars.</p> + +<p>“All right, pal,” he said suddenly. “You’re on. It’s a bet. Here you +are.”</p> + +<p>He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a great roll of +money. With the muzzle of Philo Gubb’s pistol hovering just out of +reach before him, he counted out five crisp one hundred dollar bills. +He held them out with a sickly grin. Philo Gubb took them and looked +at them, puzzled.</p> + +<p>“What’s this for?” he asked, and Wixy suddenly blazed forth in anger.</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t come any of that!” he cried. “A bargain is a bargain. +Don’t you come a-pretendin’ you didn’t say you’d take five hundred, +and try to get more out of me! I won’t give you no more—I won’t! You +can jug me, if you want to. You can’t prove nothin’ on me, and you +know it. Have you found the body of the Chicken? Well, you got to have +the corpus what-you-call-it, ain’t you? Huh? Ain’t five hundred +enough? I bet the Chicken never cost Mother Smith more than a hundred +and fifty—”</p> + +<p>“I was only thinkin’—” began Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_154" id="Page_154">[Pg 154]</a></span></p><p>“Don’t think, then,” said Wixy.</p> + +<p>“Five hundred dollars seemed too—” Philo began again.</p> + +<p>“It’s all you’ll get, if I hang for it,” said Wixy firmly. “You can +give Mother Smith what you want, and keep what you want. That’s all +you’ll get.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb could not understand it. He tried to, but he could not +understand it at all. And then suddenly a great light dawned in his +brain. There was something this chicken thief knew that he and Mrs. +Smith did not know. The stolen chicken must have been of some rare and +much-sought strain. So it was all right. The thief was paying what the +chicken was worth, and not what Mrs. Smith thought it was worth in her +ignorance. He slipped the money into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“All right,” he said. “I’m satisfied if you are. The chicken was a +fancy bird, ain’t it so?”</p> + +<p>“The Chicken was a tough old rooster, that’s what he was,” said Wixy, +staggering to his feet.</p> + +<p>“I thought he was a hen,” said Philo Gubb. “Mrs. Smith said he was a +hen.”</p> + +<p>Wixy laughed a sickly laugh.</p> + +<p>“That ain’t much of a joke. That’s why everybody called him Chicken, +because his first name was Hen.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb’s mouth fell open. He was convinced now that he had to do +with an insane man. Wixy moved toward the open drying-floor.</p> + +<p>“Well, so ’long, pard,” he said to Philo Gubb. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_155" id="Page_155">[Pg 155]</a></span>“Give my regards to +Mother Smith. And say,” he added, “if you see Sal, don’t let her know +what happened to the Chicken. Don’t say anybody made away with the +Chicken, see? Tell Sal the Chicken flew the coop himself, see?”</p> + +<p>“Who is Sal?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“You ask Mother Smith,” said Wixy. “She’ll tell you.” And he went out +into the dark. Philo Gubb heard him shuffle across the drying-floor, +and when the sound had died away in the distance he put up his +revolver.</p> + +<p>“Five hundred dollars!” he said, and he routed Mrs. Smith out of bed. +He did not tell her the amount of reward he had made the chicken thief +pay. He asked her what the most expensive chicken in the world might +be worth, and she reluctantly accepted ten dollars as being far too +much. Then he asked her who Sal was.</p> + +<p>“Sal?” queried Mrs. Smith.</p> + +<p>“The chicken thief declared the statement that you would know,” said +Mr. Gubb. “He said to tell her—”</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Gubb,” said Mrs. Smith tartly, “I don’t know any Sal, and +if I did I wouldn’t carry messages to her for a chicken thief, and it +is past midnight, and the draught on my bare feet is giving me my +death of cold, and if you think this is a pink tea for me to stand +around and hold fool conversation at, I don’t!”</p> + +<p>And she slammed the door.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_156" id="Page_156">[Pg 156]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_DRAGONS_EYE" id="THE_DRAGONS_EYE"></a>THE DRAGON’S EYE</h2> + +<p>It was with great pleasure that Mr. Gubb carried four hundred and +ninety dollars to Mr. Medderbrook, and his intended father-in-law +received him quite graciously.</p> + +<p>“This is more like it, Gubb,” he said. “Keep the money coming right +along and you’ll find I’m a good friend and a faithful one.”</p> + +<p>“I aim so to do to the best of my ability,” said Mr. Gubb, delighted +to find Mr. Medderbrook in a good humor. “I hope to get the eleven +thousand two hundred and sixty dollars I owe you paid up—”</p> + +<p>“Where do you get that?” asked Mr. Medderbrook. “You owe me twelve +thousand dollars, Gubb.”</p> + +<p>“It was eleven thousand seven hundred and fifty,” said Mr. Gubb, “and +this here payment of four hundred and ninety—”</p> + +<p>“Ah!” said Mr. Medderbrook, “but the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine has +declared a dividend—”</p> + +<p>“But,” ventured Mr. Gubb timidly, “I thought dividends was money that +came to the owner of the stock.”</p> + +<p>“Often so,” said Mr. Medderbrook. “I may say, not infrequently so. But +in this case it was a compound ten per cent reversible dividend, +cumulative and retroactive, payable to prior owners of the stock, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_157" id="Page_157">[Pg 157]</a></span>on +account of the second mortgage debenture lien. In such a case,” he +explained, “unless the priority is waived by the party of the first +part, you have to pay it to me.”</p> + +<p>“Oh!” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Luckily,” said Mr. Medderbrook, “I was able to prevail upon the +registrar of the company to make the dividend only ten cumulative per +cents instead of eleven retroactive geometrical per cents, or you +would now owe me thirteen thousand dollars.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m sure I’m much obliged to you,” said Mr. Gubb with sincere +gratitude. “I appreciate your kindness of good-will most greatly.”</p> + +<p>He stood for a minute or two uneasily, while Mr. Medderbrook frowned +like a great financier burdened with cares.</p> + +<p>“I don’t suppose,” said Mr. Gubb, when he had screwed up his courage, +“you have had no telegraphic communications from Miss Syrilla?”</p> + +<p>“Why, yes, I have,” said Mr. Medderbrook, taking a telegram from his +pocket, “and it will only cost you one dollar to read it. I paid two +dollars.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb was very glad to pay the small sum and he eagerly devoured +the telegram, which read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Oh be joyful! Have given up all meat diet. Have given up +beef, pork, lamb, mutton, veal, chicken, pigs’ feet, bacon, +hash, corned beef, venison, bear steak, frogs’ legs, +opossum, and fried snails. Weigh only nine hundred and forty +pounds. Affectionate thoughts to little Gubby.</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_158" id="Page_158">[Pg 158]</a></span></p><p>“I wish,” said Mr. Gubb wistfully, when he had read the message, “that +Miss Syrilla could be here present this week in Riverbank whilst the +Carnival is going on.”</p> + +<p>“She would draw a big crowd at twenty-five cents admission,” said Mr. +Medderbrook.</p> + +<p>“I was thinking how pleasantly nice it would be for her to enjoy the +festivities of the occasion,” said Mr. Gubb, but this was not quite +true. What he wished was that she could be present to see him in the +handsome disguise he had obtained for his work as Official Detective +of the Carnival, and which he was now about to don.</p> + +<p>This, the second day of the Third Riverbank Carnival, opened with a +sun hot enough to frizzle bacon, and the ladies in charge of the +lemonade, ice-cream and ice-cream cone booths were pleased, while the +committee from Riverbank Lodge P.& G. M., No. 788, selling broiled +frankfurters (known as “hot dogs”), groaned. It was no day for hot +food. But it was grand Carnival weather.</p> + +<p>The grounds opened at one-thirty and the amateur circus began at +two-thirty, but Philo Gubb, the detective, was on the grounds in full +regalia by ten o’clock in the morning. Through some awful error on the +part of the Chicago costumer, Philo Gubb’s regalia had not arrived in +time for the first day of the Carnival, so he had absented himself +rather than let the crooks and thieves who were supposed to swarm the +grounds have an opportunity to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_159" id="Page_159">[Pg 159]</a></span>become acquainted with his appearance +and thus be put on their guard against the famous Correspondence +School detective.</p> + +<p>When the Committee on Organization of the Third Carnival and Circus +for the benefit of the Riverbank Free Hospital held its first public +mass meeting in Willcox Hall, Philo Gubb had been there. Like all the +rest of Riverbank, he was willing to assist the good cause in any way +he could, and he had meant to donate his services as official +paper-hanger, but a grander opportunity offered. Mr. Beech, the +Chairman of the Committee on Peanuts and Police Protection, offered +Mr. Gubb the position of Official Detective. Mr. Gubb accepted +eagerly.</p> + +<p>During the weeks of preparation for the Carnival, a thousand plans for +getting the better of pickpockets and other crooks passed through +Philo Gubb’s mind. He finally decided to disguise himself as Ali Baba. +He had a slight recollection that Ali Baba had something to do with +forty thieves. It seemed an appropriate <i>alias</i>.</p> + +<p>His disguise he ordered from the Supply Department of the Rising Sun +Detective Agency, where he bought all his disguises. It consisted of a +tall conical cap spangled with stars, a sort of red Mother-Hubbard +gown bespattered with black crescents, a small metal tube, and a wand. +With the metal tube came several hundred sheets of apparently blank +paper, but, when these were rolled into cylinders <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_160" id="Page_160">[Pg 160]</a></span>and inserted in the +metal tube for half a minute, characters appeared on the sheets. A +child could work the magic tube, and so could Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>It was not until the second day that Mr. Beech thought of Mr. Gubb at +all. Then Mrs. Phillipetti, daughter-in-law of General Phillipetti, +who was Ambassador to Siberia in 1867, asked for Mr. Gubb. Mrs. +Phillipetti was in charge of the Hot Waffles Booth, No. 13, aided by +seventeen ladies of the highest society Riverbank could boast, and +they served hot waffles with their own fair hands to all who chose to +buy. The cooking of the waffles, being a warm task in late June, had +been turned over to three colored women, hired for the occasion, and +to complete the “ongsomble” and make things perfectly “apropos”—two +of Mrs. Phillipetti’s favorite words—the three colored women had been +dressed as Turkish slaves, while Mrs. Phillipetti and her aides +dressed as Beauties of the Harem.</p> + +<p>To judge by Mrs. Phillipetti’s costume, the Beauties of the Harem were +expensive to clothe. She had more silk, gold lace, and tinsel strung +upon her ample form than would set a theatrical costumer up in +business, but the star feature of her costume was her turban. It was a +gorgeous creation, and would have been a comfortable piece of headgear +in midwinter, although slightly heating for a hot June day, but it +came near being the talk of the Carnival, for in the center of the +front, just above her forehead, Mrs. Phillipetti had pinned the +celebrated <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_161" id="Page_161">[Pg 161]</a></span>brooch containing the Dragon’s Eye—the priceless ruby +given to old General Phillipetti by the Dugosh of Zind after the old +diplomat had saved the worthless life of the old reprobate by +appealing to the Vice-Regent of Siberia in his behalf.</p> + +<p>The Dragon’s Eye was about the size of a lemon and weighed nearly as +much as a pound of creamery butter, so it required considerable turban +to make it “apropos” and complete its “ongsomble.” Pinned on her +shelf-like chest, Mrs. Phillipetti wore a small mirror somewhat +smaller than a tea saucer. By tipping the outer edge of the mirror +upward and glancing down into it, Mrs. Phillipetti had a good view of +the entire façade of her turban, reflected in the mirror, and she was +thus able to keep an eye on the Dragon’s Eye.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Beech!” cried Mrs. Phillipetti, stopping him as he was +bustling past her booth, “<i>do</i> you know where Mr. Gubb is?”</p> + +<p>“Gubb? Gubb?” said Mr. Beech. “Oh! that paper-hanger-detective fellow? +No, I don’t know where he is. Why?”</p> + +<p>“It’s gone! The Dragon’s Eye is gone!” moaned Mrs. Phillipetti.</p> + +<p>Mr. Beech, although greatly concerned, tried to maintain his +composure. Mrs. Phillipetti explained that she had removed her turban +and placed it under a chair at the back of the booth. A little later +she had noticed that the turban, with the priceless Dragon’s Eye, was +gone.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_162" id="Page_162">[Pg 162]</a></span></p><p>“Now, this—now—was not wholly unexpected,” Beech said. “It’s +a—now—unfortunate thing, but it’s the sort of thing that happens. +Now, Mrs. Phillipetti, just let me beg you not to say anything about +it to anybody, and I’ll have Detective Gubb get right on the case. The +matter is in my hands. Rest easy! We will attend to it.”</p> + +<p>“I—I hate to lose the Dragon’s Eye,” said Mrs. Phillipetti, wiping +her eyes, “but the worst is to have my turban stolen. Mr. Beech, I +will give one hundred dollars to whoever returns the Dragon’s Eye to +me. The ‘ongsomble’ of my costume is ruined. I haven’t anything else +‘apropos’ to wear on my head.”</p> + +<p>“You look fine just as you are,” said Mr. Beech. “But if you want +something to wear, you can get a Turkish hat at the Paper Hat Booth +for twenty-five cents.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you!” said Mrs. Phillipetti scornfully. “I don’t wear +twenty-five-cent hats!”</p> + +<p>Within twenty minutes the Boy Scouts, who were acting as Aides to the +Executive Committee, had tacked in ten prominent places ten hastily +daubed placards that read:—</p> + +<p class="center">Philo Gubb, please report at Executive Booth.<br /> +<span style="margin-left: 4em;">Beech, Chmn. Police Committee.</span></p> + +<p>And the members of the Board of Managers had, singly and by roundabout +routes, approached the scene of the theft and had studied it.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo11" id="Illo11"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 400px;"> +<img src="images/i177.jpg" class="ispace" width="400" height="390" alt="“THE ‘ONGSOMBLE’ OF MY COSTUME IS RUINED”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“THE ‘ONGSOMBLE’ OF MY COSTUME IS RUINED”</span> +</div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_163" id="Page_163">[Pg 163]</a></span></p><p>To the left of Mrs. Phillipetti’s booth was the Ethiopian Dip. Here, +some thirty feet back from a counter and shielded by a net, a negro +sat on an elevated perch just over a canvas tub full of water. In +front of the net was a small target, and if a patron of the game hit +the target with a baseball, the negro suddenly and unexpectedly +dropped into the tub of water. The price was three throws for five +cents.</p> + +<p>As Riverbank had some remarkably clever baseball throwers, the +Ethiopian was dipped quite frequently. As the water was cold and such +a bath an unusual luxury for the Riverbank Ethiopians, no one +Ethiopian cared to be dipped very often in succession. Therefore the +Committee of Seven of the Exempt Firemen’s Association, which had the +Dip in charge, had arranged for a quick change of Ethiopians, and +while one sat on the perch to be dipped, three others lolled in +bathing costumes just back of Mrs. Phillipetti’s booth.</p> + +<p>Mr. Beech questioned the colored men quietly.</p> + +<p>“Turbine?” said one of them. “We ain’t seen no turbine. We ain’t seen +nuffin’. We ain’t done nuffin’ but sit here an’ play craps.”</p> + +<p>“But you were here?” said Mr. Beech.</p> + +<p>“Yes, we was heah,” said the blackest negro. “We was right heah all de +time. Dey ain’t been no turbine took from nowhar whilst we was heah, +neither. Ain’t been nobody back heah but us, an’ we’s been heah all de +time.”</p> + +<p>“Well, perhaps you can tell how this board got <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_164" id="Page_164">[Pg 164]</a></span>pried loose, if you +were here all the time,” said Mr. Beech.</p> + +<p>“It wa’n’t pried loose,” said the yellow negro. “Hit got kicked loose +f’om de hinside. I know dat much, annerways. I seen dat oc-cur. I seen +dat board bulge out an’ bulge out an’ bulge out twell hit bust out. +An’ dey hain’t no turbine come out, nuther. No, sah!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Beech went away. The detective business was not his business. He +specialized in coal and not in crime. But in going he passed by Mrs. +Phillipetti’s booth and spoke to her.</p> + +<p>“It will be all right,” he said reassuringly. “We are on the track.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, thank you!” said Mrs. Phillipetti, who had completed the +“apropriety” of her “ongsomble” by wrapping a green silk handkerchief +about her head.</p> + +<p>“I hope to return the turban and the jewel sometime to-morrow,” said +Mr. Beech, bluffing bravely.</p> + +<p>But Philo Gubb did not heed the notices posted to call him to the +Executive Booth. The evening passed and he did not appear, and Mr. +Beech, on his way home, stopped at the police station. It was after +midnight, but Chief of Police Wittaker was still on duty. He never +slept during the Carnival.</p> + +<p>Mr. Beech explained the loss of the turban and the Dragon’s Eye, and +early the next morning the Chief himself took up the hunt. By three +o’clock in the afternoon he had discovered several things. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_165" id="Page_165">[Pg 165]</a></span>He +discovered that the yellow man who had claimed to see the board pushed +out from the inside was the husband of one of the waffle cooks in Mrs. +Phillipetti’s booth. He learned that the yellow man had been in jail. +He learned that for a few minutes the yellow negro had been alone +behind the waffle booth. The Chief thereupon arrested the yellow +negro.</p> + +<p>As he led the negro from the grounds by the back way, in order to +cause as little commotion as possible, he brushed by a strange +creature dressed as a wizard, who was standing by the rear entrance, +droning: “Tell your fortune, ten cents! Tell your fortune, ten cents!” +The wizard was tall and thin and wore a long white beard, a sort of +Mother-Hubbard gown, and a pointed cap. As the Chief passed with his +prisoner the wizard turned his eyes on the two, and then droned on. It +was Philo Gubb, the paper-hanger detective, on the job!</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb, having received his costume, had come to the Carnival +grounds the back way. He had wandered about the grounds, peeking and +peering, seeking malefactors unsuccessfully. He felt the whole weight +of the Carnival on his shoulders. When he suspected a youth he +followed him at a safe distance, stopping when he stopped, going on +when he went on. He was so intent on trailing and shadowing that he +did not even notice the placards calling him to the Executive Booth. +Every few minutes he had to stop and tell a fortune with the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_166" id="Page_166">[Pg 166]</a></span>magic +tube. So far he had collected two dollars and sixty cents.</p> + +<p>The Chief, with his prisoner walking quietly by his side,—to avoid +unpleasant commotion in an otherwise orderly crowd,—had just passed +the wizard when he heard voices that made him look back.</p> + +<p>“There he is!” said one voice. “Kick him off the grounds!”</p> + +<p>“Here, you!” said another voice. “You’ve got to get out of here. And +you’ve got to give up the money you’ve taken. Quick now. We don’t +allow any professionals on these grounds.”</p> + +<p>The voices were those of Henry P. Cross, Officer of the Day for this +day of the Carnival, and Sam Green, Jr., Vice-Chairman of Police, and +they were speaking to the wizard.</p> + +<p>“Sh!” said the wizard, in a mysterious voice. “It’s all right! Don’t +make a fuss. It’s all right!”</p> + +<p>“Let me kick him off the grounds!” said Mr. Cross. “All I want is a +chance to kick him off the grounds. The cheap professional fakir, +sneaking in to get money that ought to go to the Hospital! Let me +kick—”</p> + +<p>“Now, wait!” said Mr. Green irritably. “We want to make him disgorge +first, don’t we? Just keep your head on, Cross. Let me handle this.”</p> + +<p>“It’s all right! Don’t make a fuss,” whispered the wizard. “I belong +here.”</p> + +<p>“You belong nowhere!” shouted Mr. Cross. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_167" id="Page_167">[Pg 167]</a></span>“You belong here, indeed! +Why, you couldn’t tell that to a baby! I guess not! Telling fortunes +and putting the cash in your pocket. Don’t the Ladies’ Aid of the +Second Baptist Church have the exclusive fortune-telling privilege? +Didn’t they put us onto you?”</p> + +<p>The Chief turned back.</p> + +<p>“What’s up?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Professional,” said Mr. Green. “Some Chicago grafter trying to make +money out of our show.”</p> + +<p>“I’m all right, I tell you,” said Philo Gubb earnestly. “I’m no crook. +You see Beech. Ask Beech. Have Beech come here.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Cross looked at Mr. Green.</p> + +<p>“You mean you fixed it with Beech so you could tell fortunes here?” +asked Mr. Cross.</p> + +<p>“Yes, that’s what I mean,” said Philo Gubb. “You get Beech.”</p> + +<p>“Get Beech,” said Mr. Green. “Beech will throw him out.”</p> + +<p>“I’ll watch him,” said the Chief. “If he tries to move I’ll club him.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Cross and Mr. Green hurried away, and the Chief dangled his club +meaningly. The yellow man, who had been standing awaiting the end of +the controversy, seated himself on the grass and leaned his back +against a tree. Philo Gubb, as evidence that he did not mean to run, +also seated himself, and leaned back against the same tree. The Chief +stood a short distance away, his eyes keenly on them.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_168" id="Page_168">[Pg 168]</a></span></p><p>“How about it, Chicago man?” asked the yellow man in a low tone, +bending down to pick a blade of grass. “Kin you he’p a feller out?”</p> + +<p>“How?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I got in trouble,” said the yellow man. “I’m gwine git hit in de neck +ef some one don’t he’p me mighty quick. Ef I hand you somethin’ is you +gwine take it?”</p> + +<p>“Sure,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Grab it!” whispered the yellow man, and his hand slid the Dragon’s +Eye into the hand of Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>The Chief moved nearer.</p> + +<p>“I guess dey let me go whin dey git me to de calaboose,” said the +yellow man in a louder voice. “Kaze I ain’ done nuffin’ nohow.”</p> + +<p>“They’ll let you go when we get that ruby,” said the Chief meaningly; +“and if we can prove it on you, you go to the pen’.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Cross and Mr. Green returned with Mr. Beech.</p> + +<p>“There he is,” said Mr. Cross, pointing to the wizard Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Never saw him in my life!” said Mr. Beech. “Now, then, what is this +now? What’s this story you—”</p> + +<p>The paper-hanger detective arose and leaned close to Mr. Beech’s ear. +He whispered three words and Mr. Beech’s attitude changed entirely.</p> + +<p>“Oh!” he said. “I wondered where—now—all <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_169" id="Page_169">[Pg 169]</a></span>right! It’s all right! +It’s all right, Cross. All right, Green. All right, Chief!” Then he +turned to Gubb. “We’ve been wanting you, detective. Put up placards +for you. Now, listen! Mrs. Phillipetti had a turban stolen from her +booth, and that infernal ton and a half or so of ruby was in it. The +Dragon’s Eye, she calls it. Well, that turban was stolen—”</p> + +<p>“I am quite well acquainted with that fact,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, why don’t you hunt for it, then?” asked Mr. Beech crossly. “I +thought you were going to be of some use. Fooling around here with +your silly ten-cent fortune-telling, having the time of your life +while all of us are worrying about that Dragon’s Eye. Why don’t you +hunt for it?”</p> + +<p>“It ain’t hardly necessary to engage in deteckative exertions at the +present moment on account of that ruby,” said Philo Gubb slowly, +“because when I want it, all I got to do is to consult the magic +deteckative tube.”</p> + +<p>“You’re crazy!” said Mr. Beech. “You’re crazy as a loon!”</p> + +<p>“The usual price for consulting the oracle is ten cents,” said Philo +Gubb, “but I’ll make a special exception out of this time.”</p> + +<p>He put the end of the magic tube to his ear and listened.</p> + +<p>“The genyi of the tube says I’ve got the Dragon’s Eye into my pocket, +and if you ask this yellow negro black-man he’ll tell you where the +turban is at.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_170" id="Page_170">[Pg 170]</a></span></p><p>“Honest!” exclaimed Mr. Beech. “Gubb, you’re a wonder!”</p> + +<p>The negro, thus trapped, told where he had hidden the turban, and in a +few minutes Mr. Beech, Mr. Cross, and Mr. Green returned with Mrs. +Phillipetti, on whose head again towered the turban with the Dragon’s +Eye gleaming in it, making her “ongsomble” thoroughly “apropos.”</p> + +<p>“Gubb,” said Mr. Beech, “I want Mrs. Phillipetti to meet you. You +certainly are a wizard.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, indeed!” said Mrs. Phillipetti. “The wizardry of your whole +ongsomble is completely apropos to your detective ability.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_171" id="Page_171">[Pg 171]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_PROGRESSIVE_MURDER" id="THE_PROGRESSIVE_MURDER"></a>THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER</h2> + +<p>When Philo Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook the one hundred dollars he had +received for retrieving the Dragon’s Eye, Mr. Medderbrook was not +extremely gracious.</p> + +<p>“I’ll take it on account,” he said grudgingly, “but it ought to be +more. It only brings what you owe me for that Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock down to eleven thousand nine hundred dollars and, at +this rate, you’ll never get me paid up. I can’t tell when there’ll +come along another dividend of ten cumulative per cents on that stock, +that I will have to charge up against you. Unless you can do better I +have half a mind not to let you see the telegram I got from my +daughter Syrilla this morning.”</p> + +<p>“Was the news into it good?” asked Mr. Gubb eagerly.</p> + +<p>“As good as gold,” said Mr. Medderbrook. “As good as Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock.”</p> + +<p>“What did Miss Syrilla convey the remark of?” asked the lovelorn +paper-hanger detective.</p> + +<p>“Well, now,” said Mr. Medderbrook, “I went and paid two dollars and +fifty cents for that telegram. For one dollar and twenty-five cents +I’ll give you the telegram, and you can read it from start to finish.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb, his heart palpitating as only a lover’s heart can palpitate, +paid Mr. Medderbrook the sum <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_172" id="Page_172">[Pg 172]</a></span>he asked and eagerly read the telegram +from Syrilla. It said:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Grand news! Have given up all fish diet. Have given up +codfish, weak fish, sole, flounder, shark’s fins, bass, +trout, herring (dried, kippered, smoked, and fresh), finnan +haddie, perch, pike, pickerel, lobster, halibut, and stewed +eels. Gross weight now only nine hundred and thirty pounds +averdupois. Sweet thoughts to Gubby-lubby.</p></div> + +<p>“You are touched,” said Mr. Medderbrook as Mr. Gubb put the dear +missive to his lips, “but unless I am mistaken you will be still more +deeply touched when you pay for—when you read Syrilla’s next +telegram.”</p> + +<p>“I so hope and trust,” said Mr. Gubb, and he returned to his office in +the Opera House Block with a light heart.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>With the increase of fame that came to him as a detective Mr. Gubb’s +paper-hanging business had grown, and he had left Mrs. Murphy’s house +and taken a room on the second floor of Opera House Block, near the +offices of ex-Judge Gilroy, attorney-at-law, and C. M. Dillman, loans +and real estate. The door now bore the sign</p> + +<div class="centerbox2 bbox2"><p class="center">PHILO GUBB<br /> +DETECKATIVE<br /> +Also Paper-hanging</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_173" id="Page_173">[Pg 173]</a></span></p><p>On this morning Detective Gubb had hardly reached his office when +Uncle Gabriel Hostetter, a shrewd smile on his face, opened Mr. Gubb’s +door.</p> + +<p>Uncle Gabriel Hostetter was a round-shouldered old man with a long +white beard that came to a thin point. He wore old-fashioned +gold-rimmed spectacles, the rims forming irregular octagons, and on +his head he wore one of the grandest old silk hats that ever saw the +light of day in 1865. His principal garment was a frock coat, once +black, but now grayish green. He was the wealthiest man in town, and +it was said that when he once got his hands on a silver dollar he +squeezed it so hard that the bird of freedom on it uttered a squawk.</p> + +<p>He opened Philo Gubb’s door hesitatingly. He expected to see an array +of mahogany desks and filing cabinets for which he would have to pay +every time the detective turned around. When he peered into the room +he saw a tall, thin man in white overalls with a bib, sitting on an +up-ended bundle of wall-paper, stirring a pail of paste with one hand +while he ate a ham sandwich by means of the other.</p> + +<p>“I guess I got in the wrong place,” said Uncle Gabe. “Thought this was +a detective office. All right! All right!”</p> + +<p>“I’m him,” said Philo Gubb, swallowing a hunk of sandwich with a gulp +and wiping his hand on his overalls.</p> + +<p>“You’re who?” asked Uncle Gabe.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_174" id="Page_174">[Pg 174]</a></span></p><p>“I’m the deteckative,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“You are, hey?” said Uncle Gabe. “All disguised up, I reckon.”</p> + +<p>“Disguised up?” said Philo questioningly. “Oh, this here paper-hanging +and decorating stuff? No, this ain’t no disguise. Even a deteckative +has got to earn a living while his practice is building up.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” said old Gabe. “Detecting ain’t very good right now?”</p> + +<p>“It ain’t, for a fact,” said Philo.</p> + +<p>“Well, if that’s so,” said old Gabe, “maybe you and me could do +business. If you want to do a little detective work to sort of keep +your hand in, maybe we can do business.”</p> + +<p>“I ought to git paid something,” said Philo doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Pay!” exclaimed old Gabe. “Pay for bein’ allowed to sharpen up and +keep bright? Why, you’d ought to pay me for lettin’ you have the +practice. It ain’t goin’ to do me no good, is it?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what you want me to detect yet,” said Philo. “I might +pay some if it was a case that would do me good to practice on. I +might pay a little.”</p> + +<p>“I knew it,” said old Gabe. “Now, this case of mine—What sort of a +case <i>would</i> you pay to work on?”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Philo thoughtfully, “if I was to have a chance at a real +tough murder case, for instance.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_175" id="Page_175">[Pg 175]</a></span></p><p>“Humph!” said old Gabe. “How much might you pay to be let work on a +case like that?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I dunno!” said Philo Gubb thoughtfully. “If it looked like a +mighty hard case I might pay a dollar a day—if it was a murder case.”</p> + +<p>“This case of mine,” said old Gabe, coming farther into the room, “is +just that sort of a case. And I’ll let you work on it for a dollar and +a quatter a day.”</p> + +<p>“Well, if it’s that kind of a case,” said Philo slowly, “I’ll give you +a dollar a day, and I’ll work on it hard and faithful.”</p> + +<p>“A dollar and a quatter a day,” insisted old Gabe.</p> + +<p>“No, sir, a dollar is all I can afford to pay,” said Philo.</p> + +<p>“All right, I won’t be mean,” said old Gabe. “Make it a dollar an’ +fifteen cents and we’ll call it a go.”</p> + +<p>“One dollar a day,” said Philo.</p> + +<p>“A dollar, ten cents,” urged old Gabe.</p> + +<p>“One dollar,” said Philo.</p> + +<p>“Tell you what let’s do,” said old Gabe. “We ain’t but ten cents +apart. You add on a nickel and I’ll knock off a nickel, and we’ll make +it a dollar five. What say? That’s fair enough. You ain’t come up any. +I come all the way down.”</p> + +<p>“All right, then,” said Philo. “It’s a go. Now, who was murdered, and +when was he murdered, and why was he murdered? Them’s the things I’ve +got to know first.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_176" id="Page_176">[Pg 176]</a></span></p><p>“You pay me a dollar five for the first day’s work, and I’ll tell +you,” said old Gabe.</p> + +<p>Philo dug into his pocket and drew out some money. “There,” he said. +“There’s two dollars and ten cents. That pays for two days. Now, go +ahead.”</p> + +<p>He drew out his notebook and wet the end of a pencil and waited.</p> + +<p>“The reason this is such a hard case,” said old Gabe slowly, and +choosing his words with care, “is because the murder ain’t completed +yet. It’s being did.”</p> + +<p>“Right now?” exclaimed Philo excitedly. “Why, we oughtn’t to be +sitting here like this. We ought—”</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t be in such a hurry,” said old Gabe. “If you mean we ought +to be where the victim of the murder is, we are. He’s right here now. +I’m him. I’m the one that’s being murdered. I’m being murdered by slow +murder. I’m liable to drop down dead any minute. But I don’t want to +be murdered and not have the feller that murders me hang like he +ought. I can’t be expected to. It ain’t human nature.”</p> + +<p>“No, it ain’t,” agreed Philo. “A man can’t help feeling revengeful +against the man that murders him. If anybody murdered me I’d feel the +same way. How’s he killing you? Slow poison?”</p> + +<p>“Gun-shot,” said old Gabe. “Shootin’ me to death with a gun.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_177" id="Page_177">[Pg 177]</a></span></p><p>The correspondence school detective looked at old Gabe with amazement.</p> + +<p>“Shootin’ you to death with a gun!” he exclaimed. “Ain’t you told the +police?”</p> + +<p>“I come to you, didn’t I?” asked old Gabe. “If I was to set the police +on the feller he might rouse up and shoot me to death all at once.”</p> + +<p>“How is he shootin’ you to death?” asked Philo.</p> + +<p>“By inches, b’gee,” said old Gabe. “Yes, sir, by inches. Every once in +a while he takes a shot at me. Sometimes through the window of my +house, and sometimes when I’m walkin’ on the street.”</p> + +<p>“And he ain’t ever hit you yet?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Hit me?” exclaimed old Gabe. “Why, he don’t ever miss me. He hits me +every time. There ain’t a day he don’t shoot and hit me, and some days +he hits me two or three times. I dare say I’m almost dead now, if I +knowed it.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb fondled his notebook uncertainly.</p> + +<p>“What—what does he shoot you with?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Well, I dunno exactly,” said old Gabe. “With a pea-shooter.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb closed his notebook, and slipped it into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“If all you was after was to get that two dollars and ten cents, you +might have got it without wastin’ so much of my time,” he said +reproachfully.</p> + +<p>But old Gabe did not move.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_178" id="Page_178">[Pg 178]</a></span></p><p>“What’s the matter?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Maybe I’m a fool,” Gubb said bitterly, “but I ain’t no such fool as +to think anybody is murdering nobody with a pea-shooter.”</p> + +<p>“Was you ever shot with a cannon?” asked old Gabe calmly.</p> + +<p>“No, nor nobody ever tried to murder me with a pea-shooter,” said +Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“If you ever <i>was</i> shot by a thirteen-inch cannon ball,” said old +Gabe, “you’d know it. When a thirteen-inch cannon ball hits you, there +ain’t nothin’ left of you at all. But when a one-inch cannon ball hits +you, you’ve got a chance to live a minute or two, maybe. That’s the +difference between a thirteen-inch cannon ball shootin’ you, and a +one-inch cannon ball shootin’ you. And a rifle ball is different, +too.”</p> + +<p>“I got a job of paper-hangin’ as soon as I can get away from here,” +said Philo Gubb meaningly.</p> + +<p>“You got a job of detectin’ on hand now,” said old Gabe. “And, as I +was sayin’, a rifle ball acts different. Maybe it kills you the first +shot, and maybe you can hold three or four rifle bullets before you +die, but if they keep on shootin’ at you, you get killed sooner or +later. Probably five shots is all any man could stand. I guess that’s +about it.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo12" id="Illo12"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 399px;"> +<img src="images/i194.jpg" class="ispace" width="399" height="500" alt="“THERE AIN’T A DAY HE DON’T SHOOT AND HIT ME”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“THERE AIN’T A DAY HE DON’T SHOOT AND HIT ME”</span> +</div> + +<p>“And then you come down to one of them little twenty-two caliber +revolvers. If he don’t hit you in the heart, a murderer could easy +enough shoot at you twenty-five times with one of them little <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_179" id="Page_179">[Pg 179]</a></span>twenty-two’s before he killed you dead. But you’d be dead sooner or +later. It’s just a matter of what a man shoots you with that makes the +difference in time.</p> + +<p>“Of course,” he continued agreeably, “you don’t expect no pea-shooter +to kill me as quick as a thirteen-inch gun would. If you expect that +you’re unreasonable. But the principle is just the same. Shootin’ is +shootin’. You know how that pome goes—</p> + +<div class="centerbox3 bbox3"><p>‘The constant drip of water<br /> +Wears away the hardest stone—’</p></div> + +<p>and that’s just as true of murderin’ a man with a pea-shooter.</p> + +<p>“And the beauty of it is that nobody knows you’re committin’ a murder. +If anybody catches you and asks you what you’re doin’ you just say, +‘Oh, nothin’. Just shootin’ peas.’”</p> + +<p>“Maybe that’s so,” agreed Philo Gubb. “It sounds reasonable. But the +thing for me to do is to wait until you’re dead and then catch the +feller. It ain’t a murder until you’re dead.”</p> + +<p>“It ain’t, ain’t it?” sneered old Gabe. “You’d wait until I am dead, I +suppose, and then start out to catch the feller. And you’d lose all +the help I can give you. It ain’t often a detective can get the corpse +to help him like this.”</p> + +<p>“No, it ain’t,” agreed Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I got a suspicion who the feller is,” said Gabe.</p> + +<p>“Who?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_180" id="Page_180">[Pg 180]</a></span></p><p>“You’ll go ahead with the case? On the terms we settled on?” asked old +Gabe.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb considered this carefully.</p> + +<p>“Why, yes,” he said at length, “I will. Who is the feller you think is +doin’ it?”</p> + +<p>“Farrin’ton Pierce, the cashier of the Farmers’ and Citizens’ Bank,” +said old Gabe, his eyes shining with malice and shrewdness, as he +leaned forward and whispered the words. “My own son-in-law, he is. An’ +I’ll tell you why he’s tryin’ it. For my money. So his wife’ll get it, +an’ he can be president of the bank in my place.”</p> + +<p>“You’ve seen him have a pea-shooter?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“No, sir!” said old Gabe. “And I never seen one of the peas. All I +ever felt was the sting of it when it hit me.”</p> + +<p>“Maybe,” said Philo Gubb eagerly, “maybe it ain’t a pea-shooter. Maybe +it’s a twenty-two short pistol with a silencer onto it. Maybe it’s +only because he’s been afraid to come nigh enough to you that he ain’t +killed you yet. It don’t seem to me that any man would try to murder +any one with a pea-shooter.”</p> + +<p>“Humph!” said old Gabe. “Maybe you are right, at that. That’s +something I never thought of. It sounds likely, too.”</p> + +<p>“A deteckative has to think of all them things,” said Philo simply. +“If I was you I’d be more careful.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_181" id="Page_181">[Pg 181]</a></span></p><p>“I will!” said old Gabe. “See here, if he’s shootin’ at me like that, +it ain’t no joke, is it? Tell you what I’ll do. I’ll let you off from +payin’ me that dollar five a day. Just you hustle onto this case and +keep at it, and I’ll leave you work on it for nothin’. All I want is +that you should send me word reg’lar of what you find out.”</p> + +<p>“It is the custom of all the graduates of the Rising Sun +Correspondence School deteckatives to make reg’lar reports in +writing,” said Philo Gubb. “I’ll start right in shadowing and trailing +Mister Farrington Pierce, according to Lessons Three and Four, and +I’ll report reg’lar every day.”</p> + +<p>“Everything you find out,” said old Gabe. “Don’t leave out a thing. +And particularly at night. That’s when he shoots me the most.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t leave him a minute,” said Philo Gubb. “I’ve got a man I hire +to help me on my paper-hangin’, and I’ll get him to finish up this +job. I’ll start trailin’ and shadowin’ Farry Pierce right away.”</p> + +<p>Old Gabe shook hands with Philo and went out. When the door was closed +behind him he chuckled, and all the way home his face was creased in a +grin. He felt that he had done a good bit of business and saved +himself a good sum of money. Philo Gubb, in the meantime, having put a +false beard and a wig in his pocket, went out.</p> + +<p>Across the street from the bank was Grammill’s Cigar Store, where the +idler men of the town loafed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_182" id="Page_182">[Pg 182]</a></span>when they had nothing better on hand, +and Philo Gubb entered and bought a cigar and took an easy loafing +position near the front window. He commanded a view of the only +entrance to the bank, and here he waited. At fifteen minutes after +three Farry Pierce came out of the bank.</p> + +<p>“There’s a man with an easy job,” said one of the loafers. “That Farry +Pierce. Nothing to do till to-morrow.”</p> + +<p>“Too much time on his hands, I guess,” said another, who—by the +way—had more spare time than Farry Pierce. “From what I hear he’d be +better off if he had to work all day <i>and</i> all night.”</p> + +<p>“The widow?” asked the first speaker.</p> + +<p>“That’s what they say,” said the second. “They tell me he’s blowing +all his salary and more on that widow. Must make old Gabe crazy to see +any of his kin spend money that way. Or any way. He’s a close one, old +Gabe is.”</p> + +<p>“What you hear about Farry and the widow?” asked the first.</p> + +<p>“Makes old Gabe crazy, they tell me. He wants his girl to get a +divorce.”</p> + +<p>“Who told you that?”</p> + +<p>“My girl. My girl is workin’ for his girl. Fr’m what she tells me old +Gabe is pretty well worked up about it. Said he’d get a spotter to +foller Farry and get some evidence on him if it didn’t cost so blame +much. I bet the’ won’t be any divorces in that family if old Gabe has +to pay out any money.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_183" id="Page_183">[Pg 183]</a></span></p><p>“I bet they won’t. And the’ ain’t no detectives workin’ for nothin’ so +far as I hear. Not this year.”</p> + +<p>“No, nor next year, neither,” said the other; and as this was in the +nature of a joke they both laughed.</p> + +<p>But Philo Gubb did not join their laughter. He felt his face grow red. +His lean hands folded and unfolded as he watched Farry Pierce +disappear around the corner of the bank building. If any one felt like +murdering old Gabe with a pea-shooter at that moment, Philo Gubb did. +Shadow and trail Farry Pierce! The old skin-flint, coming with a fairy +tale and getting the only fully graduated deteckative in Riverbank to +shadow and trail a son-in-law and report daily! Divorce case evidence, +hey? Talking murderer and working a deteckative into doing scandal +sleuthing free of charge! Philo Gubb’s face reddened again with new +anger as he put his hand in his pocket and touched the beard and wig +he had placed there. But for this chance conversation he would have +been following Farry Pierce now, and making a fool of himself. But for +this chance conversation he would not have lost sight of Farry Pierce +by day or by night. He went back to his office, put on his overalls, +and went to his work on a paper-hanging job.</p> + +<p>At six he started for home. A block down the street he met one of the +loafers he had heard speaking in Grammill’s Cigar Store.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_184" id="Page_184">[Pg 184]</a></span></p><p>“What do you think about it?” he asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“About what?” asked Philo in return.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t you heerd?” asked the man. “Why, it’s all over town by now. +Farry Pierce murdered old Gabe Hostetter not more’n twenty minutes +after we seen him comin’ out of the bank. Shot him. Killed him first +shot. Yes, sir! Killed him instantly with a little mite of a pistol +with about as much carry as a pea-shooter. Must have hit him in just +the right spot.”</p> + +<p>“Did you see the pistol?” asked Philo Gubb nervously.</p> + +<p>“No, I didn’t,” said his informant, “but that’s what the feller told +me. ‘Killed him instantly with one of these here little pea-shooters,’ +was what he said. What you lookin’ so funny about?”</p> + +<p>“If you insist to wish to know,” said Philo Gubb, “Mr. Gabe Hostetter +wasn’t murdered instantly at all. He was progressively murdered by +inches over a long considerable period of time, like little drops of +water.”</p> + +<p>For a minute the loafer stared at Mr. Gubb. Then he laughed.</p> + +<p>“Crazy!” he scoffed. “Crazy as a loon!” and he walked away and left +Mr. Gubb struggling for a suitably crushing retort.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_185" id="Page_185">[Pg 185]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_MISSING_MR_MASTER" id="THE_MISSING_MR_MASTER"></a>THE MISSING MR. MASTER</h2> + +<p>That evening Mr. Gubb received a short note from Mr. Medderbrook that +was in the form of a bill or statement. It read: “Due from P. Gubb to +J. Medderbrook, $11,900. Please remit,”—so he put on his hat and +walked to Mr. Medderbrook’s elegant home.</p> + +<p>“I want you to hurry up with what you owe me,” said Mr. Medderbrook, +when Mr. Gubb explained that he could pay nothing on the Utterly +Hopeless Gold-Mine stock at the moment, “because I know you are soft +on Syrilla, and from a telegram I got from her to-day it looks as if +it would be no time at all before she reduced her weight down to seven +hundred pounds and Mr. Dorgan of the side-show broke his contract with +her. And if you want to read the telegram you can do so by paying half +what it cost me, which was three dollars.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook one dollar and a half, as any lover +would, and read the telegram from Syrilla. It said:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Love is triumphing. Have given up all cereal diet. Have +given up oatmeal, rice, farina, puffed wheat, corn flakes, +hominy, shredded wheat, force, cream of wheat, grapenuts, +boiled barley, popcorn, flour paste, and rice powder. Weigh +now only nine hundred and twenty-five pounds. Soft thoughts +to dearest Gubby.</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_186" id="Page_186">[Pg 186]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Gubb hesitated a moment and then said:—</p> + +<p>“Far be it from me to say aught or anything, Mr. Medderbrook, but I +would wish the cost of telegrams would reduce themselves down a +little. This one is marked onto its upper corner ‘PAID’—”</p> + +<p>“Yes, the telegraph boy said that was a mistake,” said Mr. Medderbrook +hastily.</p> + +<p>“And very likely so,” said Mr. Gubb, “but for a reduction of five +pounds one dollar fifty is a highish price to pay. Thirty cents a +pound is too much.”</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Mr. Medderbrook, “I don’t want to have any quarrel with +you, so I’ll do this for you: I will make you a flat price of +twenty-five cents per pound.”</p> + +<p>“Which is a fair and reasonable price for glad tidings to a fond +heart,” said Mr. Gubb, and this matter having been amicably settled, +he returned to his office.</p> + +<p>That evening he sat on the edge of his cot bed minus his coat, vest, +and trousers, with his bare feet comfortably extended. At his back a +pillow made a back-rest, and a bundle of wall-paper served as a rather +lofty footstool. He was deeply immersed in Lesson Eleven, his +bird-like face screwed into tensity. From time to time he wiggled one +toe or another as a fly alighted on it. Sometimes, when more than one +fly alighted on his toes at once, he wiggled all ten toes +simultaneously.</p> + +<p>A trunk, a varnished oak washstand and a cot showed that the room was +not only a decorator’s <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_187" id="Page_187">[Pg 187]</a></span>shop, but a living-place; and that this was +the office of Philo Gubb, detective, was shown by a row of hooks from +which hung various disguises used by the celebrated detective, by a +portrait of William J. Burns, cut from a magazine and pasted on the +wall, and by a placard which read, “P. Gubb, Graduate and Diploma-ist +of the Rising Sun Detective Agency’s Correspondence School of +Detecting. Detecting done by the Day or Job. Terms on Application.”</p> + +<p>On the cot at Philo Gubb’s side lay a copy of that day’s morning +Chicago paper, with a two-column spread headline reading, “Wife Offers +$5000 Reward,” and it was this that had driven Philo Gubb, the +paper-hanger detective, to renewed study of Lesson Eleven—“Procedure +in Abduction and Missing Men Cases.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Custer Master, of Chicago, had mysteriously disappeared. One +paragraph in the article had caught Mr. Gubb’s particular attention:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Mrs. Master feels that her husband is still alive, and +insists that Mr. Master will be found in one of the Iowa +towns on the Mississippi River. The police of these towns +have been notified, and detectives have gone to investigate. +The Masters stand high in South-Side society. Mr. Master, it +is understood, recently inherited $450,000 from a maternal +uncle. At the time the will was probated considerable +interest was aroused by the fact that the legacy was to go +to Mr. Master only on condition that he carried out certain +provisions contained in a sealed envelope, to be read only +by the executors and Mr. Master.</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_188" id="Page_188">[Pg 188]</a></span></p><p>And so on. The paper pointed out that Mr. Master had been a sufferer +from dyspepsia for many years, but this had not had a permanently +depressing effect on his mind. His home relations were most +satisfactory. His own business—he was a dealer in laundry supplies +and laundry machinery—was doing well, and no trace of outside +troubles could be discovered.</p> + +<p>On the morning of his disappearance, Mr. Master had shown some signs +of mental eccentricity. A neighbor, happening to be at her window, saw +Mr. Master come hurriedly from the door of his house. An hour later a +friend passed him as he was standing on a corner six blocks from home. +Mr. Master seemed greatly distressed.</p> + +<p>“I can’t do it! It kills me; I can’t do it!” he was muttering to +himself. “I never could do it. I said so.”</p> + +<p>The next news of Mr. Master was gained from the keeper of a bath-house +and swimming-pool known as the Imperial Natatorium. About ten o’clock, +Mr. Master entered the Natatorium hurriedly, asked the price of baths, +and chose to pay for a plunge in the big swimming-pool. He paid in +advance, removed his garments in one of the small dressing-rooms, put +on a swimming-suit and went to the edge of the big pool. Here he +grasped the rail and extended one foot until his toes touched the cold +water, when he uttered a cry, rushed to the dressing-room, and, as +soon as he had thrown on <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_189" id="Page_189">[Pg 189]</a></span>his clothes, dashed from the building. That +was the last seen of Mr. Master.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb, having finished reading Lesson Eleven for the third time, +had picked up the Chicago paper when the silence of the Opera House +Building was disturbed by the sound of feet ascending the brass-clad +stairs.</p> + +<p>The nocturnal visitors seemed unacquainted with the building, for, +after two or three steps had been taken, one lighted a match. It was +evident to the detective that these visitors were reading the names on +the doors as they progressed along the corridor, and he was about to +extinguish his lamp and prepare for the worst, when the two men +stopped again, struck a match, and, after an instant’s hesitation, +rapped sharply upon his door.</p> + +<p>“Come in!” called Philo Gubb, at the same time drawing his bed-sheet +over his scantily clad legs. He knotted the sheet behind, like an +apron, and arose to greet the comers. They were two. One of them Mr. +Gubb recognized at once; he was Billy Gribble, proprietor of the Gold +Star Hand Laundry, just across the way on Main Street. The other man +was a stranger.</p> + +<p>Under his arm, Billy Gribble carried a long, cylindrical parcel +enclosed in heavy wrapping paper. The parcel was about six feet long +and nearly as large around as Billy himself. Under his other arm, +Billy carried a second parcel. This was about three feet square. The +trained eye of Detective Gubb <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_190" id="Page_190">[Pg 190]</a></span>noted all this at a glance. Billy +Gribble dropped the two parcels on the floor.</p> + +<p>“Gubby, old sport!” he said in his noisy way, “this is—”</p> + +<p>“Now, now!” said the stranger irritably. “Now, wait! I said I would +talk to him, didn’t I? What do you mean by—if you’ll please let—you +are Detective Gubb, are you not?” he asked.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb gazed at the man. The man was tall and thin, taller and +thinner than Mr. Gubb himself. He was clean-shaven and his face showed +deep lines about the mouth and nose. His hair was closely clipped, +making his head seem pea-like in its smallness.</p> + +<p>But Mr. Gubb was not gazing at these things. His bird-like eyes were +fastened on the end of the suitcase the stranger still held in his +hand. On the end of the case were painted in black the letters “C. M.” +and the word “Chicago.” The stranger glanced down at the suitcase and +put it on the floor with a suddenness that brought forth a thumping +sound.</p> + +<p>“Clue!” he said, and he kicked the suitcase.</p> + +<p>“I presume the honor of this call at this late hour of time,” said +Philo Gubb, shifting his sheet a little, “is on a matter of business. +If it is of a social, society sort, I’ll have to ask to be kindly +excused whilst I assume my pants.”</p> + +<p>“Business call, business call entirely, Mr. Gubb,” said the tall +stranger. “Don’t put anything on. If—if <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_191" id="Page_191">[Pg 191]</a></span>you feel embarrassed I’ll +take some off. My name is—is—”</p> + +<p>“Phineas Burke,” said Billy Gribble, in a loud whisper.</p> + +<p>“Can’t you keep still?” asked the stranger crossly. “Don’t you think I +know my own name? Phineas—that’s my name, and I know it as well as +you do. Phineas Burns.”</p> + +<p>“Burke, not Burns,” whispered Billy Gribble.</p> + +<p>The stranger turned red with exasperation.</p> + +<p>“Look here! Don’t I know my own name?” he asked angrily. “My name is +Phineas Burns.”</p> + +<p>“All right! All right!” said Billy Gribble. “Have it your own way. You +ought to know. Only—you said Burke over at my place.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Burke-Burns glared at Billy Gribble.</p> + +<p>“Now! There, now!” he cried. “Just for that I’ll tell you you don’t +know anything about it. My name isn’t Burke, and it isn’t Burns. +It’s—it’s Charles Augustus Witzel. Mr. Gubb, my name is Charles +Augustus Witzel.”</p> + +<p>“Glad to know your acquaintance, sir,” said Philo Gubb. “Won’t you be +seated upon one of them bundles of wall-paper?”</p> + +<p>“I’m a detective,” said Mr. Charles Augustus Witzel. “Tell him about +me, Gribble.”</p> + +<p>“Well, he—whatever his name is, but Burke was what he told me—is a +Chicago detective,” said Billy Gribble. “Yes, sir, Mr. Gubb, Mr.—ah, +what is it?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_192" id="Page_192">[Pg 192]</a></span></p><p>“Witzel,” said Mr. Witzel.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Witzel is one of the celebratedest Chicago detectives,” said Mr. +Gribble, “and he’s come over here to hunt up this man Master that’s +disappeared. See? So when he strikes town he comes straight to me. +That’s how it is, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Ex-act-ly!” said Mr. Witzel.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Billy Gribble. “So he comes to my laundry, and I’m in +the washroom—”</p> + +<p>“You ain’t!” said Mr. Witzel. “You’re out, and you know you’re out!”</p> + +<p>“And I’m out,” said Billy Gribble. “Maybe I was in the washroom and +went out the back way. Anyway, I’m out. Say,” he said, as Mr. Witzel +squirmed, “if you don’t like the way I’m telling this, tell it +yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I entered Mr. Gribble’s laundry,” said Mr. Witzel. “You’ll +understand, being a detective, Mr. Gubb. I entered the laundry. Here +is the counter. I walked up to the counter. I leaned over and spoke to +the girl there. ‘My dear young lady,’ I said, ‘is Mr. Gribble in?’ +‘Out,’ she says. Naturally, I looked down. A detective observes +everything. My toe has hit a suitcase. On the end of the suitcase are +the initials ‘C. M.’ and ‘Chicago.’ In other words, ‘Custer Master, +Chicago,’—the man I’m looking for.”</p> + +<p>“And did you get him?” asked Philo Gubb tensely.</p> + +<p>“Gone! Gone like a bird!” said Mr. Witzel. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_193" id="Page_193">[Pg 193]</a></span>“I waited for Gribble. I +questioned Gribble. I asked him if Mr. Master had been there—”</p> + +<p>“Hold on!” said Mr. Gribble, and then, “Oh, all right!”</p> + +<p>“And he said, ‘No,’” said Mr. Witzel, frowning. “‘Very well,’ I said +to Gribble, ‘he’ll be back. He’ll come back after the suitcase.’ So +Gribble hid me in his private office. I waited.”</p> + +<p>“And he came back?” asked Detective Gubb eagerly.</p> + +<p>“He did not,” said Mr. Witzel.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb sighed with relief. “Then I’ve got a chance at an +opportunity to get that five thousand dollars,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb,” said Mr. Witzel, “you have a chance to get twenty-five +hundred. It was to offer you the chance to get twenty-five hundred +that I came here. What did I say to you, Gribble?”</p> + +<p>“You go ahead and tell it, if you want it told,” said Gribble. “You +don’t like the way I tell things. Tell ’em yourself.”</p> + +<p>“I said to Gribble,” said Mr. Witzel slowly, “‘Gribble, is this the +town where a detective by the name of Grubb lives?’”</p> + +<p>“Gubb is the name,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Gubb. That’s what I said,” said Mr. Witzel. “That made me think a +bit. ‘Gribble,’ I says, ‘by to-morrow there will be forty Chicago +detectives in his town, all looking for Master. And I don’t care a +whoop for any of them,’ I says. ‘I’m the leader <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_194" id="Page_194">[Pg 194]</a></span>of them all, as +anybody who has read the exploits of—of George Augustus Wechsler—.’”</p> + +<p>“Charles Augustus Witzel,” said Gribble, correctingly.</p> + +<p>“I have so many <i>aliases</i> I forget them,” said Mr. Witzel to Mr. Gubb. +“You’ll understand that perfectly. You are a detective, and I’m a +detective, Witzel or Wotzel or Wutzel—who cares? We understand each +other. Don’t we?”</p> + +<p>“I presume to suppose we will do so in the course of time,” said Philo +Gubb politely.</p> + +<p>“Pre-cise-ly!” said Mr. Witzel. “So I said to Gribble, ‘I’m afraid of +Gubb! He’s the man who will find Master, if I don’t. But I’ve got an +advantage. I’ve got the clue.’”</p> + +<p>He pointed to the suitcase.</p> + +<p>“So Gribble says to me,” said Mr. Witzel, “‘Why don’t you and Gubb +combine?’ ‘Great idea!’ I says, and—here I am. How about it, Mr. +Gobb?”</p> + +<p>“Gubb is the name I adhere to when not deteckating,” said Mr. Gubb +kindly. “And as to how about it, I wouldn’t want to enter into a +combination shutting me out from using the ability taught to me in +Chapters One to Twelve inclusive, of the Correspondence course. For +the twenty-five hundred which would fall to my share, I should expect +to detect to some considerable extent.”</p> + +<p>“Quite right! <i>Quite</i> right!” said Mr. Witzel promptly. “That meets my +plans entirely. I make <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_195" id="Page_195">[Pg 195]</a></span>my headquarters here, I give you a free hand. +I am a—an inductive detective.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir. A Sherlock Holmes deteckative,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Ex-act-ly!” said Mr. Witzel. “I think things out. But you go out. You +shadow and snoop and trail. I remain here. For you see,” he added, +“I’m so well known that if Master saw me he would disappear instantly. +Instantly!”</p> + +<p>“I’m willing to transact it as a business bargain onto them terms,” +said Philo Gubb, and it was agreed.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gribble immediately cut the cords that bound the two bundles, and +released a canvas cot and a bundle of bedding. Then he said good-night +and withdrew, closing the door behind him.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb waited until he heard Mr. Gribble’s footsteps on the +brass-clad stairs.</p> + +<p>“That Gribble man ain’t what I’d term by name of a—of a—” He +hesitated. “He’s not known as a strictly reliable citizen in any +respect,” he ended. “I wouldn’t trust him any more than need be +necessary.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Mr. Witzel, who was already removing his garments. +“I don’t mean to. And now, if you don’t mind, I’ll retire. Let’s see +if Mr. Master has a night-shirt in his suitcase. I think it helps the +inductive mind to sleep in the night-shirt of the man it is hunting.”</p> + +<p>He opened the suitcase, using—oddly enough a key from his own bunch +of keys. He found a night-shirt <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_196" id="Page_196">[Pg 196]</a></span>and put it on. To his surprise it +fitted him exactly, which was odd, for Mr. Witzel was an unusually +tall and thin man. Without wasting time, he climbed into the cot and +closed his eyes. Mr. Gubb also retired.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb, from his cot, watched Mr. Witzel until he was sure he was +thoroughly asleep. Then the Correspondence School detective slipped +out of bed and knelt over the suitcase.</p> + +<p>The suitcase contained linen all plainly marked. The name “C. Master” +was written in indelible ink on each piece. An extra suit of outer +garments was marked with Mr. Master’s name. There were silver-backed +toilet articles, engraved with Mr. Master’s name, and these Mr. Gubb +examined closely, but what caught and held his interest most was a +folded document, covered in light-blue paper and endorsed, “Last Will +and Testament of Orlando J. Higgins. Copy.”</p> + +<p>The will began with the usual preamble, but the clause that caught +Philo Gubb’s bird-like eye, and held it, was the next.</p> + +<p>“To my nephew, Custer Master,” this clause said, “I give and bequeath +$450,000; but, be it understood, my said nephew, Custer Master, shall +benefit by this clause only in case he faithfully carries out the +instructions contained in the sealed envelope attached hereto, the +contents of said envelope to be read by my hereinafter named +Executors, and the said Custer Master, and not by <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_197" id="Page_197">[Pg 197]</a></span>any other persons +whatsoever; the said Executors are to be the sole judges of whether +the said Custer Master has carried out the instructions therein +contained.”</p> + +<p>This document was worn at the corners of the folds, and slightly +soiled, as if Mr. Master had carried it in his pocket some time before +dropping it in his suitcase.</p> + +<p>With the same caution, and following closely Lesson Three and its +directions for “Searching Occupied Apartments, Etc.,” Mr. Gubb +examined the articles of dress the Chicago detective had cast aside. +All were marked “C. Master” or “C. M.” or with a monogram composed of +the letters “C. M.” interwoven.</p> + +<p>As cautiously as he could, Philo Gubb crossed to his trunk and took +from the left-hand compartment of the tray his trusty pistol. It was a +large and deadly looking pistol, about a foot and a half long, with a +small ramrod beneath the barrel. It was a muzzle-loader of the crop of +1854, and carried a bullet the size of a well-matured cherry. It was +as heavy as a vitrified paving-brick. Its efficiency as a firearm was +unknown, as Mr. Gubb had never discharged it, but it looked dangerous. +A man, facing Philo Gubb’s trusty weapon, felt that if the gun went +off he would be utterly and disastrously blown to flinders. Mr. Gubb +pointed it at the sleeping Mr. Witzel, using both hands, and sighting +along the barrel.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_198" id="Page_198">[Pg 198]</a></span></p><p>“Wake up!” he exclaimed sternly.</p> + +<p>Mr. Witzel sat straight up on the cot. For an instant he was still +dazed with sleep and did not seem to know where he was; then a look of +joy spread over his face and he jumped from the cot and, with both +hands extended, moved toward Detective Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Superb!” he exclaimed. “A perfect specimen! Wonderfully preserved!”</p> + +<p>“Go back!” said Philo Gubb sternly. “This article is a loaded pistol +gun, prepared for momentary explosion at any time at all. Go back!”</p> + +<p>“Remarkable!” cried Mr. Witzel joyously. “A superb specimen. Let me +see it. Let me look at it.”</p> + +<p>He walked up to the gun and peered into its muzzle with one eye. He +bent his head to read the engraving on the top of the barrel.</p> + +<p>“A real Briggs & Bolton 53½ caliber, muzzle-loading, 1854!” he +exclaimed rapturously.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb pushed him away with one hand.</p> + +<p>“Go back there into range,” he said sternly. “In shooting I aim to +kill, but not to blow into particles of pieces.”</p> + +<p>“But, my dear sir!” exclaimed Mr. Witzel. “Do you know what you have +there?”</p> + +<p>“It’s a pistol gun,” said Philo Gubb. “If you don’t stand back, I’ll +shoot you anyway.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a Briggs & Bolton,” said Mr. Witzel. “That’s what it is. It is +the only well-preserved specimen of Briggs & Bolton I ever saw.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_199" id="Page_199">[Pg 199]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Gubb shook off the hand that clasped his arm.</p> + +<p>“I don’t care what it is,” said Mr. Gubb. “It’s a pistol gun, and it’s +bung full of powder and bullet, and when I point it at you I mean that +if you make a move I’m a-going to shoot.”</p> + +<p>“And I don’t care what you mean,” said Mr. Witzel. “It’s a Briggs & +Bolton, and I warn you that you have that gun so full of powder that +if you pull that trigger you’ll blow it to bits and ruin the only +perfect specimen of that gun I ever saw!”</p> + +<p>“And I tell <i>you</i>,” said Philo Gubb sternly, “that I can’t shoot you +whilst you’re rubbing your nose right into this gun. Go back there +where I can shoot you.”</p> + +<p>“I won’t!” said Mr. Witzel angrily.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb was slow to anger, but he was sorely pressed now, and his +temper failed him.</p> + +<p>“Look here,” he said to Mr. Witzel. “If you don’t go back where I can +get a shot at you, I’ll—I’ll smack you on the face.”</p> + +<p>“If you shoot off that gun, and bust it,” said Mr. Witzel, with equal +anger, “I’ll—I’ll hit you on the head.”</p> + +<p>“Go back!” cried Philo Gubb menacingly. “One!”</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you fifty dollars for that gun, just as she is,” said Mr. +Witzel.</p> + +<p>“Two!” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Sixty dollars!” said Mr. Witzel.</p> + +<p>“Th—” said the paper-hanger detective, stepping <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_200" id="Page_200">[Pg 200]</a></span>backward to get room +to sight along the long barrel. Unfortunately the trunk was just +behind him and as he stepped back he tripped over it and fell +backward, doubling up like a jack-knife. But he kept his presence of +mind. The long barrel of the Briggs & Bolton protruded from between +the soles of Philo Gubb’s feet in Mr. Witzel’s direction.</p> + +<p>“Hands up!” he said.</p> + +<p>Instantly Mr. Witzel raised his hands in the air.</p> + +<p>“I’ll give you seventy dollars,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Make it seventy-five,” said Mr. Gubb, “and as soon as I’m done with +it, you can have it.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a bargain!” said Mr. Witzel happily. “It’s my pistol. Now, +what’s all this nonsense about shooting me?”</p> + +<p>“<i>Nonsense</i> is an insufficient word to use in relation to this here +case,” said Philo Gubb grimly. “It won’t be nonsense for you when you +get through with it. What did you do with the corpse?”</p> + +<p>“With the—with the <i>what</i>?” cried Mr. Witzel.</p> + +<p>“The remains,” said Mr. Gubb. “What did you do with them?”</p> + +<p>“The remains of what?” asked Mr. Witzel.</p> + +<p>“Of Mister Custer Master,” said Philo Gubb, easing himself a little by +shifting one waving foot. “There is no need to pretend to play +innocent. Where is the body?”</p> + +<p>“My dear Mr. Detective Gubb!” exclaimed Mr. Witzel. “I know nothing +about any body. I am George Augustus Wetzler—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_201" id="Page_201">[Pg 201]</a></span></p><p>“Maybe you are,” said Philo Gubb. “Maybe so. But your clothes ain’t. +Your clothes are the clothes of Mister Custer Master. The question is, +‘Did you murder him alone, or did you and William Gribble murder him +together?’”</p> + +<p>Mr. Witzel-Wetzel-Wetzler’s mouth fell open.</p> + +<p>“Murder him!” he exclaimed aghast. “But—but—”</p> + +<p>“In the name of the law,” said Philo Gubb, “I take you into custody +for the murder and disappearing bodyliness of Mister Custer Master. +Turn your back and keep your hands up until I get from behind this +trunk, and I’ll put handcuffs on you in proper shape and manner. +Turn!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Witzel turned—all but his head. He kept his face toward the +priceless (or, more properly) seventy-five-dollar Briggs & Bolton.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb,” he said, “you are making a serious mistake. I am a +detective.”</p> + +<p>“You ain’t!” said Philo Gubb. “I searched all your things and you +ain’t got a silver badge nor a false mustache nowhere. I’m going to +turn you right over to the police to-morrow morning.”</p> + +<p>“To the police!” exclaimed Mr. Witzel. “Don’t do that! Whatever you +do, don’t do that!” And suddenly, like a nervous dyspeptic suddenly +overwrought, Mr. Witzel broke down and, falling on the cot, began to +sob. Philo Gubb looked at him a moment with amazement. Then he dug a +pair of handcuffs out of his trunk and, walking to where Mr. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_202" id="Page_202">[Pg 202]</a></span>Witzel +lay, prodded him in the back with the muzzle of the pistol. Mr. Witzel +turned quickly, rolling over like an eel.</p> + +<p>“Stop it! You’re tickling me. I can’t stand tickling!” he cried. “I—I +can’t stand lots of things. I’m—I’m the most sensitive man in the +world. I—I can’t stand cold water at all.”</p> + +<p>“Well, nobody is cold-watering you,” said Philo Gubb. “Handcuffs ain’t +cold water.”</p> + +<p>“But cold water is,” said Mr. Witzel. “Cold water kills me! It makes +me shiver, and turn blue, and goose-fleshy, and gives me cramps in the +palms of my hands and the soles of my feet. I—listen: my doctor says +cold baths will kill me. The shock of ’em. Bad heart, you understand.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb’s eyes blinked.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell <i>you</i>,” said Mr. Witzel, grasping Mr. Gubb’s hand. “I can’t +<i>stand</i> cold baths. They’d kill me, you understand. It would be +suicide! So—so I knew Billy Gribble. Didn’t I set him up in business +here, to get rid of him? Don’t he owe me a good turn?”</p> + +<p>“Does he?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Hasn’t he two bathrooms in connection with his laundry. ‘Hot and Cold +Baths, All hours. Ladies Tuesdays and Wednesdays Only?’” asked Mr. +Witzel. “Mr. Gubb, I will be frank. I am Custer Master!”</p> + +<p><a name="Illo13" id="Illo13"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i219.jpg" class="ispace" width="500" height="232" alt="THE MISSING MR. MASTER" title="" /> +<span class="caption">THE MISSING MR. MASTER</span></div> + +<p>“The reward for who—for who the reward,” said Philo Gubb, seeking a +grammatical form that <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_203" id="Page_203">[Pg 203]</a></span>would sound right, “for information as to which five thousand dollars +reward is offered!”</p> + +<p>“Exactly!” said Mr. Master. “And I will make it six thousand if you do +not give information. I admit I am Master. I am Custer Master. Here, +read this!”</p> + +<p>He reached for his vest and from the pocket took a slip of paper. It +was typewritten and headed “Secret Stipulation Regarding Custer Master +Clause of Orlando J. Higgins Will. Copy”:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Being a firm believer in the efficacy of cold baths for the +cure of dyspepsia and having been laughed at for same by my +nephew, Custer Master, and feeling that a course of ice-cold +baths would cure him, I make it a part of my will and +testament that the sum or sums bequeathed to him shall be +given to him only after he has faithfully, and upon the +sworn testimony of an eye-witness, bathed for twelve +minutes, every morning for one month of thirty days, in +ice-cold water.</p></div> + +<p>“Cleanliness may be next to godliness,” said Mr. Master, “but +ice-water baths are my shortest road to a future state, and I’m not +ready for that yet. Still, I did not like to give up $450,000. To +Billy Gribble,” he added, with a meaning smile, “all baths are cold +baths. I hold a mortgage on his laundry machinery.”</p> + +<p>“And so you came up here to my office to hide whilst bathing in +so-called ice-water at Mister Gribble’s?” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Exactly!” said Mr. Master.</p> + +<p>“If you ain’t got six thousand and seventy-five <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_204" id="Page_204">[Pg 204]</a></span>dollars by you,” said +Philo Gubb simply, “you can give me a check for the whole amount in +the morning, but if you go to take the bullet out of this pistol +you’ll have to get an auger. I made the bullet myself and it was too +big, and I had to pound it into the gun with a hammer and +screw-driver. It’s in good and safe.”</p> + +<p>“And you would have dared to pull the trigger?” asked Mr. Master.</p> + +<p>“I would have dared so to do,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It would have blown the pistol to atoms!” exclaimed Mr. Master.</p> + +<p>“It would so have done,” said Mr. Gubb, “except for the time I loaded +it being the first beginning time I ever loaded a pistol. In loading a +Briggs & Bolton, I have since subsequently learned, the powder ought +to go into it first, and the bullet second. I put the bullet in +first.”</p> + +<p>“Well, bless my stars!” exclaimed Mr. Master. “Bless my stars! If that +is the case—if that is the case, I’m going to bed again. I have to +get up before daylight to take a bath.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_205" id="Page_205">[Pg 205]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="WAFFLES_AND_MUSTARD" id="WAFFLES_AND_MUSTARD"></a>WAFFLES AND MUSTARD</h2> + +<p>It would not be true to say that Mr. Gubb had become suspicious of Mr. +Medderbrook’s honesty. The fact that the cashier of the Riverbank +National Bank told him the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock was not +worth the paper it was printed on did pain him, however.</p> + +<p>It pained Mr. Gubb to think his father-in-law-to-be might be guilty of +even unconscious duplicity, and when Mr. Master paid him the six +thousand and seventy-five dollars Mr. Gubb decided that only three +thousand dollars of it should pass immediately into Mr. Medderbrook’s +hands. Mr. Gubb put two thousand dollars in the bank and invested the +balance in furniture for his office and in articles and instruments +that were needed for his detective career. The three thousand dollars +he took to Mr. Medderbrook and paid it to him, leaving only eight +thousand nine hundred dollars unpaid.</p> + +<p>Mr. Medderbrook was greatly pleased with this and told Mr. Gubb so.</p> + +<p>“This is a bully payment on account,” he said, “and if you keep on +this way you’ll soon be all paid up, but you don’t want to let that +worry you, for I’m having a brand-new lot of stock in a brand-new mine +printed, and I’ll sell you a whole lot of it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_206" id="Page_206">[Pg 206]</a></span>as soon as we are +square. I’m going to call it the Little Syrilla Gold-Mine—”</p> + +<p>“I don’t think I’ll buy any more gold-mine stock after the present lot +is paid up completely full,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” said Mr. Medderbrook. “I haven’t given the printer +final orders yet and if you prefer something else I’ll make it +Oil-Well stock. It is all the same to me. The property will produce +just as much oil as it will gold. Every bit!”</p> + +<p>“Have you heard from Miss Syrilla recently of late?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Yes, I have,” said Mr. Medderbrook. “I have heard two dollars and a +half’s worth.”</p> + +<p>The telegram, which Mr. Medderbrook permitted Mr. Gubb to read after +he had paid the cash in hand, said:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Heaven smiles on us. Have given up all vegetable diet. Have +given up potatoes, beets, artichokes, fried parsnips, Swiss +chard, turnips, squash, kohl-rabi, boiled radishes, sugar +beets, corn on the cob, cow pumpkin, mushrooms, string +beans, asparagus, spinach, and canned and fresh tomatoes. +Have lost ten pounds more. Weight now only nine hundred and +fifteen pounds. Dorgan worried. I dream of Gubby and love.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Gubb sighed happily. “I suppose,” he said blissfully, “that by the +present moment of time Miss Syrilla has only got left a remainder of +six double chins out of seven, dear little one!” And he went back to +his office feeling that it would not be <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_207" id="Page_207">[Pg 207]</a></span>long now before the apple of +his eye was released from her side-show contract.</p> + +<p>The next day Mr. Gubb had begun his labors on a new and interesting +case when the door opened.</p> + +<p>“Gubb, come across the hall here!”</p> + +<p>Gubb looked up from the labor in which he was engaged and blinked at +Lawyer Higgins.</p> + +<p>“At the present time I am momently engaged upon a case,” said Mr. +Gubb. “As soon as I am disengaged away from what I am at, I expect to +be engaged at the next thing I have to do. I shouldn’t wish to assume +to be rude, Mr. Higgins, but when a deteckative is working up a case, +and has a sign on his door ‘Out—Back at Midnight,’ he generally means +he ain’t receiving callers on no account.”</p> + +<p>“That’s all right,” said Higgins briskly, “but this is business. I’ve +got a real job for you.”</p> + +<p>“I am engaged upon a real job now,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“This is a detective job,” said Mr. Higgins. “We want you to find a +man, and if you find him, there’s two hundred dollars in it for you. +What sort of a job is it you have on hand?”</p> + +<p>“I am searching out the whereabouts of a lost party,” said Gubb +earnestly. “I’m investigating clues at the present time and moment.”</p> + +<p>Higgins stepped inside the door. He walked to where Philo Gubb sat at +an elaborate mahogany desk, and looked at the apparatus Mr. Gubb was +using.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_208" id="Page_208">[Pg 208]</a></span></p><p>“What the dickens?” he asked.</p> + +<p>On the slide of the desk were grouped a number of small articles, and +a large and powerful microscope. Through the lens of the microscope +Mr. Gubb was inspecting something that looked like frayed yellow-brown +wool yarn.</p> + +<p>“You don’t expect to find your missing party in that wad of wool, do +you, Gubb?” asked Mr. Higgins jestingly.</p> + +<p>“Maybe I do, and maybe the operations of the deteckative mind are none +of your particular affair when conducted in the private seclusion of +my laboratory,” said Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t get mad,” said Higgins. “It just struck me as funny. Looks +as if you were hunting for fleas in a wisp of dog hair.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb looked up quickly. As a matter of fact, he had but a moment +before found a flea in the wool he was examining, and the wool was +indeed a wisp of dog hair. The party Mr. Gubb had been engaged to find +was a dog, and Mr. Gubb was—by the inductive method of +detecting—trying to reason out the location of the dog. By the aid of +the microscope, Mr. Gubb was searching for the slight indications that +mean so much to detectives. Unfortunately, however, Mr. Gubb had not +yet found anything from which he could deduce anything whatever, +unless the flea in the wool might lead to the conclusion that the dog +now, or once, had fleas.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_209" id="Page_209">[Pg 209]</a></span></p><p>“Tell you what I want,” said Mr. Higgins: “I want you to find +Mustard.”</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb swung suddenly in his chair and faced Mr. Higgins.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want nothing more to do with that will!” he said.</p> + +<p>“I’m with you there!” said Higgins, laughing. “When O’Hara made his +will so that my client couldn’t get her rights at once he did a mean +trick, and I dare say Mrs. Doblin will think so when she gets my bill. +But, just the same, Gubb, you’re in the detective business more or +less, and it strikes me you ought to take a job when it’s offered to +you. You signed the will as a witness, and this man Bilton, commonly +known as Mustard on account of his yellow complexion and hair, was the +other witness, wasn’t he? Now, if you can’t give us the information we +want, and Mustard can, it looks to me as if it was your duty, as a +fellow witness, to hunt him up. But we don’t ask that. We’re willing +to pay you if you find him.”</p> + +<p>“Are you prepared to contract to say you’ll pay me just for hunting +for him?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“We’ll give you two hundred dollars if you can produce Mustard here in +Riverbank,” said Higgins.</p> + +<p>“The job I’ve took on to hunt up another missing party will occupy me +for quite a while, I guess,” said Gubb, “but maybe I might put in what +extra time I can spare looking for your party.”</p> + +<p>“Do it!” said Higgins. “I don’t say you’re the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_210" id="Page_210">[Pg 210]</a></span>best detective in the +world, Gubb, but you do have luck. You must have a magic talisman.”</p> + +<p>“The operation of the deteckative mind is always like magic to the +common folks,” said Gubb gravely.</p> + +<p>“All right, then,” said Higgins. “Two hundred if you find him. And +now, will you just come across the hall for one minute?”</p> + +<p>Gubb left his microscope reluctantly. He was sick and tired of the +O’Hara will, but he followed Mr. Higgins.</p> + +<p>The second floor of the Opera House Block was laid out in small +offices arranged on two sides of a corridor. One of these offices had +been for many years the office of Haddon O’Hara, who specialized in +commercial law, collections, and jokes, and he had accumulated a snug +little fortune. It was said he could draw a contract no one could +break except himself.</p> + +<p>On the streets and in his home and at his office—except when at work +on some especially difficult case—his face always wore a quizzical +smile. O’Hara seemed to enjoy himself every moment. Walking along the +street he would suddenly stop some citizen, enunciate a dozen or +twenty cryptic words, laugh, and proceed on his way, leaving the +citizen to puzzle over the affair, lose interest in it and forget it. +A week, a month, or a year later O’Hara would stop the same citizen +and utter ten more words, the key to the cryptic joke. Then, +chuckling, he would hurry away. He had a lot of fun. His keen <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_211" id="Page_211">[Pg 211]</a></span>brain +felt equal to making fun of the whole town and not letting the town +know it. Money came to him easily; he had no wife; his pleasure was in +his books—and he was probably a happy man. But he died. He died and +left a will.</p> + +<p>For some years O’Hara lived with his niece, an orphan. She was +eighteen, and there might have been some gossip, but O’Hara +forestalled it by hiring old Mrs. Mullarky.</p> + +<p>O’Hara bought his niece a pup and had a dog-house built and put in the +yard. He christened the pup himself, naming it Waffles, because, he +said, the minute he saw the pup it reminded him of Dolly. The pup was +just the color of the waffles Dolly baked—“baked” is O’Hara’s word. +So he bought Waffles and brought him home to Dolly, and the girl loved +the dog from the first minute. Then, just as the dog had outgrown +puppyhood, O’Hara died.</p> + +<p>His will was found in the safe in his office. Old Judge Mackinnon, who +shared the office with O’Hara, found the will the day after O’Hara +died. It was in a white legal envelope endorsed, “My Will, Haddon +O’Hara.” The Judge opened the envelope—it was not sealed—and took +out the will. The will was not filled in on a printed form—it was a +holograph will, written in O’Hara’s own hand. It began in the usual +formal manner and there were two bequests. The first read: “To my +niece, Dorothy O’Hara, since she is so extremely fond of her dog +Waffles, I give and bequeath the dog-house <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_212" id="Page_212">[Pg 212]</a></span>now on my property at 342 +Locust Street, Riverbank, Iowa.” The second read: “Secondly, to my +cousin Ardelia Doblin I bequeath the entire remainder and residue of +my estate,” etc.</p> + +<p>Judge Mackinnon frowned as he read these two bequests. He knew Ardelia +Doblin as a spiteful, scandal-mongering woman. To cut off Dolly O’Hara +with a dog-house and give his entire estate to Ardelia Doblin might be +O’Hara’s idea of a joke, but the Judge did not like it. He read the +final clause, appointing him sole executor without bond. O’Hara’s +signature was correctly appended. The will was dated July 1, 1913. It +was witnessed by Philo Gubb and Max Bilton. The Judge knew both +witnesses. Gubb was the eccentric paper-hanger who thought he was a +detective because he had taken a correspondence course, and Bilton was +a jaundiced loafer, commonly called Mustard. The good old man sighed +and was about to put the will back in the envelope when he noticed +three letters at the bottom of the sheet. They were “P.T.O.” Now +“P.T.O.” is an English abbreviation that means “Please Turn Over.” The +Judge turned the paper over.</p> + +<p>Suddenly he smiled. Then he looked grave again. And then he grinned. +After which he shook his head.</p> + +<p>The reverse of the sheet contained a will exactly like that on the +obverse. Word for word it was the same. Line for line, punctuation +mark for punctuation <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_213" id="Page_213">[Pg 213]</a></span>mark, the two wills on the opposite sides of the +sheet were identical except for two words. In the will the Judge was +now reading, the name Sarah P. Kinsey was substituted for the name +Ardelia Doblin. The date was the same. The witnesses were the same. +There were two wills, one written on one side of the sheet and the +other written on the other side of the sheet, of the same date, with +the same signature, and with the same witnesses. O’Hara had joked to +the last.</p> + +<p>“This is a dickens of a joke!” exclaimed Judge Mackinnon. “O’Hara +should not have done this!”</p> + +<p>He saw the property of Haddon O’Hara being dissipated in lawsuits over +this remarkable will. He knew Sarah P. Kinsey as well as he knew +Ardelia Doblin, and she was just such another mean cantankerous +individual.</p> + +<p>“A joke’s a joke, but you shouldn’t have done this, O’Hara!” said the +Judge.</p> + +<p>There was nothing to do but notify the parties concerned. He went to +see Dolly O’Hara first and told her, as gently as he could, about the +will. She cried a little, softly, at first, and then she smiled +bravely.</p> + +<p>“You mustn’t worry about it, Judge Mackinnon,” she said. “I—of course +I never thought what Uncle Haddon would do with his money. And—and we +used to joke about the dog-house. He always said he would leave it to +me in his will. Uncle Haddon loved to joke, Judge Mackinnon.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_214" id="Page_214">[Pg 214]</a></span></p><p>“He was a joking jackanapes!” said Judge Mackinnon angrily.</p> + +<p>Ardelia Doblin and Sarah P. Kinsey took the matter in quite a +different spirit. Mrs. Doblin could hardly wait until Judge Mackinnon +was out of the house before she hurried down to see Lawyer Higgins, +and Mrs. Kinsey did not wait until the Judge was ready to go, but put +on her hat in his presence, so eager was she to hurry down to see +Lawyer Burch.</p> + +<p>Ten hours later the O’Hara will was the one matter talked about in +Riverbank. Evidently there must be some clue leading to the solution +of the mystery—some well-hidden, cleverly planned key such as Haddon +O’Hara would undoubtedly have left in perpetrating such a joke. Common +sense was sufficient to tell any one that O’Hara could not have +written both wills simultaneously, that he had written one will on one +side of the paper, after which he had turned the paper over and had +written the other will on the other side of the paper. The difficulty +was to tell which side he had written last.</p> + +<p>Lawyer Higgins, Lawyer Burch, and Judge Mackinnon went over both sides +of the paper with a microscope. The same ink had been used on both +sides. O’Hara’s writing was the same on both sides. Often, in writing +as many words as occupied both sides of the paper in question, a man’s +hand grows involuntarily weary. There was nothing of this sort. There +seemed to be absolutely nothing on which the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_215" id="Page_215">[Pg 215]</a></span>greatest penmanship +expert could base a plea that either side was, in fact, the <i>last</i> +will of Haddon O’Hara. Either might be the last.</p> + +<p>Nothing was left untested by Higgins and Burch. The two sides of the +paper on which the wills were written were subjected to the minutest +scrutiny.</p> + +<p>Each will was witnessed by the same pair of witnesses, and these were +Philo Gubb and Max Bilton. It was no trouble to get Philo Gubb to tell +about signing the will. Judge Mackinnon crossed the hall and brought +Philo Gubb to the office.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir,” said Mr. Gubb. “I signed my signature onto that document +two times as requested so to do by the late deceased. He come over to +my official deteckative headquarters and asked me to step across and +do him the pleasure of a small favor and I done so. Yes, sir, that’s +my signed signature. And that’s my signed signature also likewise.”</p> + +<p>“Did he say anything, Mr. Gubb?” asked the Judge.</p> + +<p>“He says, ‘Gubb, this is my last will and testament, and I wish you to +sign your signature onto it as a witness.’ So he put the paper in +front of me. ‘Where’ll I sign it?’ I says. ‘Sign it right here under +Mr. Bilton’s name,’ he says. So I signed my signature like he told +me.”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said the Judge, “and Mr. O’Hara blotted it with a piece of +blotting-paper, did he not?”</p> + +<p>“He so done,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“And then what?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_216" id="Page_216">[Pg 216]</a></span></p><p>“Then he turned the paper over,” said Mr. Gubb, “and he says, ‘Now, +please sign this one.’ So I signed it.”</p> + +<p>“Under Mr. Bilton’s name again?” said the Judge.</p> + +<p>“Why, no,” said the paper-hanger detective. “Not under it, because it +wasn’t located nowhere to have an under to it. Mr. Bilton hadn’t +signed on that side yet.”</p> + +<p>There was an instant sensation.</p> + +<p>“Bilton hadn’t signed that side?” said Mr. Higgins. “Which side hadn’t +he signed?”</p> + +<p>“The other side from the side he had signed,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Did you notice which side he had not signed?” insisted Mr. Higgins. +“Was it this side that mentions Mrs. Doblin, or this side that +mentions Mrs. Kinsey? Which was it?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb took the paper and examined it carefully. He turned it over +and over.</p> + +<p>“Couldn’t say,” he said briefly.</p> + +<p>“In other words,” said Mr. Burch, “you signed one side before Mr. +Bilton signed and one side after he signed, but you don’t know which?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir, I don’t,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“So,” said Judge Mackinnon, with a smile, “you can swear you signed +both these wills as witness, but you have no idea which you signed +last, Mr. Gubb.”</p> + +<p>“E-zactly so!” said Mr. Gubb with emphasis.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_217" id="Page_217">[Pg 217]</a></span></p><p>“Now, just a minute,” said Mr. Burch. “One of these Bilton signatures +is ‘M. Bilton’ and the other is ‘Max Bilton.’ You don’t recall which +was on the paper when you signed, do you?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Burch,” said Mr. Gubb, “I wasn’t taking no extra time to find out +if a no-account feller like Mustard Bilton signed his name M. or Max +or Methuselah. No, sir.”</p> + +<p>“Do you know where Mustard Bilton is now?” asked Judge Mackinnon.</p> + +<p>“Don’t know,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>The three lawyers consulted for a minute or two. Then the Judge turned +to Gubb again.</p> + +<p>“And did Mr. O’Hara say anything more on the occasion when you signed +the will?” asked the Judge.</p> + +<p>“He said, ‘Thank you,’” said Mr. Gubb. “He said, ‘Thank you, Sherlock +Holmes.’”</p> + +<p>Higgins and Burch laughed, and even the Judge smiled, and they told +Mr. Gubb he could go.</p> + +<p>An hour or three quarters of an hour after he had been called to +identify his signature to the wills, a gentle tap at Mr. Gubb’s door +caused him to look up from the pamphlet—Lesson Four, Rising Sun +Detective Agency’s Correspondence School of Detecting—he was reading.</p> + +<p>“Come on right in,” he called, and in answer the door opened and a +young woman entered. She was a sweet-faced, modest-appearing girl, and +when she pushed back her veil, Mr. Gubb saw she had been <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_218" id="Page_218">[Pg 218]</a></span>weeping, for +her eyes were red. Mr. Gubb hastily pulled out his desk chair.</p> + +<p>“Take a seat and set down, ma’am,” he said politely. “Is there +anything in my lines I can be doing for you to-day?”</p> + +<p>“Are you Mr. Philo Gubb?” she asked, seating herself.</p> + +<p>“Yes’m, paper-hanging and deteckating done,” he said.</p> + +<p>“It’s about a dog, my dog,” said the young woman. “He’s lost, or +stolen, and—”</p> + +<p>Emotion choked her words.</p> + +<p>“I know it sounds foolish to ask a detective to look for a dog,” she +said with a poor attempt at a smile, “but—”</p> + +<p>“In the deteckative line nothing sounds foolish,” said Mr. Gubb with +politeness.</p> + +<p>“But Uncle Haddon told me once that if ever I needed a—a detective I +should come to you,” the young woman continued. “You knew Uncle +Haddon, Mr. Gubb?”</p> + +<p>“I had the pleasure of being known to and knowing of him,” said Mr. +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“My name is Dolly O’Hara! I am his niece.”</p> + +<p>“Glad to make your acquaintance, ma’am,” said Philo Gubb, and he shook +hands gravely.</p> + +<p>“He gave me my dog,” said Miss O’Hara. “He gave him to me when the dog +was just a puppy, and he called him Waffles. He used to joke about my +loving the dog more than I loved him. He used to say—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_219" id="Page_219">[Pg 219]</a></span></p><p>Miss O’Hara wiped her eyes. For a moment she could not speak.</p> + +<p>“He used to say,” she continued in a moment, “that I’d never break my +heart over a lost uncle, but that if I lost Waffles I’d die of grief. +It wasn’t so, of course. But I’m heart-broken to have Waffles gone. He +is all I’ll have to remember Uncle Haddon by. And then—to have +him—go!”</p> + +<p>“I should take it a pleasure to be employed upon a case to fetch him +back,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Oh, would you?” cried Miss O’Hara. “I’m so glad! I was afraid a—a +real detective might not want to bother with a dog. Of course I’ll +pay—”</p> + +<p>“The remuneration will be minimum on account of the smallness of the +crime under the statutes made and provided,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“But you must let me pay!” urged Miss O’Hara. “One of the things Uncle +Haddon said was, ‘If you ever lose that dog, Dolly, hire Detective +Gubb. Understand? He’s a wonderful detective. He’ll leave no stone +unturned. He’ll find your dog. He’ll pry the roof off the dog-house to +find a flea, and when he’s found the flea he’ll hunt up a blond dog to +match it. Remember,’ he said, ‘if you lose the dog, get Gubb.’”</p> + +<p>“I consider the compliment the highest form of flattery,” said Mr. +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“So I want you to try to find Waffles, please, if it isn’t beneath you +to hunt a dog,” said Miss <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_220" id="Page_220">[Pg 220]</a></span>O’Hara. “How much will you charge to find +Waffles, Mr. Gubb?”</p> + +<p>“I’d ought to have five dollars—” Mr. Gubb began doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“Of course!” exclaimed Miss O’Hara. “Why, I expected to pay far more.”</p> + +<p>“Well and good,” said Mr. Gubb. “And now, how aged was the dog when he +was purloined away from you?”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb secured a complete history of the dog. Miss O’Hara had +brought, also, two photographs of Waffles in pleasing poses, and when +she left, Mr. Gubb accompanied her to the late home of Waffles. It was +there he gathered the clues over which he was poring with his +microscope when Mr. Higgins came to ask him to step across the hall +and to offer him two hundred dollars if he could produce Mustard +Bilton. Mr. Gubb went across the hall.</p> + +<p>“Gubb,” said Judge Mackinnon, when he had introduced the detective to +Mrs. Kinsey and Mrs. Doblin, “was Mustard Bilton in this office when +you signed your name to these wills?”</p> + +<p>“No, sir, he was not present in person,” said Mr. Gubb. “He was +elsewhere.”</p> + +<p>“Well, ladies,” said the Judge, “it seems to me that until we can find +Mustard we cannot proceed. Mr. O’Hara’s last will—whichever it +is—must be probated. If I took this will to the courthouse, whichever +side happened to be uppermost would be probated first and the other +side would naturally <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_221" id="Page_221">[Pg 221]</a></span>appear on the record as the latest will. It is a +responsibility I do not care to undertake. If you will not agree to +compromise and divide the estate—”</p> + +<p>“Never!” said both ladies.</p> + +<p>“We must find Mustard!” said the Judge.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb went into the hall, but Lawyer Burch followed him.</p> + +<p>“Gubb,” he said, “just a word! Find Mustard for me. Now, don’t +talk—find him. Bring Mustard to Judge Mackinnon’s office and I’ll put +two hundred dollars in your hand! That’s all!”</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb returned to his office and resumed his work on his lost +dog clues. One by one he submitted the clues to inspection under the +microscope. He tried the five processes of the Sherlock Holmes +inductive method on them. By some strange quirk, quite out of keeping +with the usual detective-story logic, he could make nothing of them. +Even the flea in the bit of dog hair did not point direct to the +location of the dog. They were blind clues. Mr. Gubb swept them into +an empty envelope, sealed the envelope, put on his hat and went out.</p> + +<p>On the stair he met Judge Mackinnon.</p> + +<p>“Well, if O’Hara meant to have a little joke—and he did—he’s had +it,” said the Judge with a chuckle. “You should have been in that room +just now. Cat fights? Those two women all but jumped on each other +with claws and teeth. I don’t know <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_222" id="Page_222">[Pg 222]</a></span>why O’Hara wanted to worry them, +but he has paid them back well for whatever they ever did to him.”</p> + +<p>“And the dog has disappeared away, too,” said Mr. Gubb. “I am +proceeding on my way at the present time to help discover where the +dog is.”</p> + +<p>“Hope you find the poor child’s pet,” said the Judge as he turned off +in the opposite direction.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb proceeded to the late home of Haddon O’Hara. He followed the +brick walk to the back of the house. He was already familiar with the +premises.</p> + +<p>The dog-house—the only recently painted structure in the +neighborhood—stood opposite the kitchen door. It was perhaps three +feet in height and four feet long, with a pointed roof. As a door it +had an open arch, and at one side of this was a staple to which a +chain could be attached. The grass in front of the dog-house was worn +away, leaving the soil packed hard. The detective, arriving at the +dog-house, walked around it, gazing at it closely.</p> + +<p>The inductive method had failed—as it always failed for Mr. Gubb—and +he meant now to try following a clue in person, if he could find a +clue to follow. Mr. Gubb dropped to his hands and knees and crept +around the dog-house, seeking a clue hidden in the grass. When he +reached the front of the dog-house he paused.</p> + +<p>“Ye look that like a dog I was thinkin’ ye’d howl for a bone,” said +Mrs. Mullarky suddenly from the kitchen door.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_223" id="Page_223">[Pg 223]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Gubb turned and eyed her with disapproval.</p> + +<p>“The operations of deteckating are strange to the lay mind,” he said +haughtily. “Those not understanding them should be seen and not +heard.”</p> + +<p>“An’ hear the man!” cried Mrs. Mullarky. “Does a dog-house drive all +of ye crazy? T’ see a human bein’ crawlin’ around on his four legs an’ +callin’ it detectin’ where a dog is that ain’t there! Go awn, if ye +wish! Crawl inside of ut!”</p> + +<p>“I’m going to do so,” said Mr. Gubb, and he did.</p> + +<p>Inside, or as far inside as he could get, Mr. Gubb struck a match and +examined the floor of the house. There was straw on it, but nothing +even remotely suggesting a clue. No dog thief had left a glove there. +Mr. Gubb began to back out, and as he backed his head touched +something softer than a pine board. He craned his long neck and looked +upward. Tacked to the inside of the roof of the house was a long +envelope. Mr. Gubb put up his hand and pulled it loose. Then he backed +into the daylight. He sat on the bare spot before the dog-house and +examined the envelope.</p> + +<p>The envelope was sealed, but on the face of it was written:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>To be delivered to Judge Mackinnon, after Waffles has been +returned to his house and home. Waffles will be found in the +old cattle-shed on the Illinois side of the river, north +from the turnpike at the far end of the bridge.<span class="right2">H. O’H.</span></p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_224" id="Page_224">[Pg 224]</a></span></p><p>It was a clue! Without stopping to silence the scornful laughter of +Mrs. Mullarky, Philo Gubb jumped to his feet and made for the Illinois +side of the long bridge as rapidly as his long legs could carry him. +He reached the old cattle-shed and there he found Mustard Bilton +seated at the door, smoking a cob pipe in lazy comfort.</p> + +<p>“Come for the dog?” asked Mustard carelessly. “Sort of thought you’d +come for him about now. Been expectin’ you the last couple o’ days.”</p> + +<p>“Expecting me?” said Philo Gubb. “I’ve been doing deteckative work on +this case—”</p> + +<p>“Yes, Had’ O’Hara reckoned you’d detect around awhile before you got +track of me,” said Mustard without emotion. “He says, when I’d signed +that there will for him, ‘Day or so after I kick the bucket, Mustard, +you go up and steal Waffles,’ he says, ‘and fetch him over to the +cattle-shed on the Illinoy side,’ he says, ‘and keep him there until +Gubb comes for him. Take a day or so, maybe,’ he says, ‘for Dolly to +remember I told her to get Gubb, and take Gubb a day or two to scrooge +round before he hits on the clue I’ve fixed up to point him to you, +but he’ll come. He’s a wonder, Gubb is,’ says O’Hara, ‘and no mistake. +If a feller was to steal the sardines out of a can,’ he says, ‘bet you +Gubb would want to see what was inside the empty can before he’d start +out to find the feller. You just sit quiet an’ wait till Gubb snoops +round enough,’ he says, ‘and he’ll come.’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_225" id="Page_225">[Pg 225]</a></span></p><p>“You have possession of the Waffles dog at the present time?” asked +Detective Gubb.</p> + +<p>“In yonder,” said Mustard, pointing over his shoulder. “Say, what’s +the joke O’Hara was cookin’ up, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“You accompany yourself with me to the office of Judge Mackinnon,” +said Mr. Gubb, “and you’ll discover it out for yourself and I’ll +remunerate you to twenty dollars also. Fetch the dog.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb, quite properly, left Mustard and Waffles in his own office +while he visited Mr. Higgins and Mr. Burch, collecting two hundred +dollars from each. Then he turned Mr. Mustard Bilton over to them.</p> + +<p>“You signed those wills of O’Hara’s,” said Mr. Burch when all had +gathered in Judge Mackinnon’s office. “Do you know which you signed +last?”</p> + +<p>“Sure, I do,” said Mustard.</p> + +<p>Mr. Burch handed him the double will.</p> + +<p>“Which did you sign last?” asked Mr. Burch energetically.</p> + +<p>Mustard took the document and looked at it. The Kinsey side was toward +him.</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t this one,” he said positively.</p> + +<p>“Ah, ha!” cried Lawyer Higgins, turning the paper over. “Then it was +this one you signed last!”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Mustard, glancing at the Doblin side of the paper. “I +signed this’n the same time as I signed the other side of it. I signed +both these the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_226" id="Page_226">[Pg 226]</a></span>first day of the month. The one I signed last I signed +on the second of the month.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes!” said Judge Mackinnon, looking at a document he had taken +from the envelope Philo Gubb had handed him. “You mean this one:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Last will and testament—and all else with which I may die +possessed—to my niece Dorothy O’Hara—and hope she can take +a joke—Haddon O’Hara.</p></div> + +<p>You mean this one, Mr. Bilton?”</p> + +<p>“Yep,” said Mustard, looking at the document that gave to Dolly O’Hara +every jot and tittle of Haddon O’Hara’s property. “That’s the one. +That’s the one I signed last. Me and old Sam Fliggis signed her—same +day O’Hara hired me to steal the dog. Well, I guess I’ll be takin’ the +dog back home. So ’long, gents. Old Had’ was bound to have his joke, +wasn’t he?”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb,” said Judge Mackinnon suddenly, “would you be betraying a +professional secret if you told us how you found this document?”</p> + +<p>“In the pursuit of following my deteckative profession,” said +Detective Gubb, “according to Lesson Six, Page Thirty-two.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_227" id="Page_227">[Pg 227]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_ANONYMOUS_WIGGLE" id="THE_ANONYMOUS_WIGGLE"></a>THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE</h2> + +<p>Any one reading a history of the detective work of Philo Gubb, the +paper-hanger detective, might imagine that crime stalked abroad +endlessly in Riverbank and that criminals crowded the streets, but +this would be mere imagination. For weeks before he took on the case +of the Anonymous Wiggle, he had been obliged to revert to his +side-line of paper-hanging and decorating.</p> + +<p>Four hundred of the dollars he had earned by solving the mystery of +the missing Mustard and Waffles he had paid to Mr. Medderbrook, +together with five dollars for a telegram Mr. Medderbrook had received +from Syrilla. This telegram was a great satisfaction to Mr. Gubb. It +brought the day when she might be his nearer, and showed that the fair +creature was fighting nobly to reduce. It had read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>None but the brave deserve the thin. Have given up all +liquids. Have given up water, milk, coca-cola, beer, +chocolate, champagne, buttermilk, cider, soda-water, root +beer, tea, koumyss, coffee, ginger ale, bevo, Bronx +cocktails, grape juice, and absinthe frappé. Weigh eight +hundred ninety-five net. Love to Gubby from little Syrilla.</p></div> + +<p>Crime is not rampant in Riverbank. P. Gubb therefore welcomed gladly +Miss Petunia Scroggs <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_228" id="Page_228">[Pg 228]</a></span>when she came to his office in the Opera House +Block and said: “Mr. Gubb? Mr. Philo Gubb, the detective? Well, my +name is Miss Petunia Scroggs, and I want to talk to you about +detecting something for me.”</p> + +<p>“I’m pleased to,” said Mr. Gubb, placing a chair for the lady. +“Anything in the deteckative line which I can do for you will be so +done gladly and in good shape. At the present moment of time, I’m +engaged upon a job of kitchen paper for Mrs. Horton up on Eleventh +Street, but the same will not occupy long, as she wants it hung over +what is already on the wall, to minimize the cost of the expense.”</p> + +<p>“Different people, different ways,” said Miss Scroggs, smiling +sweetly. “Scrape it off and be clean, is my idea.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, I didn’t come here to talk about Mrs. Horton’s notion of how a +kitchen ought to be papered,” said Miss Scroggs. “How do you detect, +by the day or by the job?”</p> + +<p>“My terms in such matters is various and sundry, to suit the taste,” +said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Then I’ll hire you by the job,” said Miss Scroggs, “if your rates +ain’t too high. Now, first off, I ain’t ever been married; I’m a +maiden lady.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” said Philo Gubb, jotting this down on a sheet of paper.</p> + +<p>“Not but what I could have been a wedded wife many’s the time,” said +Miss Scroggs hastily, “but <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_229" id="Page_229">[Pg 229]</a></span>I says to myself, ‘Peace of mind, Petunia, +peace of mind!’”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m,” said Philo Gubb. “I’m a unmarried bachelor man myself.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’m surprised to hear you say it in a boasting tone,” said Miss +Petunia gently. “You ought to be ashamed of it.”</p> + +<p>“Yes, ma’am,” said Philo Gubb, “but you was conversationally speaking +of some deteckative work—”</p> + +<p>“And I’m leading right up to it all the time,” said Miss Scroggs. +“Peace of mind is why I have remained single up to now, and peace of +mind I have had, but I won’t have it much longer if this Anonymous +Wiggle keeps on writing me letters.”</p> + +<p>“Somebody named with that cognomen is writing letters to you like a +Black Hand would?” asked Mr. Gubb eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Cognomen or not,” said Miss Scroggs, “that’s what I call him or her +or whoever it is. Snake would be a better name,” she added, “but I +must say the thing looks more like a fish-worm. Now, here,” she said, +opening her black hand-bag, “is letter Number One. Read it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb took the envelope and looked at the address. It was written +in a hand evidently disguised by slanting the letters backward, and +had been mailed at the Riverbank post-office.</p> + +<p>“Hum!” said Mr. Gubb. “Lesson Nine of the Rising Sun Deteckative +Agency’s Correspondence <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_230" id="Page_230">[Pg 230]</a></span>School of Deteckating gives the full rules +and regulations for to elucidate the mystery of threatening letters, +scurrilous letters, et cetery. Now, is this a threatening letter or a +scurrilous letter?”</p> + +<p>“Well, it may be threatening, and it may not be threatening,” said +Miss Scroggs. “If it is a threat, I must say I never heard of a threat +just like it. And if it is scurrilous, I must say I never heard of +anything that scurriled in the words used. Read it.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb pulled the letter from the envelope and read it. It ran +thus:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Petunia</span>:—</p> + +<p>Open any book at page fourteen and read the first complete +sentence at the top of the page. Go thou and do likewise.</p></div> + +<p>For signature there was nothing but a waved line, drawn with a pen. In +some respects it did resemble an angle-worm.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb frowned. “The advice of the inditer that wrote this letter +seemingly appears to be sort of unexact,” he said. “’Most every book +is apt to have a different lot of words at the top of page fourteen.”</p> + +<p>“Just so!” said Miss Scroggs. “You may well say that. And say it to +myself I did until I started to open a book. I went to the book-case +and I took down my Bible and I turned to page fourteen.”</p> + +<p>“As the writer beyond no doubt thought you would,” said P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I don’t know what he thought,” said Miss <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_231" id="Page_231">[Pg 231]</a></span>Scroggs, “but when I opened +my Bible and turned to page fourteen there wasn’t any page fourteen in +it. Page fourteen is part of the ‘Brief Foreword from the Translators +to the Reader,’ so I thought maybe it had got lost and never been +missed. So I took up another book. I took up Emerson’s Essays, Volume +Two.”</p> + +<p>“And what did you read?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Miss Scroggs, “because I couldn’t. Page fourteen was +tore out of the book. So I went through all my books, and every page +fourteen was tore out of every book. There was only one book in the +house that had a page fourteen left in it.”</p> + +<p>“And what did that say?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It said,” said Miss Petunia, “‘To one quart of flour add a cup of +water, beat well, and add the beaten whites of two eggs.’”</p> + +<p>“Did you do all that?” inquired Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well,” said Miss Petunia, “I didn’t see any harm in trying it, just +to see what happened, so I did it.”</p> + +<p>“And what happened?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Nothing,” said Miss Petunia. “In a couple of days the water dried up +and the dough got pasty and moulded, and I threw it out.”</p> + +<p>“Just so!” said Philo Gubb. “You’d sort of expect it to get mouldy, +but you wouldn’t call it threatening at the first look.”</p> + +<p>“No,” said Miss Petunia. “And then I got this letter Number Two.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_232" id="Page_232">[Pg 232]</a></span></p><p>She handed the second letter to Mr. Gubb. It ran thus:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">P. Scroggs</span>:—</p> + +<p>A complete study of the history and antiquities of Diocese +of Ossory fails to reveal the presence of a single +individual bearing the name of Scroggs from the year 1085 to +date.</p></div> + +<p>Like the first letter this was signed with a waved line. Mr. Gubb +studied it carefully.</p> + +<p>“I don’t see no sign of a threat in that,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Not unless you should say it was belittling me to tell me to my face +that no Scroggs ever lived wherever that says they didn’t live,” said +Miss Petunia. “Now, here’s the next letter.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb read it. It ran thus:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Miss Petunia</span>:—</p> + +<p>For to-morrow: Rising temperature accompanied by falling +barometer, followed by heavy showers. Lower temperature will +follow in the North Central States and Northern Missouri.</p></div> + +<p>“I shouldn’t call that exactly scurrilous, neither,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It ain’t,” said Miss Petunia, “and unless you can call a mention of +threatening weather a threat, I wouldn’t call it a threatening letter. +And then I got this letter.”</p> + +<p>She handed Mr. Gubb the fourth letter, and he read it. It ran:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Petunia Scroggs</span>:—</p> + +<p>Trout are rising freely in the Maine waters. The Parmacheene +Belle is one of the best flies to use.</p></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_233" id="Page_233">[Pg 233]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Gubb, having read this letter, shook his head and placed the +letter on top of those he had previously read. It was signed with the +wiggle like the others.</p> + +<p>“Speaking as a deteckative,” he said, “I don’t see anything into these +letters yet that would fetch the writer into the grasp of the law. Are +they all like this?”</p> + +<p>“If you mean do they say they are going to murder me, or do they call +me names,” said Miss Scroggs, “they don’t. Here, take them!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb took the remaining letters and read them. There were about a +dozen of them. While peculiar epistles to write to a maiden lady of +forty-five years, they were not what one might call violent. They +were, in part, as follows:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Petunia</span>:—</p> + +<p>Although a cat with a fit is a lively object, it has seldom +been known to attack human beings. Cause of fits—too rich +food. Cure of fits—less rich food.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Miss Scroggs</span>:—</p> + +<p>If soil is inclined to be sour, a liberal sprinkling of +lime, well ploughed in, has a good effect. Marble dust, +where easily obtainable, serves as well.</p></div> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><span class="smcap">Miss Petunia</span>:—</p> + +<p>Swedish iron is largely used in the manufacture of +upholstery tacks because of its peculiar ductile qualities.</p></div> + +<p>“I don’t see nothing much into them,” said Mr. Gubb, when he had read +them all. “I don’t see much of a deteckative case into them. If I was +to <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_234" id="Page_234">[Pg 234]</a></span>get letters like these I wouldn’t worry much about them. I’d let +them come.”</p> + +<p>“You may say that,” said Miss Petunia, “because you are a man, and big +and strong and brave-like. But when a person is a woman, and lives +alone, and has some money laid by that some folks would be glad enough +to get, letters coming right along from she don’t know who, scare her. +Every time I get another of those Anonymous Wiggle letters I get more +and more nervous. If they said, ‘Give me five thousand dollars or I +will kill you,’ I would know what to do, but when a letter comes that +says, like that one does, ‘Swedish iron is largely used in the +manufacture of upholstery tacks,’ I don’t know what to think or what +to do.”</p> + +<p>“I can see to understand that it might worry you some,” said Mr. Gubb +sympathetically. “What do you want I should do?”</p> + +<p>“I want you should find out who wrote the letters,” said Miss Scroggs.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb looked at the pile of letters.</p> + +<p>“It’s going to be a hard job,” he said. “I’ve got to try to guess out +a cryptogram in these letters. I ought to have a hundred dollars.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a good deal, but I’ll pay it,” said Miss Petunia. “I ain’t rich, +but I’ve got quite a little money in the bank, and I own the house I +live in and a farm I rent. Pa left me money and property worth about +ten thousand dollars, and I haven’t wasted it. So go ahead.”</p> + +<p><a name="Illo14" id="Illo14"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 414px;"> +<img src="images/i252.jpg" class="ispace" width="414" height="500" alt="“YOU ARE A MAN, AND BIG AND STRONG AND BRAVE-LIKE”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“YOU ARE A MAN, AND BIG AND STRONG AND BRAVE-LIKE”</span></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_235" id="Page_235">[Pg 235]</a></span></p><p>“I’ll so do,” said Philo Gubb; “and first off I’ll ask you who your +neighbors are.”</p> + +<p>“My neighbors!” exclaimed Miss Petunia.</p> + +<p>“On both sides,” said Mr. Gubb, “and who comes to your house most?”</p> + +<p>“Well, I declare!” said Miss Petunia. “I don’t know what you are +getting at, but on one side I have no neighbors at all, and on the +other side is Mrs. Canterby. I guess she comes to my house oftener +than anybody else.”</p> + +<p>“I am acquainted with Mrs. Canterby,” said Mr. Gubb. “I did a job of +paper-hanging there only last week.”</p> + +<p>“Did you, indeed?” said Miss Scroggs politely. “She’s a real nice +lady.”</p> + +<p>“I don’t give opinions on deteckative matters until I’m sure,” said +Mr. Gubb. “She seems nice enough to the naked eye. I don’t want to get +you to suspicion her or nobody, Miss Scroggs, but about the only clue +I can grab hold of is that first letter you got. It said to look on +page fourteen, and all the pages by that number was torn out of your +books—”</p> + +<p>“Except my cook-book,” said Miss Petunia.</p> + +<p>“And a person naturally wouldn’t go to think of a cook-book as a real +book,” said Mr. Gubb. “If you stop to think, you’ll see that whoever +wrote that letter must have beforehand tore out all the page fourteens +from the books into your house, for some reason.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_236" id="Page_236">[Pg 236]</a></span></p><p>“Why, yes!” exclaimed Miss Scroggs, clapping her hands together. “How +wise you are!”</p> + +<p>“Deteckative work fetches deteckative wisdom,” said Mr. Gubb modestly. +“I don’t want to throw suspicion at Mrs. Canterby, but Letter Number +One points at her first of all.”</p> + +<p>“O—h, yes! O—h my! And I never even thought of that!” cried Miss +Petunia admiringly.</p> + +<p>“Us deteckatives have to think of things,” said Philo Gubb. “And so we +will say, just for cod, like, that Mrs. Canterby got at your books and +ripped out the pages. She’d think: ‘What will Miss Petunia do when she +finds she hasn’t any page fourteens to look at? She’ll rush out to +borrow a book to look at.’ Now, where would you rush out to borrow a +book if you wanted to borrow one in a hurry?”</p> + +<p>“To Mrs. Canterby’s house!” exclaimed Miss Petunia.</p> + +<p>“Just so!” said Mr. Gubb. “You’d rush over and you’d say, ‘Mrs. +Canterby, lend me a book!’ And she would hand you a book, and when you +looked at page fourteen, and read the first full sentence on the page, +what would you read?”</p> + +<p>“What would I read?” asked Miss Scroggs breathlessly.</p> + +<p>“You would read what she meant you to read,” said Mr. Gubb +triumphantly. “So, then what? If I was in her place and I had written +a letter to you, meaning to give you a threat in a roundabout way, and +it went dead, I’d write some foolish letters to you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_237" id="Page_237">[Pg 237]</a></span>to make you think +the whole thing was just foolishness. I’d write you letters about +weather and tacks and cats and lime and trout, and such things, to +throw you off the scent. Maybe,” said Mr. Gubb, with a smile, “I’d +just copy bits out of a newspaper.”</p> + +<p>“How wonderfully wonderful!” exclaimed Miss Petunia.</p> + +<p>“That is what us deteckatives spend the midnight oil learning the +Rising Sun Deteckative Agency’s Correspondence School lessons for,” +said Mr. Gubb. “So, if my theory is right, what you want to do when +you get back home is to rush over to Mrs. Canterby’s and ask to borrow +a book, and look on page fourteen.”</p> + +<p>“And then come back and tell you what it says?” asked Miss Petunia.</p> + +<p>“Just so!” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>Miss Petunia arose with a simper, and Mr. Gubb arose to open the door +for her. He felt particularly gracious. Never in his career had he +been able to apply the inductive system before, and he was well +pleased with himself. His somewhat melancholy eyes almost beamed on +Miss Petunia, and he felt a warm glow in his heart for the poor little +thing who had come to him in her trouble. As he stood waiting for Miss +Scroggs to gather up her feather boa and her parasol and her black +hand-bag, he felt the dangerous pity of the strong for the weak.</p> + +<p>Miss Petunia held out her hand with a pretty <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_238" id="Page_238">[Pg 238]</a></span>gesture. She was fully +forty-five, but she was kittenish for her age. There was something +almost girlish in her manner, and the long, dancing brown curls that +hung below her very youthful hat added to the effect. When she had +shaken Mr. Gubb’s hand she half-skipped, half-minced out of his +office.</p> + +<p>“An admirable creature,” said Mr. Gubb to himself, and he turned to +his microscope and began to study the ink of the letters under that +instrument. His next work must be to find the identical ink and the +identical writing-paper. He had no doubt he would find them in Mrs. +Canterby’s home. The ink was a pale blue in places, deepening to a +strong blue in other places, with grainy blue specks. He decided, +rightly, that this “ink” had been made of laundry blue. The paper was +plain note-paper, glossy of surface and with blue lines, and, in the +upper left corner, the maker’s impress. This was composed of three +feathers with the word “Excellent” beneath. The envelopes were of the +proper size to receive the letters. They bore an unmistakable odor of +toilet soap and chewing-gum.</p> + +<p>“Dusenberry!” said Mr. Gubb, and smiled.</p> + +<p>Hod Dusenberry kept a small store near the home of Mrs. Canterby. +There seemed no doubt that the coils of the investigation were +tightening around Mrs. Canterby, and Mr. Gubb put on his hat and went +out. He went to Hod Dusenberry’s store. Mr. Dusenberry sat behind the +counter.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_239" id="Page_239">[Pg 239]</a></span></p><p>“I came in,” said Mr. Gubb, “to purchase a bottle of ink off of you.”</p> + +<p>“There, now!” said Mr. Dusenberry self-accusingly. “That’s the third +call for ink I’ve had in less’n two months. I been meanin’ to lay in +more ink right along and it allus slips my mind. I told Miss Scroggs +when she asked for ink—”</p> + +<p>“And what did you tell Mrs. Canterby when she asked for ink?” asked +Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Mrs. Canterby?” said Hod Dusenberry. “Maybe I ought to see the joke, +but I’m feelin’ stupid to-day, I reckon. What’s the laugh part?”</p> + +<p>“It wasn’t my intentional aim to furnish laughable amusement,” said +Detective Gubb seriously. “What did Mrs. Canterby say when she asked +for ink and you didn’t have none?”</p> + +<p>“She didn’t say nothin’,” said Mr. Dusenberry, “because she never +asked me for no ink, never! She don’t trade here. That’s all about +Mrs. Canterby.”</p> + +<p>The Correspondence School detective had been leaning on the show-case, +and with the shrewdness of his kind had let his eyes search its +contents. In the show-case was writing-paper of the very sort the +Anonymous Wiggle letters had been written on—also envelopes strangely +similar to those that had held the letters.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb smiled pleasantly at Mr. Dusenberry.</p> + +<p>“I’d make a guess that Mrs. Canterby don’t buy her writing-paper off +you neither?” he hazarded.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_240" id="Page_240">[Pg 240]</a></span></p><p>“You guess mighty right she don’t,” said Mr. Dusenberry.</p> + +<p>“And maybe you don’t recall who ever bought writing-paper like this +into the case here?” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I guess maybe I do, just the same,” said Mr. Dusenberry promptly. +“And it ain’t hard to recall, either, because nobody buys it but Miss +’Tunie Scroggs. ’Tunie is the all-firedest female I ever did see. +Crazy after a husband, ’Tunie is.” He chuckled. “If I wasn’t married +already I dare say ’Tunie would have worried me into matrimony before +now. ’Tunie’s trouble is that everybody knows her too well—men all +keep out of her way. But she’s a dandy, ’Tunie is. They tell me that +when Hinterman, the plumber, hired a new man up to Derlingport and +’Tunie found out he was a single feller, she went to work and had new +plumbing put in her house, just so’s the feller would have to come +within her reach. But he got away.”</p> + +<p>“He did?” said Mr. Gubb nervously.</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said Mr. Dusenberry. “He stood ’Tunie as long as he could, +and then he threw up his job and went back to Derlingport. They tell +me she don’t do nothin’ much now but set around the house and think up +new ways to git acquainted with men that ain’t heard enough of her to +stay shy of her. Sorry I ain’t got no ink, Mr. Gubb.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a matter of no consequential importance, thank you,” said Mr. +Gubb, and he went out. He <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_241" id="Page_241">[Pg 241]</a></span>was distinctly troubled. He recalled now +that Miss Scroggs had smiled in a winning way when she spoke to him, +and that she had quite warmly pressed his hand when she departed. With +a timid bachelor’s extreme fear of designing women, Mr. Gubb dreaded +another meeting with Miss Scroggs. Only his faithfulness to his +Correspondence School diploma had power to keep him at work on the +Anonymous Wiggle case, and he walked thoughtfully toward the home of +Mrs. Canterby. He went to the back door and knocked gently. Mrs. +Canterby came to the door.</p> + +<p>“Good-afternoon,” said Mr. Gubb. “I been a little nervous about that +paper I hung onto your walls. If I could take a look at it—”</p> + +<p>“Well, now, Mr. Gubb, that’s real kind of you,” said Mrs. Canterby. +“You can look and welcome. If you just wait until I excuse myself to +Miss Scroggs—”</p> + +<p>“Is she here?” asked Mr. Gubb with a hasty glance toward his avenues +of escape.</p> + +<p>“She just run in to borrow a book to read,” said Mrs. Canterby, “and +she’s having some trouble finding one to suit her taste. She’s in my +lib’ry sort of glancing through some books.”</p> + +<p>“Does—does she glance through to about near to page fourteen?” asked +Mr. Gubb nervously.</p> + +<p>“Now that you call it to mind,” said Mrs. Canterby, “that’s about how +far she is glancing through them. She’s glanced through about sixteen, +and <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_242" id="Page_242">[Pg 242]</a></span>she’s still glancing. She thinks maybe she’ll take ‘Myra’s Lover, +or The Hidden Secret,’ but she ain’t sure. She come over to borrow +‘Weldon Shirmer,’ but I had lent that to a friend. She was real +disappointed I didn’t have it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb wiped the perspiration from his face. He too would have liked +at that moment to have seen a copy of “Weldon Shirmer,” and to have +read what stood at the top of page fourteen.</p> + +<p>“If it ain’t too much trouble, Mrs. Canterby,” he said, “I wish you +would sort of fetch that Myra book out here without Miss Scroggs’s +knowing you done so. I got a special reason for it, in my deteckative +capacity. And I wish you wouldn’t mention to Miss Scroggs about my +being here.”</p> + +<p>“Land sakes!” said Mrs. Canterby. “What’s up now? Miss Scroggs she’s +right interested in you, too. She made inquiries of me about you when +you was working here. She says she thinks you are a real handsome +gentleman.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Canterby laughed coyly and went out, and Mr. Gubb dropped into a +chair and wiped his face again nervously. His eye, falling on the +kitchen table, noted a sheet of writing-paper. It was the same style +of paper as that on which the Anonymous Wiggle letters had been +written. He bent forward and glanced at it. In blue ink evidently made +of indigo dissolved in water, was written on the sheet a recipe. The +writing, although undisguised and slanting properly, was beyond doubt +the same <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_243" id="Page_243">[Pg 243]</a></span>as that of the Wiggle letters. When Mrs. Canterby returned +to the kitchen with “Myra’s Lover” hidden in the folds of her skirt, +the perplexed Mr. Gubb held the recipe in his hand.</p> + +<p>“By any chance of doubt,” he said, “do you happen to be aware of whom +wrote this?”</p> + +<p>“Petunia wrote it,” said Mrs. Canterby promptly, “and whatever are you +being so mysterious for? There’s no mystery about that, for it’s her +mince-meat recipe.”</p> + +<p>“There is often mystery hidden into mince-meat recipes when least +expected,” said Mr. Gubb. “I see you got the book.”</p> + +<p>He took it and turned to page fourteen. At the top of the page were +the words, completing a sentence, “—without turning a hair of his +head.” Then followed the first complete sentence. It ran: “‘A woman +like you,’ said Lord Cyril, ‘should be loved, cherished, and obeyed.’”</p> + +<p>“Goodness!” exclaimed Mr. Gubb, and handed the book back to Mrs. +Canterby.</p> + +<p>“Why did you say that?” asked Mrs. Canterby.</p> + +<p>“I was just judging by the book that Miss Scroggs is fond of love and +affection in fiction tales,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Fond of!” exclaimed Mrs. Canterby. “Far be it from me to say anything +about a neighbor lady, but if Petunia Scroggs ain’t crazy over love +and marriage I don’t know what. She’d do anything in the world to get +a husband. I recall about Tim <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_244" id="Page_244">[Pg 244]</a></span>Wentworth—Furnaces Put In and +Repaired—and how hungry Petunia used to look after him when he went +by in his wagon, but she couldn’t get after him because she hasn’t a +furnace in her house, but the minute he hung up the sign ‘Chimneys +Cleaned,’ she was down to his shop and had him up to the place, and I +know it for a fact, for I took some of the soot out of her eye myself, +that she courted him so hard when he got to her house that even when +he went to the roof to clean the chimney she stuck her head in the +fireplace and talked up the flue at him.”</p> + +<p>“Goodness!” said Mr. Gubb again. “I guess I’ll go on my way and look +at your wall-paper some other day.”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Canterby laughed.</p> + +<p>“Just as you wish,” she said, “but if Petunia has set out after you, +you won’t get away from her that easy.”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Gubb was already moving to the door. He heard Miss Petunia’s +voice calling Mrs. Canterby, and coming nearer and nearer, and he +fled.</p> + +<p>At Higgins’s book-store he stopped and asked to see a copy of “Weldon +Shirmer,” and turned to page fourteen. “‘Fate,’” ran the first full +sentence, “‘has decreed that you wed a solver of mysteries.’” Mr. Gubb +shivered. This was the mysterious passage Miss Scroggs had meant to +bring to his eyes in an impressive manner. He was sure of one thing: +whatever Fate had decreed in the case of the heroine of “Weldon +Shirmer,” Philo Gubb had no intention <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_245" id="Page_245">[Pg 245]</a></span>of allowing Fate to decree that +one particular Correspondence School solver of mysteries should marry +Miss Petunia Scroggs. He hurried to his office.</p> + +<p>At the office door he paused to take his key from his pocket, but when +he tried it in the lock he found the door had been left unlocked and +he opened the door hastily and hurried inside. Miss Petunia Scroggs +was sitting in his desk-chair, a winning smile on her lips and “Myra’s +Lover, or The Hidden Secret,” in her lap.</p> + +<p>“Dear, wonderful Mr. Gubb!” she said sweetly. “It was just as you said +it would be. Here is the book Mrs. Canterby loaned me.”</p> + +<p>For a moment Mr. Gubb stood like a flamingo fascinated by a serpent.</p> + +<p>“You detectives are such wonderful men!” cooed Miss Petunia. “You live +such thrilling lives! Ah, me!” she sighed. “When I think of how noble +and how strong and how protective such as you are—”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb kept his bird-like eyes fixed on Miss Petunia’s face, but he +pawed behind himself for the door. He felt his hand touch the knob.</p> + +<p>“And when I think of how helpless and alone I am,” said Miss Petunia, +rising from her chair, “although I have ample money in the bank—”</p> + +<p><i>Bang!</i> slammed the door behind Mr. Gubb. <i>Click!</i> went the lock as he +turned the key. His feet hurried to the stairs and down to the nearest +street almost falling over Silas Washington, seated on the lowest +step. The little negro looked up in surprise.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_246" id="Page_246">[Pg 246]</a></span></p><p>“Do you want to earn half a dollar?” asked Mr. Gubb hastily.</p> + +<p>“’Co’se Ah do,” said Silas Washington. “What you want Ah shu’d do fo’ +it?”</p> + +<p>“Wait a portion of time where you are,” said Mr. Gubb, “and when you +hear a sound of noise upstairs, go up and unlock Mister Philo Gubb, +Deteckative, his door, and let out the lady.”</p> + +<p>“Yassah!” said Silas.</p> + +<p>“And when you let her exit out of the room,” said Mr. Gubb, “say to +her: ‘Mister Gubb gives up the case.’ Understand?”</p> + +<p>“Yassah!”</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Mr. Gubb, and he glanced up and down the street. “And say +‘—because it don’t make no particle bit of difference who the lady +is, Mister Gubb wouldn’t marry nobody at no time of his life.’”</p> + +<p>“Yassah!” said the little negro.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_247" id="Page_247">[Pg 247]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="THE_HALF_OF_A_THOUSAND" id="THE_HALF_OF_A_THOUSAND"></a>THE HALF OF A THOUSAND</h2> + +<p>Philo Gubb sat in his office in the Opera House Block with a large +green volume open on his knees, reading a paragraph of some ten lines. +He had read this paragraph twenty times before, but he never tired of +reading it. It began began—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p><i>Gubb, Philo.</i> Detective and decorator, <i>b.</i> Higginsville, +Ia., June 26, 1868. Educated Higginsville, Ia., primary +schools. Entered decorating profession, 1888. Graduated with +honors, Rising Sun Detective Agency’s Correspondence School +of Detecting, 1910.</p></div> + +<p>He hoped that some day this short record of his life might be +lengthened by at least one line, which would say that he had “<i>m</i>. +Syrilla Medderbrook,” and since his escape from Petunia Scroggs and +her wiles, and the latest telegram from Syrilla, he had reason for the +hope. As Mr. Gubb had not tried to collect the one hundred dollars due +him from Miss Scroggs, he had nothing with which to pay Mr. +Medderbrook more on account of the Utterly Hopeless mining stock, but +under his agreement with Mr. Medderbrook he had paid that gentleman +thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents for the last telegram from +Syrilla. This had read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Joy and rapture! Have given up all forms of food. Have given +up spaghetti, fried rabbit, truffles, brown betty, prunes, +goulash, welsh rabbit, hoecake, sauerkraut, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_248" id="Page_248">[Pg 248]</a></span>Philadelphia +scrapple, haggis, chop suey, and mush. Have lost one hundred +and fifty pounds more. Weigh seven hundred forty-five. Going +down every hour. Kiss Gubby for me.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Gubb, therefore, mused pleasantly as he read the book that +contained the short but interesting reference to himself.</p> + +<p>The book with the green cover was “Iowa’s Prominent Citizens,” sixth +edition, and was a sort of local, or state, “Who’s Who.” In its pages, +for the first time, Philo Gubb appeared, and he took great delight in +reading there how great he was. We all do. We are never so sure we are +great as when we read it in print.</p> + +<p>It is always comforting to a great man to be reassured that he was +“<i>b.</i> Dobbinsville, Ia., 1869,” that he “<i>m.</i> Jane, dau. of Oscar and +Siluria Botts, 1897,” and that he is not yet “<i>d.</i>” There are some of +us who are never sure we are not “<i>d.</i>” except when we see our names +in the current volume of “Who’s Who,” “Who’s It,” or “Iowa’s Prominent +Citizens.”</p> + +<p>Outside Philo Gubb’s door a man was standing, studying that part of +“Iowa’s Prominent Citizens” devoted to the town of Riverbank. The man +was not as young as he appeared to be. His garments were of a youthful +cut and cloth, being of the sort generally known as “College Youth +Style,” but they were themselves no longer youthful. In fact, the man +looked seedy.</p> + +<p>Notwithstanding this he had an air—a some<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_249" id="Page_249">[Pg 249]</a></span>thing—that attracted and +held the attention. A cane gave some of it. The extreme good style of +his Panama hat gave some of it. His carriage and the gold-rimmed +eyeglasses with the black silk neck-ribbon gave still more. When, +however, he removed his hat, one saw that he was partly bald and that +his reddish hair was combed carefully to cover the bald spot.</p> + +<p>The book in his hand was a small memorandum book, and in this he had +pasted the various notices cut from “Iowa’s Prominent Citizens” and +one—only—cut from “Who’s Who,” relating to citizens of Riverbank. He +had done this for convenience as well as for safety, for thus he had +all the Riverbank prominents in compact form, and avoided the +necessity of carrying “Iowa’s Prominent Citizens” and “Who’s Who” +about with him. That would have been more or less dangerous. +Particularly so, since he had been exposed by the New York “Sun” as +The Bald Impostor.</p> + +<p>The Bald Impostor, to explain him briefly, was a professional +relative. He was the greatest son-cousin-nephew in the United States, +and always he was the son, cousin, or nephew of one of the great, of +one of the great mentioned in “Who’s Who.” He was as variable as a +chameleon. Sometimes he was a son, cousin, or nephew of some one +beginning with <i>A</i>, and sometimes of some one beginning with <i>Z</i>, but +usually of some one with about twelve to fourteen lines in “Who’s +Who.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_250" id="Page_250">[Pg 250]</a></span></p><p>The great theory he had established and which was the basis of all his +operations was this: “Every Who’s Who is proud of every other Who’s +Who,” and “No Who’s Who can refuse the son, cousin, or nephew of any +other Who’s Who five dollars when asked for one dollar and eighty +cents.”</p> + +<p>The Bald Impostor’s operation was simple in the extreme. He went to +Riverbank. He found, let us say, the name of Judge Orley Morvis in +“Who’s Who.” Then he looked up Chief Justice Bassio Bates in the +latest “Who’s Who,” gathered a few facts regarding him from that +useful volume, and called on Judge Orley Morvis. Having a judge to +impose upon he began by introducing himself as the favorite nephew of +Chief Justice Bassio Bates.</p> + +<p>“Being in town,” he would say, when the Judge was mellowed by the +thought that a nephew of Bassio Bates was before him, “I remembered +that you were located here. My uncle has often spoken to me of your +admirable decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer calf case.”</p> + +<p>The Higgins-Hoopmeyer case is mentioned in “Who’s Who.” The Judge +can’t help being pleased to learn that Chief Justice Bassio Bates +approved of his decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer case.</p> + +<p>“My uncle has often regretted that you have never met,” says the Bald +Impostor. “If he had known I was to be in Riverbank he would have sent +his copy of your work, ‘Liens and Torts,’ to be autographed.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_251" id="Page_251">[Pg 251]</a></span></p><p>“Liens and Torts” is the one volume written by Judge Orley Morvis +mentioned in “Who’s Who.” The Judge becomes mellower than ever.</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes!” says the Judge, tickled, “and how is your uncle, may I +ask?”</p> + +<p>“In excellent health considering his age. You know he is +ninety-seven,” says the Bald Impostor, having got the “<i>b.</i> June 23, +1817” from “Who’s Who.” “But his toe still bothers him. A man of his +age, you know. Such things heal slowly.”</p> + +<p>“No! I didn’t hear of that,” says the Judge, intensely interested. He +is going to get some intimate details.</p> + +<p>“Oh, it was quite dreadful!” says the Bald Impostor. “He dropped a +volume of Coke on Littleton on it last March—no, it was April, +because it was April he spent at my mother’s.”</p> + +<p>All this is pure invention, and that is where the Bald Impostor leads +all others. Even as he invents details of the sore toe, you see, he +introduces his mother.</p> + +<p>“She was taken sick early in April,” he says, and presently he has Dr. +Somebody-Big out of “Who’s Who” attending to the Chief Justice’s sore +toe and advising the mother to try the Denver climate. And the next +thing the Judge knows the Bald Impostor is telling that he is now on +his way back from Denver to Chicago.</p> + +<p>So then it comes out. The Bald Impostor sits on the edge of his chair +and becomes nervous and perspires.<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_252" id="Page_252">[Pg 252]</a></span> Perspiring is a sure sign a man is +unaccustomed to asking a loan, and the Bald Impostor is entitled to +start the first School of Free Perspiring in America. He can perspire +in December, when the furnace is out and the windows are open. All his +head pores have self-sprinklers or something of the sort. He is as +free with beads of perspiration as the early Indian traders were with +beads of glass. He mops them with a white silk handkerchief.</p> + +<p>So he perspires, and out comes the cruel admission. He needs just one +dollar and eighty cents! As a matter of fact, he has stopped at +Riverbank because his uncle had so often spoken of Judge Orley +Morvis—and really, one dollar and eighty cents would see him through +nicely.</p> + +<p>“But, my dear boy!” says the Judge kindly. “The fare is six dollars. +And your meals?”</p> + +<p>“A dollar-eighty is enough,” insists the Bald Impostor. “I have enough +to make up the fare, with one-eighty added. And I couldn’t ask you to +pay for my meals. I’ll—I have a few cents and can buy a sandwich.”</p> + +<p>“My dear boy!” says Judge Orley Morvis, of Riverbank (and it is what +he did say), “I couldn’t think of the nephew of a Chief Justice of the +United States existing for that length of time on a sandwich. Here! +Here are twenty dollars! Take them—I insist! I must insist!”</p> + +<p>Some give him more than that. We usually give him five dollars.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo15" id="Illo15"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 309px;"> +<img src="images/i271.jpg" class="ispace" width="309" height="500" alt="HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION" title="" /> +<span class="caption">HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION</span></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_253" id="Page_253">[Pg 253]</a></span></p><p>I admit that when the Bald Impostor visited me and asked for one +dollar and eighty cents I gave him five dollars and an autographed +copy of one of my books. He was to send the five back by money-order +the next day. Unfortunately he seems to have no idea of the flight of +time. For him to-morrow never seems to arrive. For me it is the five +that does not arrive. The great body of us consider those who give him +more than five to be purse-proud plutocrats. But then we sometimes +give him autographed copies of our books or other touching souvenirs. +And write in them, “<i>In memory of a pleasant visit</i>.” I <i>do</i> wonder +what he did with my book!</p> + +<p>Judge Orley Morvis was the only Who’s Whoer in Riverbank, but the town +was well represented in “Iowa’s Prominent Citizens,” and after +collecting twenty dollars from the Judge the Bald Impostor proceeded +to Mr. Gubb’s office.</p> + +<p>“Detective and decorator,” he said to himself. “I wonder if William J. +Burns has a son? Better not! A crank detective might know all about +Burns. I’m his cousin. Let me see—I’m Jared Burns. Of Chicago. And +mother has been to Denver for the air.” He took out the memorandum +book again. “The Waffles-Mustard case. The Waffles-Mustard case. +Waffles! Mustard! I must remember that.” He knocked on the door.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb?” he asked, as Philo Gubb opened the door. “Mr. Philo Gubb?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_254" id="Page_254">[Pg 254]</a></span></p><p>“I am him, yes, sir,” said the paper-hanger detective. “Will you step +inside into the room?”</p> + +<p>“Thank you, yes,” said the Bald Impostor, as he entered.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb drew a chair to his desk, and the Bald Impostor took it. He +leaned forward, ready to begin with the words, “Mr. Gubb, my name is +Jared Burns. Mr. William J. Burns is my cousin—” when there came +another rap at the door. Mr. Gubb’s visitor moved uneasily in his +chair, and Mr. Gubb went to the door, dropping an open letter +carelessly on the desk-slide before the Bald Impostor. The new visitor +was an Italian selling oranges, and as Mr. Gubb had fairly to push the +Italian out of the door, the Bald Impostor had time to read the letter +and, quite a little ahead of time, began wiping perspiration from his +forehead.</p> + +<p>The letter was from the Headquarters of the Rising Sun Detective +Agency, and was brutally frank in denouncing the Bald Impostor as an +impostor, and painfully plain in describing him as bald. It described +in the simplest terms his mode of getting money and it warned Mr. Gubb +to be on the outlook for him “as he is supposed to be working in your +district at present.” The Bald Impostor gasped. “A number of victims +have organized,” continued the letter, “what they call the Easy Marks’ +Association of America and have posted a reward of fifty dollars for +the arrest of the fraud.”</p> + +<p>The Bald Impostor glanced toward Philo Gubb <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_255" id="Page_255">[Pg 255]</a></span>and hastily turned the +letter upside down. When Mr. Gubb returned, the Bald Impostor was +rubbing the palms of his hands together and smiling.</p> + +<p>“My name, Mr. Gubb,” he said, “is Allwood Burns. I am a detective. I +have heard of your wonderful work in the so-called Muffins-Mustard +case.”</p> + +<p>“Waffles-Mustard,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I should say Waffles,” said the Bald Impostor hastily. “I consider it +one of the most remarkable cases of detective acumen on record. We in +the Rising Sun Detective Agency were delighted. It was a proof that +the methods of our Correspondence School of Detecting were not short +of the best.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb stared at his visitor with unconcealed admiration.</p> + +<p>“Are you out from the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency yourself?” he +asked.</p> + +<p>The Bald Impostor smiled.</p> + +<p>“I wrote you a letter yesterday,” he said. “If you have not received +it yet you will soon, but I can give you the contents here and now. A +certain impostor is going about the country—”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb picked up the letter and glanced at the signature. It was +indeed signed “Allwood Burns.” Mr. Gubb extended his hand again and +once more shook the hand of his visitor—this time far more heartily.</p> + +<p>“Most glad, indeed, to meet your acquaintance, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_256" id="Page_256">[Pg 256]</a></span>Mr. Burns,” said Philo +Gubb heartily. “It is a pleasure to meet anybody from the offices of +the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency. And if you ever see the man that +wrote the ‘Complete Correspondence Course of Deteckating,’ I wish—”</p> + +<p>The false Mr. Burns smiled.</p> + +<p>“I wrote it,” he said modestly.</p> + +<p>“I am <i>most</i> very glad to meet you, sir!” exclaimed Philo Gubb, and +again he shook his visitor’s hand. “Because—”</p> + +<p>“Ah, yes, because—” queried the Bald Impostor pleasantly.</p> + +<p>“Because,” said Philo Gubb, “there’s a question I want to ask. I refer +to Lesson Seven, ‘Petty Thievery, Detecting Same, Charges Therefor.’ I +have had some trouble with ‘Charges Therefor.’”</p> + +<p>“Indeed? Let me see the lesson, please,” said the Bald Impostor.</p> + +<p>“‘The charges for such services,’” Philo Gubb read, pointing to the +paragraph with his long forefinger, “‘should be not less than ten +dollars per diem.’ That’s what it says, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It does,” said the Bald Impostor.</p> + +<p>“Well, Mr. Burns,” said Philo Gubb, “I took on a job of chicken-thief +detecting, and I had to detect for two diems to do it, and that would +be twenty dollars, wouldn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It would,” said the Bald Impostor.</p> + +<p>“Which is fair and proper,” said Philo Gubb, “but the old gent +wouldn’t pay it. So I ask you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_257" id="Page_257">[Pg 257]</a></span>if you’d be kindly willing to go to him +along with me in company and tell him I charged right and according to +rates as low as possible?”</p> + +<p>“Of course I will go,” said the Bald Impostor.</p> + +<p>“All right!” said Philo Gubb, rising. “And the old gent is a man +you’ll be glad to meet. He’s a prominent citizen gentleman of the +town. His name is Judge Orley Morvis.”</p> + +<p>The Bald Impostor gasped. Every free-acting pore on his head worked +immediately.</p> + +<p>“And, so he won’t suspicion that I’m running in some outsider on him,” +said Philo Gubb, “I’ll fetch along this letter you wrote me, to +certify your identical identity.”</p> + +<p>He picked up the warning letter from the Rising Sun Agency, and stood +waiting for the Bald Impostor to arise. But the Bald Impostor did not +arise. For once at least he was flabbergasted. He opened and shut his +mouth, like a fish out of water. His head seemed to exude millions of +moist beads. He saw a smile of triumph on Philo Gubb’s face. Mr. Gubb +was smiling triumphantly because he was able now to show Judge Orley +Morvis a thing or two, but the Bald Impostor was sure Philo Gubb knew +he was the Bald Impostor. He was caught and he knew it. So he +surrendered.</p> + +<p>“All right!” he said nervously. “You’ve got me. I won’t give you any +trouble.”</p> + +<p>“It’s me that’s being a troubling nuisance to you, Mr. Burns,” said +Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_258" id="Page_258">[Pg 258]</a></span></p><p>The paper-hanger detective stopped short. A look of shame passed +across his face.</p> + +<p>“I hope you will humbly pardon me, Mr. Burns,” he said contritely. “I +am ashamed of myself. To think of me starting to get you to attend to +my business when prob’ly you have business much more important that +fetched you to Riverbank.”</p> + +<p>A sudden light seemed to break upon Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Of a certain course!” he exclaimed. “What you come about was +this—this”—he looked at the letter in his hand—“this Bald Impostor, +wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb’s visitor, who had begun to breathe normally again, gasped +like a fish once more. He saw Philo Gubb finish reading the +description of the Bald Impostor, and then Philo Gubb looked up and +looked the Bald Impostor full in the face. He looked the Bald Impostor +over, from bald spot to shoes, and looked back again at the +description. Item by item he compared the description in the letter +with the appearance of the man before him, while the Impostor +continued to wipe the palms of his hands with the balled handkerchief. +At last Philo Gubb nodded his head.</p> + +<p>“Exactly similar to the most nominal respects,” he said. “Quite +identical in every shape and manner.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, I admit it! I admit it!” said the Bald Impostor hopelessly.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!” said Philo Gubb. “And I admit it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_259" id="Page_259">[Pg 259]</a></span>the whilst I admire it. +It is the most perfect disguise of an imitation I ever looked at.”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked the Bald Impostor.</p> + +<p>“The disguise you’ve got onto yourself,” said Philo Gubb. “It is most +marvelously similar in likeness to the description in the letter. If +you will take the complimentary flattery of a student, Mr. Burns, I +will say I never seen no better disguise got up in the world. You are +a real deteckative artist.”</p> + +<p>The Bald Impostor could not speak. He could only gasp.</p> + +<p>“If I didn’t know who you were of your own self,” said Philo Gubb in +the most complimentary tones, “I’d have thought you were this here +descriptioned Bald Impostor himself.”</p> + +<p>His visitor moistened his lips to speak, but Mr. Gubb did not give him +an opportunity.</p> + +<p>“I presume,” said Mr. Gubb, “you have so done because you are working +upon this Bald Impostor yourself.”</p> + +<p>“Yes. Oh, yes!” said the Bald Impostor hoarsely. “Exactly.”</p> + +<p>“In that case,” said Mr. Gubb, “I consider it a high compliment for +you to call upon me. Us deteckatives don’t usually visit around in +disguises.”</p> + +<p>The visitor moistened his lips again.</p> + +<p>“I wanted to see,” he said, but the words were so hoarse they could +hardly be heard,—“I wanted to see—”</p> + +<p>“Well, now,” said Philo Gubb contritely, “you <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_260" id="Page_260">[Pg 260]</a></span>mustn’t feel bad that I +didn’t take you for that fraud feller right away off. I hadn’t read +the letter through down to the description quite. If I had I would +have mistook you for him at once. The resemblance is most remarkably +unique.”</p> + +<p>“Thank you!” said the Bald Impostor, regaining more of his usual +confidence. “And it was a hard disguise for me to assume. I’m not +naturally reddish like this. My hair is long. And black. And—and my +taste in clothes is quiet—mostly blacks or dark blues. Now the reason +I am in this disguise—”</p> + +<p>He was interrupted by a loud and strenuous knock on the door.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb went to the door, but before he reached it his visitor had +made one leap and was hidden behind the office desk, for a voice had +called, impatiently, “Gubb!” and it was the voice of Judge Orley +Morvis. When Detective Gubb had greeted his new visitor he turned to +introduce the Judge—and a look of blank surprise swept his features. +Detective Burns was gone!</p> + +<p>For a moment only, Detective Gubb was puzzled. There was but one place +in the room capable of concealing a full-grown human being, and that +was the space behind the desk. He placed a chair for the Judge exactly +in front of the desk and himself stood in a negligent attitude with +one elbow on the top of the desk. In this position he was able to turn +his head and, by craning his neck a little, look down upon the false +Mr. Burns. Mr. Burns made <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_261" id="Page_261">[Pg 261]</a></span>violent gestures, urging secrecy. Mr. Gubb +allayed his fears.</p> + +<p>“I’m glad you come just now, Judge,” he said, “because we can say a +few or more words together, there being nobody here but you and me. I +presume you come to talk about the per diem charge I charged to you, +didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Yes, I did,” said the Judge.</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ll be able to prove quite presently or sooner that the price +is correctly O.K.,” said Mr. Gubb, “because the leading head of the +Rising Sun Deteckative Agency is right in town to-day, and as soon as +he gets done with a job he has on hand he’s going up to see you. Maybe +you’ve heard of Allwood Burns. He wrote the ‘Twelve Correspondence +Lessons in Deteckating’ by which I graduated out of the Deteckative +Correspondence School.”</p> + +<p>“Never heard of him in my life,” said the Judge.</p> + +<p>“This here,” said Mr. Gubb, not without pride, “is a personal letter I +got from him this <span class="smcap">a.m.</span> just now,” and he handed the Judge the letter.</p> + +<p>Judge Orley Morvis took the letter with an air of disdain and began to +read it with a certain irritating superciliousness. Almost immediately +he began to turn red behind the ears. Then his ears turned red. Then +his whole face turned red. He breathed hard. His hand shook with rage.</p> + +<p>“Well, of all the infernal—” he began and stopped.</p> + +<p>“Has the aforesaid impostor been to see <i>you</i>?” asked Philo Gubb +eagerly.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_262" id="Page_262">[Pg 262]</a></span></p><p>“Me? Nonsense!” exclaimed the Judge violently. “Do you think I would +be taken in by a child’s trick like this? Nonsense, Mr. Gubb, +nonsense!”</p> + +<p>“I didn’t hardly think it was possible,” said Detective Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Possible?” cried the Judge with anger. “Do you think a common faker +like that could hoodwink <i>me</i>? Me give an impostor twenty dollars! +Nonsense, sir!”</p> + +<p>He arose. He was in a great rage about it. He stamped to the door.</p> + +<p>“And don’t let me hear you retailing any such lie about me around this +town, sir!” he exclaimed.</p> + +<p>He slammed the door, and then the Bald Impostor slowly raised his head +above the desk.</p> + +<p>“What did you hide for?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>The Bald Impostor wiped his bedewed brow.</p> + +<p>“Hide?” he said questioningly. “Oh, yes, I did hide, didn’t I? Yes. +Yes, I hid. You see—you see the Judge came in.”</p> + +<p>“If you hadn’t hid,” said Philo Gubb, “I could have got that business +of the per diem charge per day fixed up right here. I was going to +introduce him to you.”</p> + +<p>“Yes—going to introduce him to me,” said the Bald Impostor. “That was +it. That was why I hid. You were going to introduce him to me, don’t +you see?”</p> + +<p>“I don’t quite comprehend the meaning of the reason,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_263" id="Page_263">[Pg 263]</a></span></p><p>“Why, you see,” said the Bald Impostor glibly,—“you see—if you +introduced me to him—why—why, he’d know me.”</p> + +<p>“He’d know you?” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“He’d know me,” repeated the false Mr. Burns. “I’ll tell you why. The +Bald Impostor <i>did</i> call on him.”</p> + +<p>“Honest?”</p> + +<p>“I was there,” said the Bald Impostor. “The Judge gave him twenty +dollars and a copy of some book or other he had written, and he wrote +his autograph in the book. Remember that. The Judge wrote his +autograph in a book—and gave it to the fellow. I’m telling you this +so you can tell the Judge. Tell him I told you. Tell him the fellow’s +mother is much better now. Tell him Judge Bassio Bates’s toe is quite +well. And then ask him for the twenty dollars he owes you. You’ll get +it.”</p> + +<p>“And you was there?” asked Philo Gubb, amazed.</p> + +<p>“Out of sight, but there,” said the false Mr. Burns glibly. “Just +ready to put my hand on the fellow—but I couldn’t. I hadn’t the heart +to do it. I thought of the ridicule it would bring down on the poor +old Judge. You know he’s an uncle of mine. I’m his nephew.”</p> + +<p>“He said,” said Philo Gubb hesitatingly, “he’d never heard of you.”</p> + +<p>“He never did,” said the Bald Impostor promptly. “I was his third +sister’s adopted child—I am an <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_264" id="Page_264">[Pg 264]</a></span>adopted nephew. And of course you +know he would never have anything to do with his sister after she +married—ah—General Winston Wells. Not a thing! It was what killed my +poor foster mother. Grief!”</p> + +<p>He wiped his eyes with his silk handkerchief.</p> + +<p>“Grief. Yes, grief. And I hadn’t the heart to bring shame to the old +man by arresting the Impostor in his house—by showing that the good +old man was such a silly old fellow as to be done by a simple trick. +And what did it matter? I can pick up the Bald Impostor in +Derlingport.”</p> + +<p>“In Derlingport?” queried Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“In Derlingport,” said the Bald Impostor nervously, “for that is where +he went. I’ll get him there. But half of the thousand dollars is +rightfully yours, and you shall have it.”</p> + +<p>“Thousand dollars?” queried Philo Gubb in amazement.</p> + +<p>“The reward has been increased,” said the false Mr. Burns. “The—the +publishers of ‘Who’s Who’ increased it to a thousand because the Bald +Impostor works on the names in their book. They thought they ought to. +But you shall have your half of the thousand. I can pick him up in +Derlingport this afternoon if—if I can get there in time. And of +course I <i>should</i> have arrested him here in Riverbank where you are +our correspondent and thus entitled to half the reward earned by any +one in the head office. You knew that, didn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“No!” said Philo Gubb. “Am I?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_265" id="Page_265">[Pg 265]</a></span></p><p>“Didn’t you get circular No. 786?” asked the Bald Impostor.</p> + +<p>“I didn’t ever get the receipt of it at all,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“An oversight,” said the Bald Impostor. “I’ll send you one the minute +I get back to Chicago. I’ll pick up the Bald Impostor at Derlingport +this afternoon—if—Mr. Gubb, I am ashamed to make an admission to +you. I—”</p> + +<p>The Bald Impostor sat on the edge of his chair and pearls of +perspiration came upon his brow. He took out his silk handkerchief and +wiped his forehead.</p> + +<p>“Go right on ahead and say whatever you’ve got upon your mind to say,” +said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, the fact is,” said the false Mr. Burns nervously, “I’m short of +cash. I need just one dollar and eighty cents to get to Derlingport!”</p> + +<p>“Why, of course!” said Philo Gubb heartily. “All of us get into +similar or like predicaments at various often times, Mr. Burns. It is +a pleasure to be able to help out a feller deteckative in such a time +and manner. Only—”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” said the Bald Impostor nervously.</p> + +<p>“Only I couldn’t think of giving you only the bare mere sum to get to +Derlingport,” said the graduate of the Rising Sun Detective Agency’s +Correspondence School of Detecting, generously. “I couldn’t think of +letting you start off away with anything less than a ten-dollar bill.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_266" id="Page_266">[Pg 266]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="DIETZS_7462_BESSIE_JOHN" id="DIETZS_7462_BESSIE_JOHN"></a>DIETZ’S 7462 BESSIE JOHN</h2> + +<p>Philo Gubb sat on an upturned bundle of rolls of wall-paper in the +dining-room of Mrs. Pilker’s famous Pilker mansion, in Riverbank, +biting into a thick ham sandwich. It was noon.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb ate methodically, taking a large bite of sandwich, chewing +the bite long and well, and then swallowing it with a wonderful up and +down gliding of his knobby Adam’s apple. From time to time he turned +his head and looked at the walls of the dining-room. The time was +Saturday noon, and but one wall was covered with the new wall-paper, a +natural forest tapestry paper, with lifelike representations of leafy +trees. He had promised to have the Pilker dining-room completed by +Saturday night. It seemed quite impossible to Philo Gubb that he could +finish the Pilker dining-room before dark, and it worried him.</p> + +<p>Other matters, even closer to his heart, worried Mr. Gubb. He had had +a great quarrel with Mr. Medderbrook, the father of the fair Fat Lady +of the World’s Greatest Combined Shows. Judge Orley Morvis had paid +Mr. Gubb twenty dollars for certain detective work, but Mr. Gubb had +not turned all this over to Mr. Medderbrook, and Mr. Medderbrook had +resented this. He told Mr. Gubb he was a cheap, tank-town sport.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_267" id="Page_267">[Pg 267]</a></span></p><p>“I worked hard,” said Mr. Medderbrook, “to sell you that Utterly +Hopeless Gold-Mine stock and now you hold out on me. That’s not the +way I expect a jay-town easy-mark—”</p> + +<p>“I beg your pardon, but what was that term of phrase you called me?” +asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I called you,” said Mr. Medderbrook, changing his tone to one of +politeness, “an easy-mark. In high financial circles the term is short +for ‘easy-market-investor,’ meaning one who never buys stocks unless +he is sure they are of the highest class and at the lowest price.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I should hereafter prefer not to be so called,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>Almost as soon as he had said the cruel words he regretted them, but +the next day Mr. Medderbrook’s colored butler came to Mr. Gubb’s +office with a telegram for which he demanded thirty-six dollars and +fifty cents.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb trembled with emotion as he paid, for it meant that Syrilla +was still losing flesh and that Mr. Dorgan must surely cancel his +contract with her soon. The telegram read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Happy days! Still shrinking. Have lost one hundred and +forty-five pounds since last wire. Contract sure to be +canceled as soon as Dorgan gets back from hurried trip to +Siam. Weather very hot. Can feel myself shrink. Fond +thoughts to my Gubby.</p></div> + +<p>The very next day the colored butler brought Mr. Gubb another +telegram.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_268" id="Page_268">[Pg 268]</a></span></p><p>“Fifty dollars, please, sah,” he said.</p> + +<p>“What!” cried Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sah,” said the negro. “That’s the amount Mistah Meddahbrook done +say.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb could hardly believe it, but he wrote his check for the fifty +dollars and then read the telegram. It ran:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Excelsior! Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire. Now +weigh only four hundred pounds. Every one guys me when I am +ballyhooed as Fat Lady. Affection to Gubby.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Gubb was greatly pleased by this, but when, the next day, the +colored butler again appeared and asked for fifty dollars Mr. Gubb was +worried. The telegram this time read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Frightened. Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire, +now weigh only two hundred. If lose two hundred more will +weigh nothing. Have resumed potatoes and water. Love to +Gubby.</p></div> + +<p>That same afternoon the negro brought Mr. Gubb another telegram, on +which he collected seven dollars and fifty cents. This telegram +contained these words:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Am indeed frightened. Have resumed bread diet, soup, fish, +meat, and cereals, but have lost fifty pounds more. Weigh +only one hundred and fifty. Taking tonic. Hope for the best. +Tell Gubby I think of him as much as when I weighed half a +ton.</p></div> + +<p><a name="Illo16" id="Illo16"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i288.jpg" class="ispace" width="500" height="345" alt="A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED" title="" /> +<span class="caption">A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED</span> +</div> + +<p>Mr. Gubb was much distressed. He had no doubt that his Syrilla would +rapidly recover a part of her <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_269" id="Page_269">[Pg 269]</a></span>lost weight, but he felt as if at the moment he had lost Syrilla. He +could not picture her as a sylph of one hundred and fifty pounds. He +was worried, indeed, as he sat eating his lunch in Mrs. Pilker’s +mansion. It was then he heard a voice:—</p> + +<p>“Say, are you the feller they call Bugg?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb looked up. In the dining-room door stood a man who looked +like Napoleon Bonaparte gone to seed.</p> + +<p>“If the party you are looking for to seek,” said Mr. Gubb with +somewhat offended pride, “is Mister P. Gubb, him and me are one and +the same party. My name is P. Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger.”</p> + +<p>“Well, youse is the party I’m looking for,” said the stranger. “I got +a hunch from Horton, the wall-paper-store feller, that youse was up +here and that youse wanted a helper. Does youse?”</p> + +<p>“If you know paper-hanging as a trade and profession and can go to +work immediately at once, I could use you,” said Mr. Gubb. “I’ve got +more jobs than I can handle alone by myself.”</p> + +<p>“Say, me a paper-hanger?” said the stranger scornfully. “Why, sport, +I’ve hung more wall-paper than youse ever saw, see? Honest, when I +butted in here and saw that there Dietz’s 7462 Bessie John on the +wall—”</p> + +<p>“That what?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That there Dietz’s 7462 Bessie John, on the wall there,” explained +the stranger. “Don’t youse <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_270" id="Page_270">[Pg 270]</a></span>even know the right name of that +wall-paper there, that’s been a Six Best Seller for the last three +years?”</p> + +<p>“It is a forest tapestry,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Sure, Mike!” said the stranger. “And one of the finest youse ever +seen. Looks like youse could walk right into it and pick hickory nuts +off them oak trees, don’t it? It’s one of me old friends.”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb took another bite of sandwich and masticated it slowly.</p> + +<p>“Let me teach youse something,” said the stranger, and he took a roll +of the tapestry paper in his hand and unrolled a few feet. He pointed +to the margin of the printed side of the paper with his oily +forefinger. “Do youse see them printings?” he asked. “Says 7462 B J, +don’t it?”</p> + +<p>“It does,” mumbled Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, say! This here wall-paper feller Dietz—he makes this here +paper, don’t he? And that there 7462 is the number of this here forest +tap. pattern, see? And B J—that’s Bessie John—that tells youse what +the coloring is, see? Bessie John is the regular nature coloring, see? +They got one with pink trees and yeller sky, for bood-u-wars and +bedrooms. That’s M S—Mary Sam.”</p> + +<p>“It is a very ingenious way to proceed to do,” said Philo Gubb, “and +if regular union wages is all right you can take that straight-edge +and trim all them Bessie John letters off this bundle of 7462 Bessie +John I’m sitting onto.”</p> + +<p>This was satisfactory to the stranger. He removed <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_271" id="Page_271">[Pg 271]</a></span>his greasy coat, +threw his greasy cap into a corner, wiped his greasy hands on a wad of +trimmings and set to work. When Mr. Gubb had completed his modest +luncheon he asked his name.</p> + +<p>“Youse might as well call me Greasy,” said the new employee. “I’m +greasier than anything. Got it off’n my motor-boat.”</p> + +<p>During the afternoon Philo Gubb learned something of his assistant’s +immediate past. “Greasy” had saved some money, working at St. Paul, +and had bought a motor-boat—“Some boat!” he said; “Streak o’ +Lightnin’ was what I named her, and she was”—and he had come down the +Mississippi. “She can beat anything on the Dad,” he said.</p> + +<p>The “Dad” was his disrespectful paraphrase of “The Father of Waters,” +the title of the giant Mississippi. He told of his adventures until he +mentioned the Silver Sides. Then he swore in a manner that suited his +piratical countenance exactly.</p> + +<p>He had been floating peacefully down the river with the current, his +power shut off and himself asleep in the bottom of the boat, doing no +harm to any one, when along came the Silver Sides, and without giving +him a warning signal, ran him down.</p> + +<p>“Done it a-purpose, too,” he said angrily.</p> + +<p>He had managed to keep the boat afloat until he reached Riverbank, but +to fix her up would take more money than he had. So he had hunted a +job in his own line, and found Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>The Silver Sides, Captain Brooks, owner, was a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_272" id="Page_272">[Pg 272]</a></span>small packet plying +between Derlingport and Bardenton, stopping at Riverbank, which was +midway between the two. No one knowing Captain Brooks would have +suspected him of running down anything whatever. He was a kind, stout, +gray-haired old gentleman. He had a nice, motherly old wife and eight +children, mainly girls, and they made their home on the Silver Sides. +Mrs. Brooks and the girls cooked for the crew and kept the boat as +neat as a new pin. Captain Brooks occupied the pilot-house; Tom Brooks +served as first mate, and Bill Brooks acted as purser. Altogether they +were a delightfully good-natured and well-meaning family. It was hard +to believe they would run down a helpless motor-boat in mid-river, but +Greasy swore to it, and about it.</p> + +<p>During the next few weeks Greasy and the detective worked side by +side. Greasy had every night and all Sunday for his own purposes. Once +Mr. Gubb met Greasy carrying a large bundle of canvas, and Mr. Gubb +imagined Greasy was fitting a mast and sail to the motor-boat.</p> + +<p>On July 15 the Independent Horde of Kalmucks gave a moonlight +excursion on the Mississippi, chartering the Silver Sides for the +purpose. The Kalmucks were the leading lodge of the town, and leaders +also in social affairs. They gave frequent dramatic entertainments—in +their hall in winter, and outdoors in the big yard back of Kalmuck +Temple in the summer. In the entire history of the lodge there had +never been so much as an untoward <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_273" id="Page_273">[Pg 273]</a></span>incident, but at eleven o’clock on +the night of July 15 something frightful did occur. It spread it +across the top of the first page of the “Daily Eagle” in the one +shocking word—<b>PIRATES</b>!</p> + +<p>The Silver Star had started on the return trip and had reached a point +about two miles below Towhead Island when a rifle or revolver bullet +crashed through the glass window on the western side of the +pilot-house. Uncle Jerry—as most people called Captain Brooks—turned +his head, stared out at the moonlit waters of the river, and saw +bearing down upon him from the northwest a long, low craft. Four men +stood in the forward part of the boat, and a fifth sat beside the +motor. In the bright moonlight, Captain Brooks could see that all the +men wore black masks. He also saw that all were armed, and that from +the staff at the stern of the boat floated a jet-black flag on which +was painted in white the skull and cross-bones that have always been +the insignia of pirates. Even as he looked one of the men in the +motor-boat raised his arm: Uncle Jerry saw a flash of fire, and +another pane of glass at his side jingled to the floor.</p> + +<p>The low black craft swept rapidly across the bows of the Silver Sides; +the sputtering of its motor ceased; and the next moment the pirates +were aboard the barge, lining up the dancers at the points of their +pistols, and preparing to take away their ice-cream money.</p> + +<p>And they did take it. They began at the bow of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_274" id="Page_274">[Pg 274]</a></span>the barge and walked +to the stern, making one after another of the excursionists deliver +his valuables, and then slipped quietly over the stern of the barge; +the pirate craft began to spit and sputter furiously; and the next +moment it was tearing through the water like a streak of lightning.</p> + +<p>To chase a speed-boat in an elderly river packet would have been +nonsense. Uncle Jerry signaled full speed ahead and kept to the +channel, where his boat belonged. Presently Mrs. Brooks, panting, +climbed to the pilot-house.</p> + +<p>“Well, Pa,” she said, “pirates has been and robbed us.”</p> + +<p>“Don’t I know it?” said Uncle Jerry testily. “No need of comin’ to +tell me.”</p> + +<p>“They got all the ice-cream money,” said Mrs. Brooks.</p> + +<p>“Well, ’twa’n’t ourn, was it?” snapped Uncle Jerry.</p> + +<p>“Why, Pa, what a way to talk!” exclaimed Mrs. Brooks. “It’s like you +thought it wa’n’t nothin’, to be pirated right here in the forepart of +the twentieth century in the middle of the Mississippi River in broad +daylight—”</p> + +<p>“’Tain’t daylight,” said Uncle Jerry shortly. “It’s midnight, and +it’s goin’ to be long past midnight before we git ashore. A man can’t +get even part of a night’s rest no more. Everybody pirootin’ round, +stoppin’ boats an’ stealin’ ice-cream money! Makes me ’tarnel mad, it +do.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_275" id="Page_275">[Pg 275]</a></span></p><p>“Pa,” said Mrs. Brooks.</p> + +<p>“Well, what is it now?” asked Uncle Jerry testily.</p> + +<p>“Philo Gubb, the detective-man, is on board,” said his wife. “I come +up because I thought maybe you’d want to hire him right off to find +out who was them pirates, and if—”</p> + +<p>“Me? Hire a fool detective?” snapped Mr. Brooks. “Why’n’t you come up +and ask me to throw my money into the river?”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb, although not a dancer, had been on the barge when it was +attacked, because he was a lover of ice-cream. He too had been lined +up and robbed. He had been robbed not only of forty perfectly good +cents, but his pirate had seen his opal scarf-pin and had rudely taken +it from Mr. Gubb’s tie. The pirate was, Mr. Gubb noticed, a short, +heavy man with greasy hands. As the motor-boat dashed away, Mr. Gubb +pressed to the rear of the barge and looked after it.</p> + +<p>As the boat regained her speed, Philomela Brooks approached him.</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Gubb!” she exclaimed, “I’m so tremulous.”</p> + +<p>“If you will kindly not interrupt me at the present moment of time,” +said Mr. Gubb, “I will be much obliged. I am making an endeavor to try +to do some deteckative work onto this case.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, Mr. Gubb!” Miss Philomela cried. “And <i>do</i> you think you’ll do +any good?”</p> + +<p>“In the deteckative business,” said Mr. Gubb <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_276" id="Page_276">[Pg 276]</a></span>sternly, “we try to do +all the good we can do, whether we can do it or not.” And he turned +away and sought a more secluded spot.</p> + +<p>The affair of the pirate craft caused a tremendous sensation in +Riverbank. Before eight o’clock the next morning every one in +Riverbank seemed to have heard of the affair, and when, at eight +o’clock, Philo Gubb entered the vacant Himmeldinger house, which he +was decorating, he started with surprise to see Greasy already there. +He had not expected to see him at all. But there he was, trimming the +edge of a roll of Dietz’s 7462 Bessie John, and as he turned to greet +Mr. Gubb, the detective saw in Greasy’s greasy tie what seemed to be +his own opal scarf-pin.</p> + +<p>“That there,” said Mr. Gubb sternly, “is a nice scarf-pin you’ve got +into your tie.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t it?” said Greasy proudly. “Me new lady-friend give it to me +last night.”</p> + +<p>To Greasy, Detective Gubb said nothing. He was not yet ready to act. +But to himself he muttered:—</p> + +<p>“Scarf-pin—scarf-pin. That there is a clue I had ought to look into.”</p> + +<p>In the town excitement was high all day. There was some time wasted +while the Chief of Police and the County Sheriff tried to discover +which was compelled by law to fight pirates, but the Chief of Police +finally put the job on the Sheriff’s hands, and the old Fourth of July +cannon was loaded with powder <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_277" id="Page_277">[Pg 277]</a></span>and nails and put on the bow of the +good ferry-boat Haddon P. Rogers, a posse of about three hundred men +with shotguns and army muskets was crowded aboard, and the +pirate-catcher got under way.</p> + +<p>This was, of course, Monday, and Monday the Silver Sides made her +usual down-river trip to Bardenton, leaving in the morning and +returning late at night. It was usually two o’clock at night when she +tied up at the Riverbank levee, but this time two o’clock came without +the Silver Sides. There was a good reason. As the packet neared Hog +Island, about two miles below the Towhead, on her return trip, Uncle +Jerry heard the sputter of a gas engine and saw dart out from below +Hog Island the same low black craft that had carried the pirates +before. Even before the craft was within range, the revolvers began to +spit at the Silver Sides.</p> + +<p>“Well, dang them pirates to the dickens!” exclaimed Uncle Jerry. “If +they be goin’ to keep up this nonsense I’m goin’ to get down-right mad +at ’em.” But he signaled the engine-room to slow down, as if it was +getting to be a habit with him. One of the upper panes, just above his +line of vision, clattered down as he pulled the bell-rope.</p> + +<p>At the first volley, Ma Brooks and her daughters dashed into the +galley and slammed the door. The remainder of the male Brookses made +two jumps to the coal bins and began burrowing into the coal, and the +three non-Brooks members of the crew <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_278" id="Page_278">[Pg 278]</a></span>dived into openings between the +small piles of cargo stuff and tried to become invisible. When the +pirates clambered aboard the Silver Star they seemed to be boarding a +deserted vessel. They worked quickly and thoroughly. Piece by piece +they threw the cargo of the Silver Sides into the motor-boat until +they uncovered the three members of the crew, who leaped from their +hiding-place like startled rabbits and loped wildly to places of +greater safety. Half a dozen revolver shots followed them. The pirates +then leisurely reëmbarked, fired a parting salute, and glided away.</p> + +<p>The next morning Greasy appeared at work with his pocket full of +Sultana raisins, and offered some to Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Mr. Gubb; “raisins are one of my foremost +fondnesses. Nice ones like these are hard to find obtainable.”</p> + +<p>“You’re right they are,” said Greasy. “Me lady-friend give me these +last night. She’s the girl that knows good raisins, ain’t she?”</p> + +<p>Evidently she was, but Philo Gubb had taken occasion to discover, +before he went to work that morning, whether the Silver Sides had been +pirated again, and he had learned that a half-dozen boxes of Sultana +raisins had formed part of the cargo of the Silver Sides. He looked at +Greasy severely.</p> + +<p>“Your lady-friend is considerably generous in giving things, ain’t +she?” he said, trying to hide the guile of his questions in an +indifferent tone. “You <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_279" id="Page_279">[Pg 279]</a></span>ain’t cared to mention her name to me as yet +to this time.”</p> + +<p>“Ain’t I?” said Greasy carelessly. “Well, I ain’t ashamed of her. Her +name is Maggie Tiffkins. She’s some girl!”</p> + +<p>“You spend most of your evenings with or about her, I presume to +suppose?” asked Mr. Gubb carelessly.</p> + +<p>“You bet!” said Greasy. “Me and her is going to get married before +long, we are. Yep. And I’ll be right glad to have a home to sleep in, +instead of a barn.”</p> + +<p>“A barn?” queried Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I been sleepin’ in a barn,” said Greasy. “I thought youse knowed it. +I been doin’ a piece or two of scene paintin’ for them Kalmucks, and I +sort of hired a barn to do it in, and so long as I had to have the +barn I just slept in it. Keeps me up late,” he said, yawning, “seein’ +my lady-friend till midnight and then paintin’ scenery till I don’t +know when.”</p> + +<p>“I presume you ain’t spent much time on your motor-boat of late +times,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t had no time,” said Greasy briefly.</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb, as he pasted paper on the walls of the Himmeldinger +house, turned various matters over and over in his mind. His clues +pointed as clearly to Greasy as the Great Dipper points to the North +Star. He had decided to join the posse on the Haddon P. Rogers when +she set out on her next <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_280" id="Page_280">[Pg 280]</a></span>voyage of vengeance, but now he changed his +mind.</p> + +<p>A barn, large and vacant, would be an excellent place in which to hide +the proceeds of a pirate raid. Lest—possibly—the barn should +recognize him and hide itself, Mr. Gubb first went to his office in +the Opera House Building, disguised himself as a hostler, with cowhide +boots, a cob pipe, a battered straw hat, and blue jean trousers. Lest +his face be recognized by the barn he wore a set of red under-chin +whiskers, which would have been more natural had they been a paler +shade of scarlet. Thus disguised, he crept softly down the Opera House +Building stairs and ran full into Billy Getz, Riverbank’s best example +of the spoiled only-son species, and the town’s inveterate jester. Mr. +Getz put a hand on Mr. Gubb’s arm.</p> + +<p>“Sh-h!” he said mysteriously. “Not a word. Only by chance did I +recognize you, Mr. Gubb. Now, about this pirate business—it has to +stop.”</p> + +<p>“I am proceeding to the deteckative work preliminary to so doing,” +said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Good!” said Billy Getz. “Because I can’t have such things happening +on my Mississippi River. I hate to see the dear old river get a bad +name, Mr. Gubb. I’m just organizing the Dear Old River Anti-Pirate +League—to suppress pirates, you know. And we want you as our official +detective. In the meantime—Greasy! That’s all I say—just Greasy! +Tough-looking character. Lives in a barn.”</p> + +<p><a name="Illo17" id="Illo17"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 271px;"> +<img src="images/i301.jpg" class="ispace" width="271" height="500" alt="HE WORE A SET OF RED UNDER-CHIN WHISKERS" title="" /> +<span class="caption">HE WORE A SET OF RED UNDER-CHIN WHISKERS</span></div> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_281" id="Page_281">[Pg 281]</a></span></p><p>“I am just proceeding to locate the whereabouts of the barn,” said Mr. +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That’s easy,” said Billy Getz. “Hampton’s barn—Eighth Street alley. +I know, because I’ve been there. He’s doing our scenery for the +Kalmuck summer show. You go straight up this street—or no, <i>you’d</i> go +in the opposite direction, and three miles into the country, and back +across the cemetery, as advised in Lesson Thirteen, wouldn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“There are only twelve lessons,” said Mr. Gubb haughtily and stalked +away. He went, however, to Hampton’s barn, climbed in through the +alley window, and searched the place.</p> + +<p>The barn contained nothing of interest. A cot stood at one end of the +hay-loft; and stretched across the wall at the other end was a canvas +on which was a partly completed scene of a ruined castle, with +mountains in the distance. On the floor were pails and brushes, +bundles of dry colors, glue, and the various articles needed by a +scene-painter. Mr. Gubb looked behind the canvas. No loot was +concealed there. He returned to his office, discarded his disguise, +and went back to the Himmeldinger house. Seated on the front steps, +quite neglecting his work, was Greasy, and beside him sat a girl.</p> + +<p>“This,” said Greasy, “is Maggie Tiffkins. Youse ought to know her. +Mag, consider this a proper knockdown to P. Gubb, my boss.”</p> + +<p>That night the Silver Sides was attacked by the pirates on her return +from Derlingport. The next <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_282" id="Page_282">[Pg 282]</a></span>morning Mr. Gubb awaited Greasy’s coming +impatiently, hoping for a new clue, but Greasy had none. He was glum. +He had had a quarrel with Maggie, and he was cross.</p> + +<p>“Last job of work I’ll ever do for Billy Getz and them Kalmucks of +his’n,” he said crossly. “He’s gettin’ worse and worse. Them first two +scenes I painted he kicked enough about: said the forest scene looked +like a roast-beef sandwich, and asked me if the parlor scene was a +bar-room or a cow-pasture, but when I do a first-class old bum castle +and he wants to know if it’s a lib’ry interior, I get hot. And so +would youse.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>For three nights the Silver Sides, now protected by the presence of +part of the armed posse, was not disturbed, but on the fourth night +the low, black pirate craft boldly attacked the steamer, carrying on a +running fight. The pirates did not venture to board her, but the +piratical business was getting to be an unbearable nuisance to Uncle +Jerry Brooks. A dozen small craft were armed and patrolled the river. +On the fourteenth night, when the Silver Sides was up-river on her +Derlingport trip, the Jane P., the opposition steamer making the same +ports, was boldly attacked by the pirates and lost the most precious +part of her cargo. It was then determined to exterminate the pirates +at any cost.</p> + +<p>Once only had a steamer been attacked above the town, and this seemed +to indicate that the pirates <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_283" id="Page_283">[Pg 283]</a></span>had their nest below Riverbank, and this +was the more likely as the river below town gave far greater +opportunities for hiding the pirate boat during the day. There were +several sloughs or bayous and many indentations of the shore-line, +while above the town there was none. Above the town the shores sloped +back from the river’s edge, and even a skiff on the shore could be +seen from across the river. The search for the pirate vessel was +therefore conducted below the town, but most unsuccessfully.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb, in the three weeks during which the search went on, +exhausted all his disguises and every page of the twelve lessons of +the Rising Sun Detective Agency’s Correspondence School of Detecting. +He was in a condition bordering on despair. Each day he donned a +disguise and visited the barn, and saw nothing but scenery and more +scenery. He had reached a point where detective skill seemed to fail, +and where he feared he might have to go openly to Greasy and ask him +whether he was the pirate, or at least go to Maggie and ask her where +she had obtained the scarf-pin and the raisins. And that would not +have been detecting. Nothing like it was mentioned in the twelve +lessons.</p> + +<p>A reward of One Hundred Dollars (rewards are always in capital +letters) had been offered by the Business Men’s Association for the +capture of the pirate craft, but no one seemed likely to earn the +reward.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_284" id="Page_284">[Pg 284]</a></span></p><p>“Say, honest!” said Greasy, “if my boat was workin’ I’d go out alone +in her and cop off them hundred dollars. Youse is a detective, Gubb; +why don’t youse get to work and grab them dollars?”</p> + +<p>“Your boat is not into a workable condition?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“She’s all but that,” said Greasy. “She’s hauled up on the levee, +rottin’ like a tomato. I tried to sell her to Muller, the grocery +feller where Mag gets them raisins you liked, and I tried to trade her +for a ring to Calloway, the jewelry man what Mag got my opal scarf-pin +of, but I can’t get rid of her nohow. If I had her workin’ I’d find +them pirates or I’d know why.”</p> + +<p>“I have remembered the thought of something; I’ve got to go downtown,” +said Mr. Gubb, and he left Greasy and went to question Mr. Muller and +Mr. Calloway. The one admitted selling Mag the raisins, and the other +the pin, and thus two perfectly good clues went bad. Mr. Gubb turned +toward Fifth Street, when Billy Getz caught him by the arm.</p> + +<p>“Come on and hunt pirates,” he said. “The good cruiser Haddon P. +Rogers is going to hit a new trail—up-river this time. Come on +along.”</p> + +<p>Billy Getz escorted him aboard the Haddon P. Rogers and led him +straight to the Sheriff on the upper deck.</p> + +<p>“Sheriff,” he said, “we’ve got ’em now! This time we’ve got ’em sure. +Here’s Gubb, the famous <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_285" id="Page_285">[Pg 285]</a></span>P. Gubb, detective, and after many +solicitations he has consented to accompany us. We will have the +pirate craft ere we return. P. Gubb never fails.”</p> + +<p>The Sheriff smiled good-naturedly.</p> + +<p>“Always kidding, ain’t you, Billy,” he said.</p> + +<p>The boat started. She steamed slowly up the river, the members of the +posse on the upper deck on either side, scanning the shores carefully. +Occasionally the ferry-boat backed and ran closer to shore to permit a +nearer inspection of some skiff or to view some log left on the shore +by the last flood. Billy Getz, standing beside the Sheriff and P. +Gubb, called their attention to every shadow and lump on the shore. +The boat proceeded on her slow course and reached the channel between +an island and the Illinois shore. The wooded bank of the island rose +directly from the water, some of the water-elms dipping their roots +into the river. There was no place where a boat could be hidden, and +the ferry steamed slowly along. Billy Getz poked solemn-faced fun at +Mr. Gubb in the most serious manner, and Mr. Gubb was sternly haughty, +knowing he was being made sport of. His eyes rested with bird-like +intensity on the wooded shore of the island.</p> + +<p>“Now, this combination of paper-hanging and detecting has its +advantages,” said Billy Getz, with a wink at the Sheriff. “When a +man—”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb was not hearing him.</p> + +<p>“The remarkableness of the similarity of nature to art is quite often +remarkable to observe,” he said <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_286" id="Page_286">[Pg 286]</a></span>to the Sheriff, “and is seeming to +grow more so now and then from time to time. That piece of section of +woods right there is so naturally grown you might say it was torn +right off a roll of Dietz’s 7462 Bessie John.”</p> + +<p>He stopped short.</p> + +<p>“What’s the matter?” asked Billy Getz nervously.</p> + +<p>“Run the boat in there,” said Philo Gubb excitedly. “Those verdures +ain’t <i>like</i> 7462 Bessie John; they <i>are</i> 7462 Bessie John.”</p> + +<p>The Sheriff stared keenly at the spot indicated by Detective Gubb’s +extended hand and, turning suddenly, said a word to the pilot in the +house at his side. The ferry veered and ran in toward the island. Not +until the boat was nearer the shore than a front row of the orchestra +seats to the back drop of a theater did the others on the boat +understand. Then the trick was seen and understood. The trees of the +shore were not all trees. One group was a painted canvas, copied +carefully by Greasy from Dietz’s 7462 Bessie John at the behest of +Billy Getz. Stretched across a small indentation of the shore it made +a safe screen, unrecognizable a few rods from the shore, and behind +this bit of painted forest they found the long, low, black pirate +craft—Billy Getz’s motor-boat.</p> + +<p>When the Sheriff had torn down the canvas and his men had hoisted and +heaved the pirate craft to the broad deck of the ferry, Billy Getz was +gone. Riverbank never saw him again, and a half-dozen <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_287" id="Page_287">[Pg 287]</a></span>of his +roistering companions also disappeared completely.</p> + +<p>“Sometimes occasionally,” said Philo Gubb, as the ferry turned toward +town, “the combination of paper-hanging and deteckative work is +detrimental to one or both, as the case may be, but at other +occasional times they are worth one hundred dollars.”</p> + +<p>“That’s right!” said the Sheriff suddenly. “You get that reward, don’t +you?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly sure,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_288" id="Page_288">[Pg 288]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="HENRY" id="HENRY"></a>HENRY</h2> + +<p>Philo Gubb entered his office and placed on his cutting-table the +express package he had found leaning against his door. With his +trimming-knife he cut the cord that bound the package. It contained, +he knew, the new disguise for which he had sent twenty-five dollars to +the Rising Sun Detective Agency’s Supply Bureau, and he was eager to +examine his purchase, which, in the catalogue, was known as “No. 34. +French Count, with beard and wig complete. List, $40.00. Special price +to our graduates, $25.00, express paid.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb wore a face more solemn than usual, for he had just had bad +news. He had hidden his distrust of Mr. Medderbrook, the father of his +beloved Syrilla, and had carried that gentleman the one hundred +dollars he had earned by aiding in the capture of the river pirates, +but he had found Mr. Medderbrook close to tears.</p> + +<p>“Read this, Gubb,” Mr. Medderbrook said; and that he was deeply +affected was shown by the fact that he did not ask Mr. Gubb to pay any +part of the cost of the telegram from Syrilla which had, this time, +come “Collect.” The telegram read:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Scared crazy. Resumed vegetables and all kinds of food, +eating steadily all day and night, but have lost twenty-five +pounds more. Now weigh only one hundred <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_289" id="Page_289">[Pg 289]</a></span>and twenty-five and +going down rapidly. If worse goes to worst, love to Gubby.</p></div> + +<p>It is not surprising that Mr. Gubb sighed as he lifted the +exaggeratedly thin-waisted frock coat from the package, but there came +a tap on the door and he hastily covered the coat with the wrapping +paper and turned to the door.</p> + +<p>“Enter in,” he said. And the door opened cautiously and a short, +ruddy-faced man entered, peering into the room first and then closing +the door behind him as cautiously as he had opened it.</p> + +<p>“Are you this here detective feller?” he asked bluntly.</p> + +<p>“I am Mister P. Gubb, deteckating and paper-hanging done, to command +at your service,” admitted Mr. Gubb. “Won’t you take a seat onto a +chair?”</p> + +<p>“Depends,” said Mr. Gubb’s visitor, keeping his hand on the doorknob. +“I’ll put it to you like this: Say some guy stole something from me, +and I was willing to pay you for finding out who stole it and for +getting it back—you’d take a job like that and say nothing about it +to anybody, wouldn’t you?”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly sure,” agreed Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That’s the idee! You’d keep it dark. It wouldn’t be nobody’s business +but yours and mine, would it? It would be a quiet little deal between +you and me, and nobody would know anything about it. Hey?”</p> + +<p>“Exactly sure,” said Philo Gubb. “The deteckative <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_290" id="Page_290">[Pg 290]</a></span>business is +conducted onto an absolutely quiet Q.T. basis.”</p> + +<p>“Correct!” said his visitor. “I see you and me can do business. Now, +my name is Gus P. Smith, and I’ve had one of the rawest deals handed +me a man ever had handed him. I was coming along down one of these +alleys between streets this morning and—”</p> + +<p>He stopped short and turned to the door. Some one had tapped on the +panels. Mr. Smith opened the door the merest crack and peered out. He +closed it again instantly.</p> + +<p>“Somebody to see you,” he whispered. “What I’ve got to say I want kept +private. I’ll be back.”</p> + +<p>He opened the door and slipped out, and as he went a second visitor +entered. The newcomer was somewhat tall and thin, and his hair was +long, so long it fell upon his shoulders in greasy curls. He wore a +rather ancient frock coat and a black slouch hat, and a touch of style +was added by his gray kid gloves, although the weather was average +summer weather. His face was thin and adorned by a silky brown beard, +divided at the chin and falling in two carefully arranged points. He +closed the door carefully, first looking into the hall to see that Mr. +Gus P. Smith had disappeared.</p> + +<p>“Mr. P. Gubb, the detective?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Most absolutely sure,” said Mr. P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“My name,” said Mr. Gubb’s visitor, “is one you are doubtless familiar +with. I am Alibaba Singh.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_291" id="Page_291">[Pg 291]</a></span></p><p>“Pleased to meet your acquaintance,” said Mr. Gubb. “What can I aim to +do for you?”</p> + +<p>Mr. Alibaba Singh brought a chair close to Mr. Gubb’s desk and seated +himself. He leaned close to Mr. Gubb—so close that Mr. Gubb scented +the rank odor of cheap hair-oil—and whispered.</p> + +<p>“Everything is to be strictly confidential—most strictly +confidential. That’s understood?”</p> + +<p>“Most absolutely sure.”</p> + +<p>“Of course! Now, you must have heard of me—I’ve made quite a stir +here in Riverbank since I came. Theosophical lectures—first lessons +in Nirvana—Buddhistic philosophy—mysteries of Vedaism—et cetery.”</p> + +<p>“I read your advertisement notices into the newspapers,” admitted Mr. +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Just so. I have done well here. Many sought the mysteries. I have +been unusually successful in Riverbank.” He stopped short and looked +at Philo Gubb suspiciously. “You don’t believe in transmigration, do +you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Not without I do without knowing it,” said Mr. Gubb. “What is it?”</p> + +<p>“Transmigration,” repeated Alibaba Singh. “It—Hindoos believe in it. +At death the souls of the good enter higher forms of life; the souls +of the bad enter lower forms of life. If you were a bad man and died +you would become a—a dog, or a horse, or—or something. You don’t +believe that, do you?”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_292" id="Page_292">[Pg 292]</a></span></p><p>“Most certainly not at all!” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I—I teach it,” said Alibaba Singh uneasily. “It is part of my +teaching.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t aim to believe nothing of that sort, do you?” asked Mr. +Gubb as if he could not imagine any man so foolish.</p> + +<p>“Now, that’s it!” said Alibaba Singh. “That’s why I came to you. All +this is strictly confidential, of course? Thanks. I can speak right +out, Mr. Gubb? I have in the past taught some things I did not +absolutely believe.”</p> + +<p>“Quite likely true,” admitted Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“We—we occulists get carried on by our eloquence,” said Alibaba +Singh. “We—we go too far sometimes. Far too far! I admit it. I admit +that frankly. When our clients reach out to us for more and more, +we—we sometimes go too far. I won’t say we string them along. I +wouldn’t say that. But we—we lead them farther than we have gone +ourselves, perhaps. You understand?”</p> + +<p>“Almost absolutely,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Just so! Mr. Gubb, one of my clients was greatly interested in +transmigration of souls—greatly interested. She was interested in all +things mystical—in reincarnation; in the return of the spirits of the +dead; in everything like that. I—really, Mr. Gubb, it was hard for me +to keep up with her.”</p> + +<p>“And you proceeded to go ahead and teach her about this transmigration +of souls that you don’t believe into yourself,” said Mr. Gubb +helpfully.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_293" id="Page_293">[Pg 293]</a></span></p><p>“And when she found out you was a faker she set out to sue you for her +money back.”</p> + +<p>“No. Not that!” said Alibaba Singh energetically. “That’s not it. She +doesn’t want her money back. She—she’s <i>almost</i> satisfied. She’s +willing to accept what had happened philosophically. She’s almost +content. Mr. Gubb, the reason I came to you was that I did not want +her to land in—”</p> + +<p>Alibaba Singh looked carefully around.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want her to land in jail,” he whispered. “It would make +trouble for me. The lady, Mr. Gubb, is Mrs. Henry K. Lippett.”</p> + +<p>“Well?” queried Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“What I don’t know,” said Alibaba Singh, wiping his brow nervously, +“is whether I <i>did</i> reincarnate her late husband or whether she’s +liable to be arrested for stealing a—”</p> + +<p>Alibaba Singh stopped short and arose hastily. Some one had knocked on +Mr. Gubb’s door. Alibaba Singh moved toward the door.</p> + +<p>“I don’t want to talk about this with anybody around,” he said +nervously. “I’ll come back later. Not a word about it!”</p> + +<p>He brushed past Mr. Gubb’s new visitor as he went out, and Mr. Gubb +arose to greet the newcomer.</p> + +<p>This third visitor was a large, red-faced man with an extremely loud +vest. He wore a high hat of gray beaver, and a large but questionable +diamond sparkled on his finger. He walked directly up to Mr. Gubb and +shook hands.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_294" id="Page_294">[Pg 294]</a></span></p><p>“Sit down,” he commanded. “Now, you’re Gubb, the detective, ain’t you? +Good enough! My name is Stephen Watts, but they mostly call me Steve +for short—Three-Finger Steve,” he added, holding up his right hand to +show that one finger was missing. “I’m in the show business. Ever hear +of John, the Educated Horse? Ever hear of Hogo, the Human Trilobite? +Ever hear of Henry, the Educated Pig? Well, them are me! That’s my +show. Did you ever hear of a sheriff?”</p> + +<p>“Frequently often,” said Mr. Gubb with a smile.</p> + +<p>“Well, up to Derlingport this here Human Trilobite of mine got loose +from my side-show tent, and when they found him he had eat about half +of the marble cornerstone out from under the Dawkins Building. He’s +crazy after white marble. It’s like candy to him. So Dawkins attaches +my show and sends the Sheriff with an execution to grab the whole +business unless I pay for a new cornerstone. Said it would cost two +hundred and fifty dollars. I didn’t have the money.”</p> + +<p>“So he took the show,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“<i>Ex</i>-act-ly!” said Mr. Three-Finger Steve. “He grabbed the whole +caboodle. <i>Ex</i>-cept Henry, the Educated Pig. That’s why I’m here. That +Sheriff’s attachment is out against that pig; it was a felony to +remove that pig from Derling County while that attachment was out +against it. <i>And</i> the pig was removed.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_295" id="Page_295">[Pg 295]</a></span></p><p>“You removed it away from there?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Listen,” said Three-Finger Steve. “I didn’t remove that pig from +Derling County. It was stole from me. Greasy Gus stole it. Augustus P. +Smith, my bally-hoo man, stole Henry, the Educated Pig, and made a +get-away with him. See? See what I want?”</p> + +<p>“Not positively exact,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, it’s a little bit delicate,” said Three-Finger Steve, “and +that’s why I come to you instead of to the police. I want that pig. +But if I go to the police and they find the pig they’ll send it back +to the Sheriff in Derling County. See?”</p> + +<p>“Do you want I should arrest Greasy Augustus P. Smith?” asked Philo +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Not on your life!” said Three-Finger vigorously. “No arrests! You +just get the pig.”</p> + +<p>“How big is the size of the pig?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It’s a big pig,” said Mr. Watts. “Henry has been getting almost too +fat, and that’s a fact. I’ve been thinking right along I’d have to +diet Henry, but I never got to it. He’s one of these big, +double-chinned pinkish-white pigs—looks like a prize pig in a county +fair. And, listen! He’s in this town!”</p> + +<p>“Really, indeed?” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I know it!” said Three-Finger Steve. “I seen Greasy Gus load that pig +into a farm wagon at Derlingport, and I thought Gus was trying to +salvage <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_296" id="Page_296">[Pg 296]</a></span>the pig for me, like one feller will help out another in time +of trouble. So I come down to Riverbank on the train, expecting Gus +would show up at the hotel and tell me where the pig was hid. All +right! Gus shows up. ‘Gus,’ I says, ‘where’s Henry?’ Gus lets on to be +worried. ‘Stolen!’ he says. ‘Some guy lifted him when I wasn’t +looking.’ Of course I knew that was a lie, and I told him so. ‘Now,’ +he says, ‘you’ll never get Henry back. I meant to give him back to +you, but after you have talked to me like that I’ll never give him +back. I’ll keep him,’ he says, ‘if I can find him.’ So there you are, +Mr. Gubb. Henry is in Riverbank, and I want Henry. This story about +Henry being stolen is a lie. Henry is hid, and Gus Smith knows where.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb looked at Mr. Watts thoughtfully.</p> + +<p>“Now, if you’re one of these fellers with a conscience,” said +Three-Finger, “you can send Henry back to the Sheriff. But I won’t +have Greasy Gus putting a trick like this over on me! No, sir!”</p> + +<p>He shook hands with Mr. Gubb again and went out. It was fully fifteen +minutes before Mr. Gus P. Smith, who must have been waiting across the +street, came in. He closed the door and locked it.</p> + +<p>“I saw old Three-Finger come out of this building,” he said. “What did +he want?”</p> + +<p>“He came upon confidential business which can’t be mentioned,” said +Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Just so!” said Mr. Smith. “He wanted you to find Henry, the Educated +Pig. Now, listen to me. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_297" id="Page_297">[Pg 297]</a></span>I skipped out with that pig to do +Three-Finger a favor and save part of his show for him, and that’s the +truth, but he don’t believe it—not him! He called me a thief and +worse, he did. He had the nerve to say I wanted that pig myself, to +start in business with, and that’s a lie. No man can insult me like +that, Mr. Gubb. Look at this—”</p> + +<p>He took from his pocket a couple of feet of whipcord and handed it to +Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“What is this?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That’s all that’s left of Henry,” said Greasy Gus. “That’s his total +remains up to date. That’s the rope I led Henry with after I quit the +wagon of a farmer that rode us out of Derlingport. That cord was tied +to Henry’s left hind foot. Look at the end without the knot—was that +cut or wasn’t it?”</p> + +<p>“I most generally reserve my opinion until later than right at first,” +said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“All right, reserve it!” said Greasy Gus. “Looks to me like it was +cut. No matter. The main thing I want is for you to find Henry. How’s +that?”</p> + +<p>“Under them certain specifications,” said Philo Gubb, “I can take up +the case and get right to work onto it.”</p> + +<p>“All right, then,” said Greasy Gus. “Now, here’s what I know about it. +I got out of Derlingport with Henry, and when the farmer dumped us +from his wagon I hitched this whipcord to Henry’s leg and drove him +along the road. After while I hit this town of Riverbank. I thought +maybe the police would <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_298" id="Page_298">[Pg 298]</a></span>be looking for Henry. So I took to an alley +instead of a regular street, and along we came. We came down the +alley, and of a sudden I began to wonder what I’d do with Henry now +I’d got him into town. It would look kind of suspicious for me and +Henry to go to a hotel. ‘I know what I’ll do,’ I says to myself: ‘What +I want to do is to go alone and rent a barn and say I’m thinking of +buying a pig if I can get a place to keep him.’ So that’s what I did.”</p> + +<p>“You left the pig alone in the alley by itself?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Yes, sir!” said Mr. Smith. “I found an alley fence that had a staple +in it, and I tied one end of the whipcord to the staple and went down +the alley to find a barn I could put Henry in. About the fifth barn I +tried I found a place for Henry and then I went back to get him, and +he was gone!”</p> + +<p>“And no clue?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“This tag end of the rope,” said Greasy Gus. “And that’s all I know +about where Henry went, but my idee is somebody come along and seen +him there and just thought he’d have a pig cheap.”</p> + +<p>“It’s a pretty hard case to work onto,” said Mr. Gubb doubtfully. +“Somebody might have come along with a wagon and loaded him in.”</p> + +<p>“Sure!” said Mr. Smith. “No telling at all. That’s why I come to you. +If he was where I could fall over him, I wouldn’t need a detective, +would I? And if you find Henry I’ll just give you these four +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_299" id="Page_299">[Pg 299]</a></span>five-dollar bills. I’m no millionaire, but I’ll blow that much for +the satisfaction of getting back at Three-Finger Watts. Is it a go?”</p> + +<p>“Under them certain specifications,” said Mr. Gubb, using the exact +words he had used before, “I can take up the case and get right to +work onto it.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Smith shook hands to bind the bargain and departed.</p> + +<p>He had hardly disappeared before Mr. Alibaba Singh opened the door +cautiously, put his head inside and then entered.</p> + +<p>“I thought that man would stay forever,” he said with annoyance. “He +isn’t in any way interested in my affairs or in the affairs of Mrs. +Henry K. Lippett, is he?”</p> + +<p>“Nobody has been here that is interested into anything you are +interested into in the slightest form or manner,” Mr. Gubb assured +him, and Alibaba Singh sighed with relief.</p> + +<p>“You never knew Henry K. Lippett, did you?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“Never at all,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“He broke his neck,” said Alibaba Singh, “and it killed him.”</p> + +<p>He hesitated and seemed lost in thought. He drew himself together +sharply.</p> + +<p>“It isn’t <i>possible</i>!” he exclaimed with irritation and with no +connection with what he had just said. “I <i>don’t</i> believe it! I—I—”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_300" id="Page_300">[Pg 300]</a></span></p><p>His distress was great. He wrung one hand inside the other. He almost +wept.</p> + +<p>“Mr. Gubb,” he said, “since I was here I have been up to Mrs. +Lippett’s house again, and it is worse than ever. It can’t be +possible! I haven’t the power. I know I haven’t the power.”</p> + +<p>“You’d ought to try to explain yourself more plain to your +deteckative,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I’ll tell you everything!” said Alibaba Singh in a sudden burst of +confidence. “Mr. Gubb, I am an impostor. I am a fraud. I am not a +Hindoo. My name is Guffins, James Guffins. I did sleight-of-hand stuff +in a Bowery show. I took up this mystic, yogi, Hindoo stuff because I +thought it would pay and it was easy to fool the dames. They fell for +it fast enough, and I made good money. But I’m no yogi. I’m no miracle +man. I couldn’t bring a man back to life in his own form or any other +form, could I?”</p> + +<p>“Undoubtedly hardly so,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Glad to hear you say it,” said Mr. Guffins with relief. “A man gets +so interested in his work—and there is a lot you can learn in books +about this Hindoo mumbo-jumbo business—but of course I couldn’t bring +Mr. Lippett back. I’m no spiritualistic medium. I couldn’t materialize +the spirit of a pig.”</p> + +<p>As he said the word, Mr. Guffins shuddered. It had come out +unintentionally, but it seemed to jar him to the depth of his being. +He had evidently not meant to say <i>pig</i>.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_301" id="Page_301">[Pg 301]</a></span></p><p>“Mr. Gubb, I will be frank with you. I need your help,” he continued. +“Mrs. Lippett attended my lecture, and she became interested. She +formed a class to study yogi philosophy. We went deep into it. I had +to read up one week what I taught them the next. The lights turned low +and my Hindoo costume helped, of course. Air of mystery, strange +perfumes, and all that. You said you never knew Henry K. Lippett?”</p> + +<p>“Never at all,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Fat man,” said Mr. Guffins. “He must have been a very fat man. And a +hearty eater. Rather—rather an over-hearty eater. He must have lived +to eat.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Guffins sighed again.</p> + +<p>“Of course there was remuneration,” Mr. Guffins went on. “For me, I +mean. To pay for my time. Mrs. Lippett was most generous. I <i>told</i> +her,” he said angrily, “I couldn’t guarantee to materialize her dead +husband. I said to her: ‘Mrs. Lippett, we had better not try it. My +power may be too weak. And think of the risk. He <i>may</i> be pure spirit, +floating in Nirvana, and come to us as a pure spirit, but what if his +life was not all it should have been on earth? What if his spirit has +passed into a lower form as a punishment for misdeeds? You will pardon +me for speaking so of him, but men are weak,’ I said, ‘and he may now +be a—a bird of the air. It would be a shock,’ I said, ‘to see him +changed into a bird of the air.’”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_302" id="Page_302">[Pg 302]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Guffins paused and groaned.</p> + +<p>“But she would have it,” he went on. “She would have me make the +attempt. So—”</p> + +<p>Mr. Guffins looked at Mr. Gubb appealingly.</p> + +<p>“You <i>don’t</i> believe I could do it, do you?” he pleaded.</p> + +<p>“Not in any manner of means,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That’s what I want you to prove to her,” said Mr. Guffins. “That’s +why I came to you. Everybody knows you are a detective. I want you +to—to get on my trail.”</p> + +<p>“You want me to arrest you!” cried Mr. Gubb with surprise.</p> + +<p>“I want you to be looking for me as if you wanted to arrest me,” said +poor Mr. Guffins; “as if you had received word that I was a fraud, and +that you had traced me to Mrs. Lippett’s. You can go there and say: +‘Gone! I am too late! He has escaped.’ And then you can tell her it +couldn’t be.”</p> + +<p>“That what couldn’t be?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“The room was darkish,” said Mr. Guffins. “The lights were dim. I +stood in the light of the red globe, and it gave me a weird look. I +held the crystal globe in one hand and the jade talisman in the other. +The incense arose from the incense-burner. As if out of the empty air, +a sweet-toned bell rang three times. I bowed low three times as the +bell rang and muttered the magic words. I made them up as I said them, +but they sounded mystic. Mrs. Lippett was sitting on the edge of her +chair, breathless with <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_303" id="Page_303">[Pg 303]</a></span>emotion. The curtains were drawn across the +door at the back of the room. You could have heard a pin drop. We were +alone, just we two. I felt creepy myself. I turned toward the +curtains. I said, ‘Henry, appear!’”</p> + +<p>“Yes?” queried Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>Mr. Guffins threw out both hands with a gesture of utter despair.</p> + +<p>“A pig came under the curtains,” he groaned. “A pig—a great, fat, +double-chinned, pinky-white pig, the kind you see at county +fairs—came under the curtains and grunted twice. It stood there and +raised its head and grunted twice.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Guffins wrung his hands nervously.</p> + +<p>“It—it surprised me,” he said,—“but only for a minute. I said, ‘Get +out, you beast!’ and was going to kick it, but Mrs. Lippett rose +slowly from her chair. She half-tottered for an instant, and then she +covered her face with her hands. She began to weep. ‘I knew it!’ she +sobbed; ‘I knew it! Oh, Henry, I knew you ate too much. I told you and +<i>told</i> you again and again you were making a pig of yourself. Oh, +Henry, if you had only been less of a pig when you were alive before!’ +And what do you think that pig did?”</p> + +<p>“What did it do?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It sat up on its hind legs and begged,” said Mr. Guffins, “begged for +food. It was awful! Mrs. Lippett couldn’t stand it. She wept. ‘He was +always so hungry in his other life,’ she said. ‘I <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_304" id="Page_304">[Pg 304]</a></span>can’t begin to be +stern with him now. To-morrow, but not when he has just come back to +me. Come, Henry!’</p> + +<p>“She went into the dining-room,” continued Mr. Guffins, “and Henry—or +the pig, for it <i>couldn’t</i> have been Henry—followed her. And what do +you think it did?”</p> + +<p>“What?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It went right to the dining-room table and climbed into a chair. Pigs +don’t do that, do they? But you don’t believe it could have been +Henry, do you? It got up in the chair and <i>sat</i> in it, and put its +front feet on the table and grunted. And Mrs. Lippett hurried about +saying, ‘Oh, Henry! Oh, poor, dear Henry!’ and brought a plate of +fried hominy and sliced apple and set it before him. And he wouldn’t +touch it! He wouldn’t eat. So Mrs. Lippett wept harder and got a +napkin and tied it around the pig’s neck. Then the pig ate. He almost +climbed into the plate, and gobbled the food down. And then he grunted +for more. And Mrs. Lippett wept and said: ‘It’s Henry! He always did +tie a napkin around his neck—he spilled his soup so. It’s Henry! It +acts just like Henry. He never did anything at the table but eat and +grunt.’ And so,” said Mr. Guffins sadly, “she thinks it’s Henry. She’s +fixed up the guest bedroom for him.”</p> + +<p>“The idea of such a notion!” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo18" id="Illo18"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 381px;"> +<img src="images/i326.jpg" class="ispace jpg" width="381" height="500" alt="“SHE THINKS IT’S HENRY. SHE’S FIXED UP THE GUEST +BEDROOM FOR HIM”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“SHE THINKS IT’S HENRY. SHE’S FIXED UP THE GUEST +BEDROOM FOR HIM”</span></div> + +<p>“Well, that’s it,” said Mr. Guffins sadly. “I ain’t sure but it <i>is</i> +Henry. Do you know, that pig <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_305" id="Page_305">[Pg 305]</a></span>walks on its hind feet like a man? She says it walks like Henry.... +Oh!”</p> + +<p>“What is it?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I told you Henry—”</p> + +<p>“Yes?”</p> + +<p>“I told you Henry broke his neck. He fell down and broke his neck, in +his store. He was coming down the back stairs in the dark, and his +foot caught in a piece of rope and he fell. And—this pig came into +the parlor with a piece of string on its leg! Here’s the string.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb took it. From his desk he took the string Mr. Greasy Gus had +left. The two ends joined perfectly.</p> + +<p>“I’ll get you out of this fix, and fix it so Mrs. Lippett won’t have +that pig onto her hands,” he said. “I’ll go tell her what a fraud of a +faker you are, and it won’t cost you but twenty-five dollars.”</p> + +<p>“Willingly paid,” said Mr. Guffins, reaching into his pocket.</p> + +<p>“And don’t you worry about that pig being Henry K. Lippett,” said Mr. +Gubb. “That pig was a stranger into Riverbank. And,” he went on, as if +reading the words from the end of the whipcord, “it was tied to the +alley fence. Tied to an iron staple,” he said, “by a short, stoutish +man with a ruddish face.” He took up the other piece of cord and +looked at it closely. “And the pig jerked the cord in two and went +into the yard and in at the open door and into the room. And what is +moreover also, the pig is <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_306" id="Page_306">[Pg 306]</a></span>an educated show-pig, and its name is +Henry, and—”</p> + +<p>“And what?” asked Mr. Guffins eagerly.</p> + +<p>“If you want to get rid of the pig out of Mrs. Lippett’s house, all +you have to do is to write to the Sheriff of Derling County, +Derlingport, Iowa, and you needn’t trouble yourself into it no +further.”</p> + +<p>“Great Scott!” cried Mr. Guffins. “And you can tell all that from that +piece of cord!”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb assumed a look of wisdom.</p> + +<p>“Us gents that is into the deteckative business,” he said carelessly, +“has to learn twelve correspondence lessons before we get our +diplomas. The deteckative mind is educated up to such things.”</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_307" id="Page_307">[Pg 307]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="BURIED_BONES" id="BURIED_BONES"></a>BURIED BONES</h2> + +<p>When Mr. Gubb went to the house of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook to pay him +the money he had received for solving the mystery of Henry, the +Educated Pig, he found the house closed, locked and deserted, and on +the door was pinned a card that said simply, and in a neat +handwriting:—</p> + +<p class="center">Gone to Patagonia. Will be back in one hundred years. Please +wait.</p> + +<p>This was signed “Jonas Medderbrook,” but not until the next day did +Mr. Gubb learn from the “Riverbank Eagle” that Mr. Medderbrook had +decamped after selling his friends and neighbors an immense amount of +stock in the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine, of which Mr. Gubb had a very +large and entirely worthless quantity.</p> + +<p>The departure of Mr. Medderbrook was a great shock to Mr. Gubb, as it +seemed to indicate that serious complications in his wooing of Syrilla +might result from it, especially as he had only heard from Syrilla +through Mr. Medderbrook, but, disturbed as he was by this fear, he was +even more upset by a telegram that came to him direct that afternoon. +It was from Syrilla herself—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Alas! [it read], the worst has happened. Weighed myself this +morning and weighed only one hundred <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_308" id="Page_308">[Pg 308]</a></span>pounds. Later +discovered scales were one hundred and five pounds out of +balance, registering one hundred and five pounds too much. I +cannot marry you, now or ever, Gubby dear, as cannot permit +your faithful heart to wed one who weighs five pounds less +than nothing. Good-bye forever. <span class="right3"><span class="smcap">Syrilla</span>.</span></p></div> + +<p>The blow was a severe one to Mr. Gubb, as it would have been to any +lover who loved a half-ton of beauty only to have her shrink to five +pounds less than nothing. For several days he remained locked in his +office, hardly touching food, and then, with a sad heart he resumed +his customary occupations. He would never have learned the truth about +Syrilla had it not been for a tramp called Chi Foxy.</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy made the long walk from Derlingport, and night found him on +the outskirts of Riverbank. He begged a hand-out from one of the small +houses and hunted a place to spend the night. He found it underneath a +tool-house alongside the railway tracks, and that it had been used as +sleeping-quarters by other tramps was shown by the heap of crushed +straw, the bread-crusts, and the remnants of a small fire.</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy crawled in and stretched himself out for a comfortable night. +He lighted his pipe, loosened the laces of his shoes, and settled back +for a comfortable smoke.</p> + +<p>Just outside the rear of his sleeping quarters ran the wire +right-of-way fence, which was also the back fence of a small piece of +property on which stood a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_309" id="Page_309">[Pg 309]</a></span>rickety old house. The house was devoid of +paint, but it was a cheerful sight from where Chi Foxy reclined. He +had a clear view of the kitchen window, from which the light came in a +yellow glow, and he could see a woman cooking something in a +frying-pan on a kitchen stove. A man sat beside the stove, his elbows +on his knees, waiting for supper.</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy almost decided to climb the fence and knock at the door of +the kitchen at the moment the woman took the frying-pan off the stove, +but he was feeling well filled and comfortable, and he decided to wait +and to use the house as his breakfasting-place. This required no +little strength of character, for the perfume of fried veal chops was +wafted to his nostrils, but he held himself in hand, and when he had +burned his pipeful of tobacco he curled down and went to sleep.</p> + +<p>He was awakened by the sound of voices near at hand, and peered out +between the ties. The night was not dark. The voices had come from a +man and a woman, and as Chi Foxy watched them the man began digging in +the sandy soil with a spade. He made quite a hole in the soil and +turned to the woman.</p> + +<p>“Hand me the bag,” he said.</p> + +<p>The woman dragged a heavy gunny-sack to the edge of the hole. The man +untwisted the neck of the bag and up-ended it over the hole. There +followed the rattle of bones, one striking against the other, and the +man handed the bag back to the woman. Chi Foxy peered eagerly at the +hole. He saw bones. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_310" id="Page_310">[Pg 310]</a></span>He looked up at the stars and saw it must be well +after midnight. He saw the man hastily spade the soft soil over the +bones, saw him scatter loose dry top-sand over the completed job, and +saw the man and woman hurry back to the dark house.</p> + +<p>The next morning Chi Foxy left his resting-place and climbed over the +wire fence. He looked curiously at the spot where the weird burial had +taken place, and went on toward the house. He knocked on the door, and +it was opened by the man—a tall, lanky, coarse-bearded specimen.</p> + +<p>“Say, friend, how about givin’ a feller some breakfast?” asked Chi +Foxy.</p> + +<p>“How ’bout it, ma?” asked the man, turning his head. “Got some +breakfast for this feller?”</p> + +<p>The woman looked toward the tramp. She evidently decided in his favor.</p> + +<p>“Let him set on the step and I kin hand him out some coffee and some +meat, if that’ll do him,” she said, and Chi Foxy seated himself. The +breakfast she brought him on a chipped plate was all he could have +desired. There was a half of a veal cutlet, browned to a nicety, a +portion of fried potatoes, a thick slice of bread without butter, and +a cup of coffee. Chi Foxy ate and drank.</p> + +<p>“Thanks, folks,” he said. “I won’t forgit you.” And he continued on +his way toward Riverbank.</p> + +<p>“So you’re here,” said the first policeman he met. “Right on time with +the first frosty breeze, ain’t you? Well, my friend, you can blow out +of town on <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_311" id="Page_311">[Pg 311]</a></span>the breeze, just like you blew in. No more free board and +gentle stone-pile massage in this town. Drift along, bo!”</p> + +<p>He turned up the first cross-street. He went from house to house +begging a hand-out, but the residents were colder than the weather. At +the twelfth house he knocked on the back door, but he was beginning to +feel hopeless. A thin streamer of smoke was issuing from the kitchen +chimney, and where there is smoke there is food; but here, instead of +a hard-faced woman coming to the door, a man put his face to the +kitchen window and looked out. It was the face of a tall, thin man +with a long neck and prominent Adam’s-apple, and as the man peered out +of the window he looked something like a flamingo. He opened the door.</p> + +<p>“Come right into the inside,” said Philo Gubb pleasantly, “and heat +yourself up warm. The temperature is full of cold weather to-day.”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy entered. He looked around the kitchen. There was a brisk fire +in the stove, but no sign of food.</p> + +<p>“Say, pard,” he said, “how about giving me a bite? I haven’t had a +bite this morning. I ain’t too late, am I?”</p> + +<p>His host looked at him.</p> + +<p>“You are not too late,” he answered, “because it may be some days of +time before there is any eats here, for what’s burning into that stove +is the unvalueless trimmings off of wall-paper. I’m not the regular +resider at this house by no means.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_312" id="Page_312">[Pg 312]</a></span></p><p>Chi Foxy looked at his host again.</p> + +<p>“You’re a paper-hanger, ain’t you?” he said.</p> + +<p>“Paper-hanger and deteckative,” said his host proudly. “My name is +Mister P. Gubb, graduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency’s +Correspondence School of Deteckating in twelve lessons. And +paper-hanging done in a neat manner.”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy held out his hand eagerly.</p> + +<p>“Shake, pard!” he asked. “That’s my line, too.”</p> + +<p>“Paper-hanging?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Detecting,” said Chi Foxy promptly. “I’m one of the most famousest +gum-shoe fellers in the world. Me and this here great detective +feller—what’s his name, now?—used to work team-work together.”</p> + +<p>“Burns?” suggested Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Holmes,” said Chi Foxy, “Shermlock Holmes. Me and him pulled off all +them big jobs you maybe have read about in the papers.”</p> + +<p>He pronounced the name of the celebrated detective of fiction +“Shermlock Hol-lums.”</p> + +<p>“Oh, yes,” said the tramp, “me and Shermlock is great chums. And me +and the kid!”</p> + +<p>“To what kid do you refer to?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Why, my old side partner’s little son, Shermlock Hollums the Twoth,” +said Chi Foxy without a blink. “And a cunnin’ little feller he +was—took after his father like a cat after fish, he did. Me and old +Shermlock we used to hide things—candy <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_313" id="Page_313">[Pg 313]</a></span>and—and oranges—and let +little Shermlock go and detect where they was. He was a great little +codger, he was.”</p> + +<p>He noticed that Mr. Gubb was looking at him sharply. He looked down at +his ragged garments.</p> + +<p>“Disguise,” he said briefly. “Nobody’d know a swell dresser like I am +in this rig, would he? Say, pard, how about giving me a half-dollar to +get breakfast? Us detectives ought to have es-<i>spirit dee corpse</i>, +hey? We ought to stick by each other, hey?”</p> + +<p>The celebrated paper-hanger detective considered Chi Foxy. It was +evident that P. Gubb doubted the authenticity of the tramp-detective.</p> + +<p>“In times of necessary need,” he said slowly, “I often assume onto me +the disguise of a tramp, but I don’t assume it onto me so complete +that I go asking for money to buy breakfast.”</p> + +<p>“You don’t, hey?” said Chi Foxy scornfully. “Well, you must be a swell +detective, you must. When I get into a tramp disguise I’m a tramp all +through.”</p> + +<p>“Most certainly,” said P. Gubb. “And so am I. But there’s a difference +into the way you are doing it now. You ain’t deteckating now. You are +coming at me as one deteckative unto another.”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy laughed.</p> + +<p>“Say,” he said, “I’d like to see this here Correspondence School you +graduated out of, I would. I’d like to see the lessons they learn you, +I would. <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_314" id="Page_314">[Pg 314]</a></span>Why, the first thing my old pard Shermlock Hollums told me +was <i>never</i> to be anything but what I was disguised to be as long as I +was disguised to be it. That’s right. Maybe I’d be disguised as a +tramp and I’d meet our old friend and college chum, the Dook of Sluff. +He’d want to take me into some swell place and blow me off to a swell +dinner. Would I let on? No, sir! I’d sort of whine at him and say, +‘Mister, won’t you give a poor feller a penny for to hire a bed?’ +That’s how me and Shermlock stuck to a disguise. And Shermlock! Me and +him was like twins, we was, and yet when I was in this tramp disguise +and went up to his room to report, I’d knock at the door and say, +‘Mister, give a poor cove a hand-out, won’t you?’ and Shermlock would +turn and say, ‘Watson, throw this tramp downstairs.’ And Watson would +do it. Yes, sir! I’ve been so sore and bruised from being thrown +downstairs when I went to report to Shermlock that sometimes I’d have +to go to the hospital to get plastered up. That’s detecting!”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy looked at P. Gubb, but P. Gubb did not seem to have melted.</p> + +<p>“That’s livin’ up to your disguise,” continued Chi Foxy. “Me and +Shermlock, when we had on tramp disguises we <i>were</i> tramps. Why, I +used to go home and my valet would throw me downstairs. I was so +thoroughly disguised, and I kept actin’ so trampish while I had the +disguise on, that he used to come at me with a golluf stick and whack +<span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_315" id="Page_315">[Pg 315]</a></span>me on the head. And when I got into my own room I kept right on being +a tramp. Took off my clothes—still a tramp. Took off my false +whiskers—still a tramp. I’d be there stark naked and I’d still be a +tramp. Yes, sir. That’s the kind of detective disguising I did. And +then I’d take a bath. Then I was myself again. Yes, sir. When I’d +scrubbed myself in the bathtub I figured I’d got rid of the tramp +disguise right down into the skin, and I’d be myself again—and not +until then.”</p> + +<p>He looked at P. Gubb out of the corner of his eye.</p> + +<p>“Why, I remember one time,” he said briskly, “I was asked to the +Dook’s palace to a swell party. Me and Shermlock was both asked, +because they knew one of us wouldn’t go unless the other did. Well, +sir, I had been out detecting in a tramp disguise that day—findin’ +stolen jools and murderers and that sort of business—and I went and +took my bath and rigged all up in swell clothes, and called my +limmy-seen automobile, and when the feller I hired to drive the +limmy-seen come to open the door of the car at the Dook’s palace I +dodged. Yes, sir, I dodged like I thought he was going to hit me +because I hadn’t no business in my own limmy-seen automobile. That was +funny, wasn’t it? So I went up the steps into the Dook’s palace, and +the gentleman he had to open the door opened the door, and he called +out my name and up come the Dookess—Mrs. Dook of Sluff, as they call +her, but I always <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_316" id="Page_316">[Pg 316]</a></span>called her Maggie, like she called me Mike. So she +says to me, ‘Mike, I’m mighty glad to see you here. We’re going to have +a swell party.’ And I started to say back something pleasant, but what +I said was, ‘Please, missus, won’t you give a poor cove a hand-out?’”</p> + +<p>“What seemed to be the reason you said that?” asked Philo Gubb with +interest.</p> + +<p>“That’s what worried me,” said Chi Foxy. “I didn’t mean to say it. I +just said it against my will, as you might say. But I guess she +thought I was tryin’ to be smart, for she just says, ‘Naughty, +naughty, Mike,’ and whistled to the Dook to come and blow me off to +the feeds. So the Dook come and led me into the dining-room, and +stacked me up against the table for a stand-up feed. Swell feed, bo! +Samwiches till you couldn’t rest—ham samwiches and chicken samwiches +and tongue samwiches and club samwiches and—and all kinds of +samwiches. And what did I do? I grabbed half a dozen of them samwiches +and rammed them into my pants pocket, just like a tramp would do it. +The Dook looked surprised, but he begun to haw-haw, and he slapped me +on the back and said, ‘Good joke, ol’ chap, good joke!’ So that passed +off all right. Then I went into the jool room, because the Dook had +told me his son, the Dookette, or what you might call the little +Dookerino, was in there. So in I went, and the first thing I knew I +was hiding one of the Dook’s gold crowns inside my vest. In a <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_317" id="Page_317">[Pg 317]</a></span>minute +in come the Dook to pick out a crown to wear at dinner—”</p> + +<p>“I thought you said they had a stand-up dinner at the table,” said +Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Pshaw, that was nothing but the appetizer,” said Chi Foxy. “Well, in +he come and began lookin’ through his crowns for the one he wanted, +and all at once he saw how my vest bulged out, and he knew by the +rough edges of the bulge it wasn’t samwiches because them dookal +samwiches is all boneless. So he puts his hand on my shoulder and he +says, ‘Mike, ain’t you carryin’ the joke a bit too far?’ That’s what +he says, and I wish you could have heard how sad his voice was. He +says, ‘You know me, Mike, and you know that anything I’ve got is +yours—<i>except</i> that crown you’ve got inside your vest.’</p> + +<p>“For a minute I didn’t know what to do. I wasn’t in tramp disguise and +I thought he would think I was a thief in real life, so I says, ‘Dook, +search me!’ ‘I don’t have to search you,’ he says, ‘for I can see my +favorite crown bulging out your vest.’ ‘I don’t mean that, Dook, old +chap,’ I says; ‘I mean take me up to your bood-u-war or the bathroom +and give me the twice-over. Something’s wrong with me, and I don’t +know what, but some of my tramp disguise must be sticking to me +somewhere.’ So we went up to the bathroom and he went over me with +this one-eyed monocule he always wore, and then he went over me with a +reading-glass, <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_318" id="Page_318">[Pg 318]</a></span>and then he went over me with a microscope, but he +couldn’t see a speck of tramp disguise on me. Not a speck. ‘Keep +lookin’!’ I says. ‘It must be there somewhere, Dook,’ I says, ‘or I +wouldn’t act so pernicious.’ So he begun again, and all at once I hear +him chuckle. He was lookin’ in my ear with the microscope.”</p> + +<p>“What was it?” asked Philo Gubb eagerly.</p> + +<p>“A hair,” said Chi Foxy. “Just one hair. It was a hair out of my tramp +whiskers that had got in my ear, and the minute he pulled it out I was +all right again and no more tramp than he was. So you see that’s the +way I keep acting tramp as long as I have even one hair of tramp +disguise about me. Come on, be a good feller and let me have half a +dollar to get some feeds with.”</p> + +<p>P. Gubb put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it again. “I much +admire to like the way you act right up to the disguise,” he said, +“and it does you proud, but of course when you ask for fifty cents +it’s nothing but part of the disguise, ain’t it?”</p> + +<p>“Now, see here, bo!” said Chi Foxy earnestly. “Don’t you go and +misunderstand me. I didn’t mean to be mistook that way. I <i>do</i> want +fifty cents. I’m hungry, I am.”</p> + +<p>P. Gubb smiled approvingly. “Most excellent trampish disguise work,” +he said. “Nobody couldn’t do it better. A real tramp couldn’t do it +better.”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy frowned. “Say,” he said, “cut that out, won’t you, cully? +Your head ain’t solid ivory, is it? <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_319" id="Page_319">[Pg 319]</a></span>I’m starvin’. Gimme fifty cents, +mister. Gimme a quarter if you won’t give me fifty. Come on, now, be a +good feller.”</p> + +<p>“A deteckative like you are oughtn’t to need twenty-five cents so bad +as that,” said P. Gubb. “A deteckative acquainted with the knowing of +a Dook and of Sherlock Holmes don’t have to beg.”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy actually gritted his teeth. He was angry with himself. He had +talked too well. He had proved so thoroughly that he was a detective +that P. Gubb would not believe he was hungry.</p> + +<p>“See here, bo,” he said suddenly, “is this straight about you being a +detective, or is that a bluff, too?”</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb showed Chi Foxy the badge he had received upon completion +of his correspondence course of twelve lessons.</p> + +<p>“I’m the most celebrated and only deteckative in the town of +Riverbank, Iowa,” he said seriously, “and you can ask the Sheriff or +the Chief of Police if you don’t believe me. I’m working right now +onto a case of quite some importance, into which a calf was stolen, +but up to now the clues ain’t what they should be. If you don’t think +I’m a deteckative you can ask Farmer Hopper. He hired me for to get +the capture of the guilty calf-stealer aforesaid.”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy studied P. Gubb’s simple face.</p> + +<p>“And you can arrest a feller and lodge him in jail?” he asked.</p> + +<p>“I’ve arrested many and lodged them into jail,” P. Gubb assured him.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_320" id="Page_320">[Pg 320]</a></span></p><p>“Well, bo,” said Chi Foxy frankly, “I’m the man you’re looking for. +Arrest me.”</p> + +<p>The tramp knew enough about arrests to know that even a suspect, when +lodged in jail, would be fed, and he was hungry and getting hungrier +every moment. P. Gubb looked at him with surprise.</p> + +<p>“I thought you said you was a deteckative,” he said.</p> + +<p>“I am,” said Chi Foxy. “Or I wouldn’t know I was a criminal. I +detected it myself, because nobody else could. Even my old friend +Shermlock Hollums couldn’t detect it, but I did. I’m a—a murderer, I +am. There’s a thousand-dollar reward offered for me.”</p> + +<p>“Then why don’t you arrest yourself and get the reward?” asked P. +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Say,” said Chi Foxy with disgust. “It can’t be done. I know, for I’ve +tried. I’m a fugitive, that’s what I am, and right behind me, no +matter where I flee to, comes myself ready to grab me and arrest me. +I’ve chased myself all over Europe, Asia and Africa, and I can’t get +away from myself, and I can’t grab myself. It’s—it’s just awful.”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy wiped an imaginary tear from his eye.</p> + +<p>“And I can’t keep away from the scene of my crime,” he said. “I come +back here time after time—”</p> + +<p>“Did you do the murder here?” asked P. Gubb with increased interest.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo19" id="Illo19"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 419px;"> +<img src="images/i343.jpg" class="ispace" width="419" height="500" alt="“A DETECKATIVE LIKE YOU ARE OUGHTN’T TO NEED +TWENTY-FIVE CENTS SO BAD AS THAT”" title="" /> +<span class="caption">“A DETECKATIVE LIKE YOU ARE OUGHTN’T TO NEED +TWENTY-FIVE CENTS SO BAD AS THAT”</span></div> + +<p>“That’s what I did,” said Chi Foxy. “I did it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_321" id="Page_321">[Pg 321]</a></span>here. Take me down to the lock-up. Me and you can hold me all right.”</p> + +<p>“It’s somewhat out of the ordinary common run for a feller to be a +deteckative and the criminal murderer he’s chasing both at once,” said +P. Gubb doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“That’s so, ain’t it?” agreed Chi Foxy. “It looks that way. But facts +are facts, ain’t they?”</p> + +<p>“Quite occasionally they are such,” agreed P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That’s right,” said Chi Foxy. “And all you’ve got to do is to explain +them. You see, bo, I was a young feller when I murdered this old +miser—”</p> + +<p>“What did you say his name was?” asked P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Smith,” said Chi Foxy promptly. “John J. Smith, and he lived right +here in this town. And I murdered the old feller and got away. Nobody +cared much whether the old feller was murdered or not, and nothin’ +much might have been said of it except that the old feller had a +nephew. His name was Smith—Peter P. Smith.”</p> + +<p>“What did he do?” asked P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“He offered a reward of a thousand dollars,” said Chi Foxy. “It was +one of them unsolved mystery cases—one of them cases that never get +solved because no detective is smart enough to solve it. Nobody knew +who killed old John J. Smith but me, and I wasn’t going around telling +it.”</p> + +<p>“I should think not,” said P. Gubb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_322" id="Page_322">[Pg 322]</a></span></p><p>“No, sir!” said Chi Foxy. “So I was as safe as a babe unborn. I +skipped up the river to Minneapolis, and nobody thought of lookin’ for +me, because I wasn’t suspected. And then I did a fool thing.”</p> + +<p>“Murderers ’most always does,” said P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Sure!” said Chi Foxy. “I thought I’d go to New Orleans. It was all +right—nice trip—until we got to Dubuque, and then what happened? The +old steamboat blew up. I went sailin’ up in the air like one of these +here skyrockets, I did, and when I come down I lit head first.”</p> + +<p>“It is a remarkable wonder it didn’t kill you to death,” said P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Ain’t it?” said Chi Foxy. “But it did worse than kill me. It knocked +my senses out of me. When I come to I didn’t know what had happened. I +didn’t remember a thing out of my past—not a thing. I was like a +newborn babe. I didn’t have an idea or a memory left in me. When they +picked me up and I opened my eyes I could just say ‘Ah-goo’ and +‘Da-da’ and things like that, and I didn’t know who I was or where I’d +been or anything. So some kind folks took me and sent me to +kinder-garden, and I started in to learn my A-B-C’s and things like +that. I learned fast, and pretty soon I was in the high school, and +pretty soon I graduated, and the name I graduated under was Mike +Higgs, Higgs being the name of the family that adopted me.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_323" id="Page_323">[Pg 323]</a></span></p><p>“Mike Higgs?” repeated P. Gubb, trying to remember a celebrated +detective of that name.</p> + +<p>“Yes,” said Chi Foxy, “they named me Mike after the old gran’pa of the +family. He was a butcher, and they wanted me to be a butcher, but I +wanted to be a detective. So Gran’pa Higgs he lent me enough money to +go to London and take lessons in detecting from Shermlock Hollums, and +I did. He says to me, when I’d finished the course, ‘Mike, I hate to +say it, but I can’t call you a rival. You’re so far ahead of me in +detective knowledge that I’m like a half-witted child beside you.’ +That’s what my old friend and teacher, Shermlock Hollums, says to me.”</p> + +<p>“That was exceedingly high praising from one so great,” said P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“You bet it was!” said Chi Foxy, “So one day Shermlock says to me, +‘Mike you’re so good at this detecting work, why don’t you try to +solve The Great Mystery?’</p> + +<p>“‘What’s that?’ I says.</p> + +<p>“‘Why, the greatest unsolved mystery of the world,’ he says. ‘The +mystery of the Riverbank, Iowa, miser.’</p> + +<p>“So he told me what he knew about it,” continued Chi Foxy, “and I set +to work. I come here to Riverbank to hunt up a clue, and I found just +one clue.”</p> + +<p>“What was it?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“It was a speck of red pepper no bigger than the <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_324" id="Page_324">[Pg 324]</a></span>point of a pin,” +said Chi Foxy, “crushed into the carpet by the old miser’s bed, where +he had been killed. I picked up the speck of red pepper and +microscoped it, and I saw that along one edge it was sort of brown, +where it had been burned a little.”</p> + +<p>“Have you got it now?” asked P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Got it?” said Chi Foxy. “I should say not. While I was lookin’ at it +a breeze come and blowed it away, and I never saw it again, but that +was enough for me. ‘Red pepper,’ I says, ‘partly burned,’ and I began +to tremble. ’Cause why? ’Cause I never was able to get smoking tobacco +strong enough to suit me, and to make it taste snappy I always put a +little red pepper in my pipe. I turned as white as a sheet. ‘Red +pepper partly burned!’ I says to myself. ‘Nobody in the world but me +puts red pepper in his tobacco.’</p> + +<p>“Well, sir, I started tracing myself back and I found out I was the +murderer. And I was the detective after the murderer. I was everybody +concerned. In a moment I was overcome by criminal fear and I fled. I +fled all over Europe, Asia, and Africa, and wherever I went I was +right after myself, ready to arrest me.”</p> + +<p>Chi Foxy paused and glanced at P. Gubb questioningly. With a solemn +face the great Correspondence School detective blinked his bird-like +eyes at Chi Foxy.</p> + +<p>“So now arrest me,” said Chi Foxy.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb rubbed his chin. “I’d like to favor <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_325" id="Page_325">[Pg 325]</a></span>you by so doing, Mr. +Jones,” he said, “for I can easy see, Mr. Higgs, that you can’t arrest +yourself, but it is against the instructions in Lesson Six of the +Rising Sun Correspondence School of Deteckating for a graduate to +arrest a man without a good clue, and the only clue you had was blowed +away.”</p> + +<p>For a moment this seemed to annoy Chi Foxy, but his face suddenly +brightened.</p> + +<p>“Clue?” he said. “Say, friend, I wouldn’t ask you to arrest me on any +such clue as a speck of red pepper. No, sir! But I’ve got a clue +that’ll mean something. I can tell you right where I buried that old +miser’s bones, I can. You go up the river road until you come to a +tool-house on the railway, and just back of the tool-house is a +dwellin’-house—old and unpainted. All right! Right in that yard, +close to the railway fence, the bones is buried. Now, you turn me over +to the law, and you go up there—”</p> + +<p>“We’d best go up there immediately first before anything else,” said +Philo Gubb, starting to remove his paper-hanger’s apron. “Putting off +clues until sometime else is against Paragraph Four, Lesson One. If +you come up there with me—”</p> + +<p>“Look here,” said Chi Foxy, “will you buy me a feed on the way up if I +go with you?”</p> + +<p>“Quite certainly sure,” said P. Gubb, and so it was agreed.</p> + +<p>The paper-hanger detective and the criminal-detective stopped at +Hank’s restaurant and Chi <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_326" id="Page_326">[Pg 326]</a></span>Foxy ate a heavy meal, and then led the way +to the tool-house, and pointed over the wire fence to the spot where +the bones of the murdered miser were supposed to repose.</p> + +<p>“Right there!” he said, but when P. Gubb had climbed the fence and had +turned to look for Chi Foxy, the late detective-criminal was gone. Mr. +Gubb’s face turned red, but as he hung his head in shame he noticed +that the ground at his feet had lately been spaded. He stooped to look +at it, and then walked to the weather-beaten house and knocked. A +lanky, loose-jointed man came to the door, and a woman peered at Mr. +Gubb from behind the man.</p> + +<p>“I hope you’ll pardon,” said Mr. Gubb politely, “but my name is P. +Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger, and I’m looking up a case. Might I +trouble you for the loan of a spade or shovel?”</p> + +<p>“What you want with it?” asked the man gruffly.</p> + +<p>“To dig,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>The man reluctantly handed Mr. Gubb a spade on which there were still +traces of soft, sandy soil. Mr. Gubb walked to the rear of the yard +and jabbed the spade into the soft soil. It struck something hard. In +a moment or two Mr. Gubb had the evidences of crime completely +uncovered. There were bones buried there—many bones. Mr. Gubb looked +up and wiped his brow. Then he looked down at the bones. One was a +skull. Mr. Gubb stared at <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_327" id="Page_327">[Pg 327]</a></span>it. It was indeed a skull, but it was the +skull of a calf. All the bones were calf bones—not bones of the human +calf, but bones of the veal calf. Mr. Gubb turned his head and saw the +long lanky man approaching.</p> + +<p>“All right,” said the long, lanky man, “I give up. You’ve got me. I +surrender. When a detective gets that close, a man hasn’t any chance. +I own up. I did it.”</p> + +<p>“You did what?”</p> + +<p>“Now, quit!” said the long, lanky man. “No use rubbin’ it in after +I’ve owned up. You know as well as I do—I’m the man that stole Farmer +Hopper’s calf. I give up. I surrender.”</p> + +<p>“I’m much obliged to you,” said Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, I ain’t obliged to <i>you,”</i> said the lanky man, “but I wish +you’d tell me how you found out I was the calf thief.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb smiled an inscrutable smile.</p> + +<p>“A deteckative acquires dexterity in the way of capturing up the +criminal classes,” he said with oracular yet modest simplicity.</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>The next day, when Mr. Gubb returned to his paper-hanging job he found +Chi Foxy waiting for him.</p> + +<p>“Boss,” he said with a laugh, “I showed you where that murdered man’s +bones was buried, won’t you stake me to a meal?”</p> + +<p>“Are you hungry again?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_328" id="Page_328">[Pg 328]</a></span></p><p>“Hungry?” said Chi Foxy. “I’m so hungry that I feel like a living +skeleton. I’m so hungry that a square meal would make me feel like +Syrilla, that Fat Lady I seen at Derlingport a couple of days ago.”</p> + +<p>“What’s that you remarked about?” asked Mr. Gubb, pinning Chi Foxy +with his eye. “Did I understand the meaning of what you said was that +you saw a Fat Lady named Syrilla?”</p> + +<p>“At Derlingport,” said Chi Foxy. “A swell guy named Medderbrook give +me a meal and a ticket to the big show. It was a performance <i>de +luxe</i>, so to say. Special attraction, bo. You’d have laughed your head +off. This here Syrilla Fat Lady got married to the Living Skeleton in +the middle ring, and she had the Snake Charmer for a bridesmaid. Say! +you’d have laughed—”</p> + +<p>But Mr. Gubb did not laugh. He never laughed again.</p> + +<hr class="large" /><p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_329" id="Page_329">[Pg 329]</a></span></p> +<h2><a name="PHILO_GUBBS_GREATEST_CASE" id="PHILO_GUBBS_GREATEST_CASE"></a>PHILO GUBB’S GREATEST CASE</h2> + +<p>Philo Gubb, wrapped in his bathrobe, went to the door of the room that +was the headquarters of his business of paper-hanging and decorating +as well as the office of his detective business, and opened the door a +crack. It was still early in the morning, but Mr. Gubb was a modest +man, and, lest any one should see him in his scanty attire, he peered +through the crack of the door before he stepped hastily into the hall +and captured his copy of the “Riverbank Daily Eagle.” When he had +secured the still damp newspaper, he returned to his cot bed and +spread himself out to read comfortably.</p> + +<p>It was a hot Iowa morning. Business was so slack that if Mr. Gubb had +not taken out his set of eight varieties of false whiskers daily and +brushed them carefully, the moths would have been able to devour them +at leisure.</p> + +<p>P. Gubb opened the “Eagle.” The first words that met his eye caused +him to sit upright on his cot. At the top of the first column of the +first page were the headlines.</p> + +<h3>MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF HENRY SMITZ</h3> + +<hr class="tiny" /> + +<p class="center">Body Found In Mississippi River By Boatman Early This A.M.</p> + +<hr class="tiny" /> + +<p class="center">Foul Play Suspected</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_330" id="Page_330">[Pg 330]</a></span></p><p>Mr. Gubb unfolded the paper and read the item under the headlines with +the most intense interest. Foul play meant the possibility of an +opportunity to put to use once more the precepts of the Course of +Twelve Lessons, and with them fresh in his mind Detective Gubb was +eager to undertake the solution of any mystery that Riverbank could +furnish. This was the article:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>Just as we go to press we receive word through Policeman +Michael O’Toole that the well-known mussel-dredger and +boatman, Samuel Fliggis (Long Sam), while dredging for +mussels last night just below the bridge, recovered the body +of Henry Smitz, late of this place.</p> + +<p>Mr. Smitz had been missing for three days and his wife had +been greatly worried. Mr. Brownson, of the Brownson Packing +Company, by whom he was employed, admitted that Mr. Smitz +had been missing for several days.</p> + +<p>The body was found sewed in a sack. Foul play is suspected.</p></div> + +<p>“I should think foul play would be suspected,” exclaimed Philo Gubb, +“if a man was sewed into a bag and deposited into the Mississippi +River until dead.”</p> + +<p>He propped the paper against the foot of the cot bed and was still +reading when some one knocked on his door. He wrapped his bathrobe +carefully about him and opened the door. A young woman with +tear-dimmed eyes stood in the doorway.</p> + +<p>“Mr. P. Gubb?” she asked. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early in the +morning, Mr. Gubb, but I couldn’t sleep all night. I came on a matter +of <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_331" id="Page_331">[Pg 331]</a></span>business, as you might say. There’s a couple of things I want you +to do.”</p> + +<p>“Paper-hanging or deteckating?” asked P. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Both,” said the young woman. “My name is Smitz—Emily Smitz. My +husband—”</p> + +<p>“I’m aware of the knowledge of your loss, ma’am,” said the +paper-hanger detective gently.</p> + +<p>“Lots of people know of it,” said Mrs. Smitz. “I guess everybody knows +of it—I told the police to try to find Henry, so it is no secret. And +I want you to come up as soon as you get dressed, and paper my +bedroom.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb looked at the young woman as if he thought she had gone +insane under the burden of her woe.</p> + +<p>“And then I want you to find Henry,” she said, “because I’ve heard you +can do so well in the detecting line.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb suddenly realized that the poor creature did not yet know the +full extent of her loss. He gazed down upon her with pity in his +bird-like eyes.</p> + +<p>“I know you’ll think it strange,” the young woman went on, “that I +should ask you to paper a bedroom first, when my husband is lost; but +if he is gone it is because I was a mean, stubborn thing. We never +quarreled in our lives, Mr. Gubb, until I picked out the wall-paper +for our bedroom, and Henry said parrots and birds-of-paradise and +tropical flowers that were as big as umbrellas would look awful on our +bedroom wall. So I said he hadn’t <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_332" id="Page_332">[Pg 332]</a></span>anything but Low Dutch taste, and +he got mad. ‘All right, have it your own way,’ he said, and I went and +had Mr. Skaggs put the paper on the wall, and the next day Henry +didn’t come home at all.</p> + +<p>“If I’d thought Henry would take it that way, I’d rather had the wall +bare, Mr. Gubb. I’ve cried and cried, and last night I made up my mind +it was all my fault and that when Henry came home he’d find a decent +paper on the wall. I don’t mind telling you, Mr. Gubb, that when the +paper was on the wall it looked worse than it looked in the roll. It +looked crazy.”</p> + +<p>“Yes’m,” said Mr. Gubb, “it often does. But, however, there’s +something you’d ought to know right away about Henry.”</p> + +<p>The young woman stared wide-eyed at Mr. Gubb for a moment; she turned +as white as her shirtwaist.</p> + +<p>“Henry is dead!” she cried, and collapsed into Mr. Gubb’s long, thin +arms.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb, the inert form of the young woman in his arms, glanced +around with a startled gaze. He stood miserably, not knowing what to +do, when suddenly he saw Policeman O’Toole coming toward him down the +hall. Policeman O’Toole was leading by the arm a man whose wrists bore +clanking handcuffs.</p> + +<p>“What’s this now?” asked the policeman none too gently, as he saw the +bathrobed Mr. Gubb holding the fainting woman in his arms.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_333" id="Page_333">[Pg 333]</a></span></p><p>“I am exceedingly glad you have come,” said Mr. Gubb. “The only +meaning into it, is that this is Mrs. H. Smitz, widow-lady, fainted +onto me against my will and wishes.”</p> + +<p>“I was only askin’,” said Policeman O’Toole politely enough.</p> + +<p>“You shouldn’t ask such things until you’re asked to ask,” said Mr. +Gubb.</p> + +<p>After looking into Mr. Gubb’s room to see that there was no easy means +of escape, O’Toole pushed his prisoner into the room and took the limp +form of Mrs. Smitz from Mr. Gubb, who entered the room and closed the +door.</p> + +<p>“I may as well say what I want to say right now,” said the handcuffed +man as soon as he was alone with Mr. Gubb. “I’ve heard of Detective +Gubb, off and on, many a time, and as soon as I got into this trouble +I said, ‘Gubb’s the man that can get me out if any one can.’ My name +is Herman Wiggins.”</p> + +<p>“Glad to meet you,” said Mr. Gubb, slipping his long legs into his +trousers.</p> + +<p>“And I give you my word for what it is worth,” continued Mr. Wiggins, +“that I’m as innocent of this crime as the babe unborn.”</p> + +<p>“What crime?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Why, killing Hen Smitz—what crime did you think?” said Mr. Wiggins. +“Do I look like a man that would go and murder a man just because—”</p> + +<p>He hesitated and Mr. Gubb, who was slipping his <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_334" id="Page_334">[Pg 334]</a></span>suspenders over his +bony shoulders, looked at Mr. Wiggins with keen eyes.</p> + +<p>“Well, just because him and me had words in fun,” said Mr. Wiggins, “I +leave it to you, can’t a man say words in fun once in a while?”</p> + +<p>“Certainly sure,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“I guess so,” said Mr. Wiggins. “Anybody’d know a man don’t mean all +he says. When I went and told Hen Smitz I’d murder him as sure as +green apples grow on a tree, I was just fooling. But this fool +policeman—”</p> + +<p>“Mr. O’Toole?”</p> + +<p>“Yes. They gave him this Hen Smitz case to look into, and the first +thing he did was to arrest me for murder. Nervy, I call it.”</p> + +<p>Policeman O’Toole opened the door a crack and peeked in. Seeing Mr. +Gubb well along in his dressing operations, he opened the door wider +and assisted Mrs. Smitz to a chair. She was still limp, but she was a +brave little woman and was trying to control her sobs.</p> + +<p>“Through?” O’Toole asked Wiggins. “If you are, come along back to +jail.”</p> + +<p>“Now, don’t talk to me in that tone of voice,” said Mr. Wiggins +angrily. “No, I’m not through. You don’t know how to treat a gentleman +like a gentleman, and never did.”</p> + +<p>He turned to Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“The long and short of it is this: I’m arrested for the murder of Hen +Smitz, and I didn’t murder <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_335" id="Page_335">[Pg 335]</a></span>him and I want you to take my case and get +me out of jail.”</p> + +<p>“Ah, stuff!” exclaimed O’Toole. “You murdered him and you know you +did. What’s the use talkin’?”</p> + +<p>Mrs. Smitz leaned forward in her chair.</p> + +<p>“Murdered Henry?” she cried. “He never murdered Henry. I murdered +him.”</p> + +<p>“Now, ma’am,” said O’Toole politely, “I hate to contradict a lady, but +you never murdered him at all. This man here murdered him, and I’ve +got the proof on him.”</p> + +<p>“I murdered him!” cried Mrs. Smitz again. “I drove him out of his +right mind and made him kill himself.”</p> + +<p>“Nothing of the sort,” declared O’Toole. “This man Wiggins murdered +him.”</p> + +<p>“I did not!” exclaimed Mr. Wiggins indignantly. “Some other man did +it.”</p> + +<p>It seemed a deadlock, for each was quite positive. Mr. Gubb looked +from one to the other doubtfully.</p> + +<p>“All right, take me back to jail,” said Mr. Wiggins. “You look up the +case, Mr. Gubb; that’s all I came here for. Will you do it? Dig into +it, hey?”</p> + +<p>“I most certainly shall be glad to so do,” said Mr. Gubb, “at the +regular terms.”</p> + +<p>O’Toole led his prisoner away.</p> + +<p>For a few minutes Mrs. Smitz sat silent, her hands clasped, staring at +the floor. Then she looked up into Mr. Gubb’s eyes.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_336" id="Page_336">[Pg 336]</a></span></p><p>“You will work on this case, Mr. Gubb, won’t you?” she begged. “I have +a little money—I’ll give it all to have you do your best. It is +cruel—cruel to have that poor man suffer under the charge of murder +when I know so well Henry killed himself because I was cross with him. +You can prove he killed himself—that it was my fault. You will?”</p> + +<p>“The way the deteckative profession operates onto a case,” said Mr. +Gubb, “isn’t to go to work to prove anything particularly especial. It +finds a clue or clues and follows them to where they lead to. That I +shall be willing to do.”</p> + +<p>“That is all I could ask,” said Mrs. Smitz gratefully.</p> + +<p>Arising from her seat with difficulty, she walked tremblingly to the +door. Mr. Gubb assisted her down the stairs, and it was not until she +was gone that he remembered that she did not know the body of her +husband had been found—sewed in a sack and at the bottom of the +river. Young husbands have been known to quarrel with their wives over +matters as trivial as bedroom wall-paper; they have even been known to +leave home for several days at a time when angry; in extreme cases +they have even been known to seek death at their own hands; but it is +not at all usual for a young husband to leave home for several days +and then in cold blood sew himself in a sack and jump into the river. +In the first place there are easier ways of terminating one’s life; in +the second place a man can jump into the river with perfect ease +without going to the trouble <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_337" id="Page_337">[Pg 337]</a></span>of sewing himself in a sack; and in the +third place it is exceedingly difficult for a man to sew himself into +a sack. It is almost impossible.</p> + +<p>To sew himself into a sack a man must have no little skill, and he +must have a large, roomy sack. He takes, let us say, a sack-needle, +threaded with a good length of twine; he steps into the sack and pulls +it up over his head; he then reaches above his head, holding the mouth +of the sack together with one hand while he sews with the other hand. +In hot anger this would be quite impossible.</p> + +<p>Philo Gubb thought of all this as he looked through his disguises, +selecting one suitable for the work he had in hand. He had just +decided that the most appropriate disguise would be “Number 13, +Undertaker,” and had picked up the close black wig, and long, drooping +mustache, when he had another thought. Given a bag sufficiently loose +to permit free motion of the hands and arms, and a man, even in hot +anger, might sew himself in. A man, intent on suicidally bagging +himself, would sew the mouth of the bag shut and would then cut a slit +in the front of the bag large enough to crawl into. He would then +crawl into the bag and sew up the slit, which would be immediately in +front of his hands. It could be done! Philo Gubb chose from his +wardrobe a black frock coat and a silk hat with a wide band of crape. +He carefully locked his door and went down to the street.</p> + +<p>On a day as hot as this day promised to be, a frock <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_338" id="Page_338">[Pg 338]</a></span>coat and a silk +hat could be nothing but distressingly uncomfortable. Between his door +and the corner, eight various citizens spoke to Philo Gubb, calling +him by name. In fact, Riverbank was as accustomed to seeing P. Gubb in +disguise as out of disguise, and while a few children might be +interested by the sight of Detective Gubb in disguise, the older +citizens thought no more of it, as a rule, than of seeing Banker +Jennings appear in a pink shirt one day and a blue striped one the +next. No one ever accused Banker Jennings of trying to hide his +identity by a change of shirts, and no one imagined that P. Gubb was +trying to disguise himself when he put on a disguise. They considered +it a mere business custom, just as a butcher tied on a white apron +before he went behind his counter.</p> + +<p>This was why, instead of wondering who the tall, dark-garbed stranger +might be, Banker Jennings greeted Philo Gubb cheerfully.</p> + +<p>“Ah, Gubb!” he said. “So you are going to work on this Smitz case, are +you? Glad of it, and wish you luck. Hope you place the crime on the +right man and get him the full penalty. Let me tell you there’s +nothing in this rumor of Smitz being short of money. We did lend him +money, but we never pressed him for it. We never even asked him for +interest. I told him a dozen times he could have as much more from us +as he wanted, within reason, whenever he wanted it, and that he could +pay me when his invention was on the market.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_339" id="Page_339">[Pg 339]</a></span></p><p>“No report of news of any such rumor has as yet come to my hearing,” +said P. Gubb, “but since you mention it, I’ll take it for less than it +is worth.”</p> + +<p>“And that’s less than nothing,” said the banker. “Have you any clue?”</p> + +<p>“I’m on my way to find one at the present moment of time,” said Mr. +Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Well, let me give you a pointer,” said the banker. “Get a line on +Herman Wiggins or some of his crew, understand? Don’t say I said a +word,—I don’t want to be brought into this,—but Smitz was afraid of +Wiggins and his crew. He told me so. He said Wiggins had threatened to +murder him.”</p> + +<p>“Mr. Wiggins is at present in the custody of the county jail for +killing H. Smitz with intent to murder him,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Oh, then—then it’s all settled,” said the banker. “They’ve proved it +on him. I thought they would. Well, I suppose you’ve got to do your +little bit of detecting just the same. Got to air the camphor out of +the false hair, eh?”</p> + +<p>The banker waved a cheerful hand at P. Gubb and passed into his +banking institution.</p> + +<p>Detective Gubb, cordially greeted by his many friends and admirers, +passed on down the main street, and by the time he reached the street +that led to the river he was followed by a large and growing group +intent on the pleasant occupation of watching a detective detect.</p> + +<p>As Mr. Gubb walked toward the river, other citizens <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_340" id="Page_340">[Pg 340]</a></span>joined the group, +but all kept a respectful distance behind him. When Mr. Gubb reached +River Street and his false mustache fell off, the interest of the +audience stopped short three paces behind him and stood until he had +rescued the mustache and once more placed its wires in his nostrils. +Then, when he moved forward again, they too moved forward. Never, +perhaps, in the history of crime was a detective favored with a more +respectful gallery.</p> + +<p>On the edge of the river, Mr. Gubb found Long Sam Fliggis, the mussel +dredger, seated on an empty tar-barrel with his own audience ranged +before him listening while he told, for the fortieth time, the story +of his finding of the body of H. Smitz. As Philo Gubb approached, Long +Sam ceased speaking, and his audience and Mr. Gubb’s gallery merged +into one great circle which respectfully looked and listened while Mr. +Gubb questioned the mussel dredger.</p> + +<p><a name="Illo20" id="Illo20"></a></p><div class="figcenter" style="width: 500px;"> +<img src="images/i364.jpg" class="ispace" width="500" height="318" alt="HE WAS FOLLOWED BY A LARGE AND GROWING GROUP INTENT ON +WATCHING A DETECTIVE DETECT" title="" /> +<span class="caption">HE WAS FOLLOWED BY A LARGE AND GROWING GROUP INTENT ON +WATCHING A DETECTIVE DETECT</span></div> + +<p>“Suicide?” said Long Sam scoffingly. “Why, he wan’t no more a suicide +than I am right now. He was murdered or wan’t nothin’! I’ve dredged up +some suicides in my day, and some of ’em had stones tied to ’em, to +make sure they’d sink, and some thought they’d sink without no +ballast, but nary one of ’em ever sewed himself into a bag, and I give +my word,” he said positively, “that Hen Smitz couldn’t have sewed +himself into that burlap bag unless some one done the sewing. Then the +feller that did it was an assistant-suicide, and the way <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_341" id="Page_341">[Pg 341]</a></span>I look at it is that an assistant-suicide is jest the same as a +murderer.”</p> + +<p>The crowd murmured approval, but Mr. Gubb held up his hand for +silence.</p> + +<p>“In certain kinds of burlap bags it is possibly probable a man could +sew himself into it,” said Mr. Gubb, and the crowd, seeing the logic +of the remark applauded gently but feelingly.</p> + +<p>“You ain’t seen the way he was sewed up,” said Long Sam, “or you +wouldn’t talk like that.”</p> + +<p>“I haven’t yet took a look,” admitted Mr. Gubb, “but I aim so to do +immediately after I find a clue onto which to work up my case. An A-1 +deteckative can’t set forth to work until he has a clue, that being a +rule of the game.”</p> + +<p>“What kind of a clue was you lookin’ for?” asked Long Sam. “What’s a +clue, anyway?”</p> + +<p>“A clue,” said P. Gubb, “is almost anything connected with the late +lamented, but generally something that nobody but a deteckative would +think had anything to do with anything whatsoever. Not infrequently +often it is a button.”</p> + +<p>“Well, I’ve got no button except them that is sewed onto me,” said +Long Sam, “but if this here sack-needle will do any good—”</p> + +<p>He brought from his pocket the point of a heavy sack-needle and laid +it in Philo Gubb’s palm. Mr. Gubb looked at it carefully. In the eye +of the needle still remained a few inches of twine.</p> + +<p>“I cut that off’n the burlap he was sewed up in,” <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_342" id="Page_342">[Pg 342]</a></span>volunteered Long +Sam, “I thought I’d keep it as a sort of nice little souvenir. I’d +like it back again when you don’t need it for a clue no more.”</p> + +<p>“Certainly sure,” agreed Mr. Gubb, and he examined the needle +carefully.</p> + +<p>There are two kinds of sack-needles in general use. In both, the point +of the needle is curved to facilitate pushing it into and out of a +closely filled sack; in both, the curved portion is somewhat flattened +so that the thumb and finger may secure a firm grasp to pull the +needle through; but in one style the eye is at the end of the shaft +while in the other it is near the point. This needle was like neither; +the eye was midway of the shaft; the needle was pointed at each end +and the curved portions were not flattened. Mr. Gubb noticed another +thing—the twine was not the ordinary loosely twisted hemp twine, but +a hard, smooth cotton cord, like carpet warp.</p> + +<p>“Thank you,” said Mr. Gubb, “and now I will go elsewhere to +investigate to a further extent, and it is not necessarily imperative +that everybody should accompany along with me if they don’t want to.”</p> + +<p>But everybody did want to, it seemed. Long Sam and his audience joined +Mr. Gubb’s gallery and, with a dozen or so newcomers, they followed +Mr. Gubb at a decent distance as he walked toward the plant of the +Brownson Packing Company, which stood on the riverbank some two blocks +away.</p> + +<p>It was here Henry Smitz had worked. Six or eight buildings of various +sizes, the largest of which stood <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_343" id="Page_343">[Pg 343]</a></span>immediately on the river’s edge, +together with the “yards” or pens, all enclosed by a high board fence, +constituted the plant of the packing company, and as Mr. Gubb appeared +at the gate the watchman there stood aside to let him enter.</p> + +<p>“Good-morning, Mr. Gubb,” he said pleasantly. “I been sort of +expecting you. Always right on the job when there’s crime being done, +ain’t you? You’ll find Merkel and Brill and Jokosky and the rest of +Wiggins’s crew in the main building, and I guess they’ll tell you just +what they told the police. They hate it, but what else can they say? +It’s the truth.”</p> + +<p>“What is the truth?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“That Wiggins was dead sore at Hen Smitz,” said the watchman. “That +Wiggins told Hen he’d do for him if he lost them their jobs like he +said he would. That’s the truth.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb—his admiring followers were halted at the gate by the +watchman—entered the large building and inquired his way to Mr. +Wiggins’s department. He found it on the side of the building toward +the river and on the ground floor. On one side the vast room led into +the refrigerating room of the company; on the other it opened upon a +long but narrow dock that ran the width of the building.</p> + +<p>Along the outer edge of the dock were tied two barges, and into these +barges some of Wiggins’s crew were dumping mutton—not legs of mutton +but entire sheep, neatly sewed in burlap. The large <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_344" id="Page_344">[Pg 344]</a></span>room was the +packing and shipping room, and the work of Wiggins’s crew was that of +sewing the slaughtered and refrigerated sheep carcasses in burlap for +shipment. Bales of burlap stood against one wall; strands of hemp +twine ready for the needle hung from pegs in the wall and the posts +that supported the floor above. The contiguity of the refrigerating +room gave the room a pleasantly cool atmosphere.</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb glanced sharply around. Here was the burlap, here were +needles, here was twine. Yonder was the river into which Hen Smitz had +been thrown. He glanced across the narrow dock at the blue river. As +his eye returned he noticed one of the men carefully sweeping the dock +with a broom—sweeping fragments of glass into the river. As the men +in the room watched him curiously, Mr. Gubb picked up a piece of +burlap and put it in his pocket, wrapped a strand of twine around his +finger and pocketed the twine, examined the needles stuck in +improvised needle-holders made by boring gimlet holes in the wall, and +then walked to the dock and picked up one of the pieces of glass.</p> + +<p>“Clues,” he remarked, and gave his attention to the work of +questioning the men.</p> + +<p>Although manifestly reluctant, they honestly admitted that Wiggins had +more than once threatened Hen Smitz—that he hated Hen Smitz with the +hatred of a man who has been threatened with the loss of his job. Mr. +Gubb learned that Hen Smitz <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_345" id="Page_345">[Pg 345]</a></span>had been the foreman for the entire +building—a sort of autocrat with, as Wiggins’s crew informed him, an +easy job. He had only to see that the crews in the building turned out +more work this year than they did last year. “’Ficiency” had been his +motto, they said, and they hated “’Ficiency.”</p> + +<p>Mr. Gubb’s gallery was awaiting him at the gate, and its members were +in a heated discussion as to what Mr. Gubb had been doing. They ceased +at once when he appeared and fell in behind him as he walked away from +the packing house and toward the undertaking establishment of Mr. +Holworthy Bartman, on the main street. Here, joining the curious group +already assembled, the gallery was forced to wait while Mr. Gubb +entered. His task was an unpleasant but necessary one. He must visit +the little “morgue” at the back of Mr. Bartman’s establishment.</p> + +<p>The body of poor Hen Smitz had not yet been removed from the bag in +which it had been found, and it was to the bag Mr. Gubb gave his +closest attention. The bag—in order that the body might be +identified—had not been ripped, but had been cut, and not a stitch +had been severed. It did not take Mr. Gubb a moment to see that Hen +Smitz had not been sewed in a bag at all. He had been sewed in +burlap—burlap “yard goods,” to use a shopkeeper’s term—and it was +burlap identical with that used by Mr. Wiggins and his crew. It was no +loose bag of burlap—but a close-fitting wrapping <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_346" id="Page_346">[Pg 346]</a></span>of burlap; a cocoon +of burlap that had been drawn tight around the body, as burlap is +drawn tight around the carcass of sheep for shipment, like a mummy’s +wrappings.</p> + +<p>It would have been utterly impossible for Hen Smitz to have sewed +himself into the casing, not only because it bound his arms tight to +his sides, but because the burlap was lapped over and sewed from the +outside. This, once and for all, ended the suicide theory. The +question was: Who was the murderer?</p> + +<p>As Philo Gubb turned away from the bier, Undertaker Bartman entered +the morgue.</p> + +<p>“The crowd outside is getting impatient, Mr. Gubb,” he said in his +soft, undertakery voice. “It is getting on toward their lunch hour, +and they want to crowd into my front office to find out what you’ve +learned. I’m afraid they’ll break my plate-glass windows, they’re +pushing so hard against them. I don’t want to hurry you, but if you +would go out and tell them Wiggins is the murderer they’ll go away. Of +course there’s no doubt about Wiggins being the murderer, since he has +admitted he asked the stock-keeper for the electric-light bulb.”</p> + +<p>“What bulb?” asked Philo Gubb.</p> + +<p>“The electric-light bulb we found sewed inside this burlap when we +sliced it open,” said Bartman. “Matter of fact, we found it in Hen’s +hand. O’Toole took it for a clue and I guess it fixes the murder on +Wiggins beyond all doubt. The stock-keeper says Wiggins got it from +him.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_347" id="Page_347">[Pg 347]</a></span></p><p>“And what does Wiggins remark on that subject?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>“Not a word,” said Bartman. “His lawyer told him not to open his +mouth, and he won’t. Listen to that crowd out there!”</p> + +<p>“I will attend to that crowd right presently,” said P. Gubb, sternly. +“What I should wish to know now is why Mister Wiggins went and sewed +an electric-light bulb in with the corpse for.”</p> + +<p>“In the first place,” said Mr. Bartman, “he didn’t sew it in with any +corpse, because Hen Smitz wasn’t a corpse when he was sewed in that +burlap, unless Wiggins drowned him first, for Dr. Mortimer says Hen +Smitz died of drowning; and in the second place, if you had a live man +to sew in burlap, and had to hold him while you sewed him, you’d be +liable to sew anything in with him.</p> + +<p>“My idea is that Wiggins and some of his crew jumped on Hen Smitz and +threw him down, and some of them held him while the others sewed him +in. My idea is that Wiggins got that electric-light bulb to replace +one that had burned out, and that he met Hen Smitz and had words with +him, and they clinched, and Hen Smitz grabbed the bulb, and then the +others came, and they sewed him into the burlap and dumped him into +the river.</p> + +<p>“So all you’ve got to do is to go out and tell that crowd that Wiggins +did it and that you’ll let them know who helped him as soon as you +find out. And you better do it before they break my windows.”</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_348" id="Page_348">[Pg 348]</a></span></p><p>Detective Gubb turned and went out of the morgue. As he left the +undertaker’s establishment the crowd gave a slight cheer, but Mr. Gubb +walked hurriedly toward the jail. He found Policeman O’Toole there and +questioned him about the bulb; and O’Toole, proud to be the center of +so large and interested a gathering of his fellow citizens, pulled the +bulb from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Gubb, while he repeated in +more detail the facts given by Mr. Bartman. Mr. Gubb looked at the +bulb.</p> + +<p>“I presume to suppose,” he said, “that Mr. Wiggins asked the +stock-keeper for a new bulb to replace one that was burned out?”</p> + +<p>“You’re right,” said O’Toole. “Why?”</p> + +<p>“For the reason that this bulb is a burned-out bulb,” said Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>And so it was. The inner surface of the bulb was darkened slightly, +and the filament of carbon was severed. O’Toole took the bulb and +examined it curiously.</p> + +<p>“That’s odd, ain’t it?” he said.</p> + +<p>“It might so seem to the non-deteckative mind,” said Mr. Gubb, “but to +the deteckative mind, nothing is odd.”</p> + +<p>“No, no, this ain’t so odd, either,” said O’Toole, “for whether Hen +Smitz grabbed the bulb before Wiggins changed the new one for the old +one, or after he changed it, don’t make so much difference, when you +come to think of it.”</p> + +<p>“To the deteckative mind,” said Mr. Gubb, “it <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_349" id="Page_349">[Pg 349]</a></span>makes the difference +that this ain’t the bulb you thought it was, and hence consequently it +ain’t the bulb Mister Wiggins got from the stock-keeper.”</p> + +<hr class="medium" /> + +<p>Mr. Gubb started away. The crowd followed him. He did not go in search +of the original bulb at once. He returned first to his room, where he +changed his undertaker disguise for Number Six, that of a blue +woolen-shirted laboring-man with a long brown beard. Then he led the +way back to the packing house.</p> + +<p>Again the crowd was halted at the gate, but again P. Gubb passed +inside, and he found the stock-keeper eating his luncheon out of a tin +pail. The stock-keeper was perfectly willing to talk.</p> + +<p>“It was like this,” said the stock-keeper. “We’ve been working +overtime in some departments down here, and Wiggins and his crew had +to work overtime the night Hen Smitz was murdered. Hen and Wiggins was +at outs, or anyway I heard Hen tell Wiggins he’d better be hunting +another job because he wouldn’t have this one long, and Wiggins told +Hen that if he lost his job he’d murder him—Wiggins would murder Hen, +that is. I didn’t think it was much of anything but loose talk at the +time. But Hen was working overtime too. He’d been working nights up in +that little room of his on the second floor for quite some time, and +this night Wiggins come to me and he says Hen had asked him for a +fresh thirty-two-candle-power bulb. So I give <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_350" id="Page_350">[Pg 350]</a></span>it to Wiggins, and then +I went home. And, come to find out, Wiggins sewed that bulb up with +Hen.”</p> + +<p>“Perhaps maybe you have sack-needles like this into your stock-room,” +said P. Gubb, producing the needle Long Sam had given him. The +stock-keeper took the needle and examined it carefully.</p> + +<p>“Never had any like that,” he said.</p> + +<p>“Now, if,” said Philo Gubb,—“if the bulb that was sewed up into the +burlap with Henry Smitz wasn’t a new bulb, and if Mr. Wiggins had +given the new bulb to Henry, and if Henry had changed the new bulb for +an old one, where would he have changed it at?”</p> + +<p>“Up in his room, where he was always tinkering at that machine of +his,” said the stock-keeper.</p> + +<p>“Could I have the pleasure of taking a look into that there room for a +moment of time?” asked Mr. Gubb.</p> + +<p>The stock-keeper arose, returned the remnants of his luncheon to his +dinner-pail and led the way up the stairs. He opened the door of the +room Henry Smitz had used as a work-room, and P. Gubb walked in. The +room was in some confusion, but, except in one or two particulars, no +more than a work-room is apt to be. A rather cumbrous machine—the +invention on which Henry Smitz had been working—stood as the murdered +man had left it, all its levers, wheels, arms, and cogs intact. A +chair, tipped over, lay on the floor. A roll of burlap stood on a +roller by the machine. Looking up, Mr. Gubb <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_351" id="Page_351">[Pg 351]</a></span>saw, on the ceiling, the +lighting fixture of the room, and in it was a clean, shining +thirty-two-candle-power bulb. Where another similar bulb might have +been in the other socket was a plug from which an insulated wire, +evidently to furnish power, ran to the small motor connected with the +machine on which Henry Smitz had been working.</p> + +<p>The stock-keeper was the first to speak.</p> + +<p>“Hello!” he said. “Somebody broke that window!” And it was true. +Somebody had not only broken the window, but had broken every pane and +the sash itself. But Mr. Gubb was not interested in this. He was +gazing at the electric bulb and thinking of Part Two, Lesson Six of +the Course of Twelve Lessons—“How to Identify by Finger-Prints, with +General Remarks on the Bertillon System.” He looked about for some +means of reaching the bulb above his head. His eye lit on the fallen +chair. By placing the chair upright and placing one foot on the frame +of Henry Smitz’s machine and the other on the chair-back, he could +reach the bulb. He righted the chair and stepped onto its seat. He put +one foot on the frame of Henry Smitz’s machine; very carefully he put +the other foot on the top of the chair-back. He reached upward and +unscrewed the bulb.</p> + +<p>The stock-keeper saw the chair totter. He sprang forward to steady it, +but he was too late. Philo Gubb, grasping the air, fell on the broad, +level board that formed the middle part of Henry Smitz’s machine.</p> + +<p><span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_352" id="Page_352">[Pg 352]</a></span></p><p>The effect was instantaneous. The cogs and wheels of the machine began +to revolve rapidly. Two strong, steel arms flopped down and held +Detective Gubb to the table, clamping his arms to his side. The roll +of burlap unrolled, and as it unrolled, the loose end was seized and +slipped under Mr. Gubb and wrapped around him and drawn taut, bundling +him as a sheep’s carcass is bundled. An arm reached down and back and +forth, with a sewing motion, and passed from Mr. Gubb’s head to his +feet. As it reached his feet a knife sliced the burlap in which he was +wrapped from the burlap on the roll.</p> + +<p>And then a most surprising thing happened. As if the board on which he +lay had been a catapult, it suddenly and unexpectedly raised Philo +Gubb and tossed him through the open window. The stock-keeper heard a +muffled scream and then a great splash, but when he ran to the window, +the great paper-hanger detective had disappeared in the bosom of the +Mississippi.</p> + +<p>Like Henry Smitz he had tried to reach the ceiling by standing on the +chair-back; like Henry Smitz he had fallen upon the newly invented +burlaping and loading machine; like Henry Smitz he had been wrapped +and thrown through the window into the river; but, unlike Henry Smitz, +he had not been sewn into the burlap, because Philo Gubb had the +double-pointed shuttle-action needle in his pocket.</p> + +<p>Page Seventeen of Lesson Eleven of the Rising <span class="pagenum"><a name="Page_353" id="Page_353">[Pg 353]</a></span>Sun Detective Agency’s +Correspondence School of Detecting’s Course of Twelve Lessons, says:—</p> + +<div class="blockquot"><p>In cases of extreme difficulty of solution it is well for +the detective to reënact as nearly as possible the probable +action of the crime.</p></div> + +<p>Mr. Philo Gubb had done so. He had also proved that a man may be sewn +in a sack and drowned in a river without committing willful suicide or +being the victim of foul play.</p> + +<h3>THE END</h3> + +<hr class="large" /> + +<p class="center">The Riverside Press<br /> +<br /> +CAMBRIDGE · MASSACHUSETTS<br /> +<br /> +U · S · A</p> + +<hr class="large" /> +<h3><span class="smcap">Transcriber’s Note:</span></h3> + +<p>Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters’ errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author’s words and +intent.</p> + + + + + + + + +<pre> + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Philo Gubb Correspondence-School +Detective, by Ellis Parker Butler + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILO GUBB *** + +***** This file should be named 29721-h.htm or 29721-h.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/7/2/29721/ + +Produced by D Alexander, Joseph Cooper and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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You may copy it, give it away or +re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included +with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org + + +Title: Philo Gubb Correspondence-School Detective + +Author: Ellis Parker Butler + +Release Date: August 17, 2009 [EBook #29721] + +Language: English + +Character set encoding: ASCII + +*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILO GUBB *** + + + + +Produced by D Alexander, Joseph Cooper and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + + + + + + + + + PHILO GUBB + + Correspondence-School + Detective + + BY + + ELLIS PARKER BUTLER + + WITH ILLUSTRATIONS + + BOSTON AND NEW YORK + HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY + The Riverside Press Cambridge + 1918 + + + + + COPYRIGHT, 1913, 1914, AND 1915, BY THE RED BOOK CORPORATION + COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER + + ALL RIGHTS RESERVED + + _Published September 1918_ + + + + +[Illustration: "IN THE DETECKATIVE LINE NOTHING SOUNDS FOOLISH" (_page +218_)] + + + + +CONTENTS + + + THE HARD-BOILED EGG 3 + + THE PET 21 + + THE EAGLE'S CLAWS 43 + + THE OUBLIETTE 66 + + THE UN-BURGLARS 95 + + THE TWO-CENT STAMP 113 + + THE CHICKEN 138 + + THE DRAGON'S EYE 156 + + THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER 171 + + THE MISSING MR. MASTER 185 + + WAFFLES AND MUSTARD 205 + + THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE 227 + + THE HALF OF A THOUSAND 247 + + DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN 266 + + HENRY 288 + + BURIED BONES 307 + + PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE 329 + + + + +ILLUSTRATIONS + + + "IN THE DETECKATIVE LINE NOTHING SOUNDS FOOLISH" _Frontispiece_ + + "THIS SHELL GAME IS EASY ENOUGH WHEN YOU KNOW HOW" 8 + + MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED AMONG THEM 30 + + A HEAD SILHOUETTED AGAINST ONE OF THE GLOWING WINDOWS 44 + + "THESE HERE IS FALSE WHISKERS AND HAIR" 86 + + "WHO SENT YOU HERE, ANYWAY?" 106 + + UNDER HIS ARM HE CARRIED A SMALL BUNDLE 108 + + SHE MADE GESTURES WITH HER HANDS 128 + + "DETECKATING IS MY AIM AND MY PROFESSION" 138 + + WITH ANOTHER GROAN WIXY RAISED HIS HANDS 150 + + "THE 'ONGSOMBLE' OF MY COSTUME IS RUINED" 162 + + "THERE AIN'T A DAY HE DON'T SHOOT AND HIT ME" 178 + + THE MISSING MR. MASTER 202 + + "YOU ARE A MAN, AND BIG AND STRONG AND BRAVE-LIKE" 234 + + HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION 252 + + A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED 268 + + HE WORE A SET OF RED UNDER-CHIN WHISKERS 280 + + "SHE THINKS IT'S HENRY. SHE'S FIXED UP THE GUEST BEDROOM + FOR HIM" 304 + + "A DETECKATIVE LIKE YOU ARE OUGHTN'T TO NEED TWENTY-FIVE + CENTS SO BAD AS THAT" 320 + + HE WAS FOLLOWED BY A LARGE AND GROWING GROUP INTENT ON + WATCHING A DETECTIVE DETECT 340 + + + + + PHILO GUBB + + THE CORRESPONDENCE-SCHOOL + DETECTIVE + + + + +THE HARD-BOILED EGG + + +Walking close along the wall, to avoid the creaking floor boards, +Philo Gubb, paper-hanger and student of the Rising Sun Detective +Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting, tiptoed to the door of +the bedroom he shared with the mysterious Mr. Critz. In appearance Mr. +Gubb was tall and gaunt, reminding one of a modern Don Quixote or a +human flamingo; by nature Mr. Gubb was the gentlest and most +simple-minded of men. Now, bending his long, angular body almost +double, he placed his eye to a crack in the door panel and stared into +the room. Within, just out of the limited area of Mr. Gubb's vision, +Roscoe Critz paused in his work and listened carefully. He heard the +sharp whistle of Mr. Gubb's breath as it cut against the sharp edge of +the crack in the panel, and he knew he was being spied upon. He placed +his chubby hands on his knees and smiled at the door, while a red +flush of triumph spread over his face. + +Through the crack in the door Mr. Gubb could see the top of the +washstand beside which Mr. Critz was sitting, but he could not see Mr. +Critz. As he stared, however, he saw a plump hand appear and pick up, +one by one, the articles lying on the washstand. They were: First, +seven or eight half shells of English walnuts; second, a rubber shoe +heel out of which a piece had been cut; third, a small rubber ball no +larger than a pea; fourth, a paper-bound book; and lastly, a large and +glittering brick of yellow gold. As the hand withdrew the golden +brick, Mr. Gubb pressed his face closer against the door in his effort +to see more, and suddenly the door flew open and Mr. Gubb sprawled on +his hands and knees on the worn carpet of the bedroom. + +"There, now!" said Mr. Critz. "There, now! Serves you right. Hope you +hurt chuself!" + +Mr. Gubb arose slowly, like a giraffe, and brushed his knees. + +"Why?" he asked. + +"Snoopin' an' sneakin' like that!" said Mr. Critz crossly. "Scarin' me +to fits, a'most. How'd I know who 'twas? If you want to come in, why +don't you come right in, 'stead of snoopin' an' sneakin' an' fallin' +in that way?" + +As he talked, Mr. Critz replaced the shells and the rubber heel and +the rubber pea and the gold-brick on the washstand. He was a plump +little man with a shiny bald head and a white goatee. As he talked, he +bent his head down, so that he might look above the glasses of his +spectacles; and in spite of his pretended anger he looked like +nothing so much as a kindly, benevolent old gentleman--the sort of old +gentleman that keeps a small store in a small village and sells +writing-paper that smells of soap, and candy sticks out of a glass jar +with a glass cover. + +"How'd I know but what you was a detective?" he asked, in a gentler +tone. + +"I am," said Mr. Gubb soberly, seating himself on one of the two beds. +"I'm putty near a deteckative, as you might say." + +"Ding it all!" said Mr. Critz. "Now I got to go and hunt another room. +I can't room with no detective." + +"Well, now, Mr. Critz," said Mr. Gubb, "I don't want you should feel +that way." + +"Knowin' you are a detective makes me all nervous," complained Mr. +Critz; "and a man in my business has to have a steady hand, don't he?" + +"You ain't told me what your business is," said Mr. Gubb. + +"You needn't pretend you don't know," said Mr. Critz. "Any detective +that saw that stuff on the washstand would know." + +"Well, of course," said Mr. Gubb, "I ain't a full deteckative yet. You +can't look for me to guess things as quick as a full deteckative +would. Of course that brick sort of looks like a gold-brick--" + +"It _is_ a gold-brick," said Mr. Critz. + +"Yes," said Mr. Gubb. "But--I don't mean no offense, Mr. Critz--from +the way you look--I sort of thought--well, that it was a gold-brick +you'd bought." + +Mr. Critz turned very red. + +"Well, what if I did buy it?" he said. "That ain't any reason I can't +sell it, is it? Just because a man buys eggs once--or twice--ain't any +reason he shouldn't go into the business of egg-selling, is it? Just +because I've bought one or two gold-bricks in my day ain't any reason +I shouldn't go to sellin' 'em, is it?" + +Mr. Gubb stared at Mr. Critz with unconcealed surprise. + +"You ain't,--you ain't a con' man, are you, Mr. Critz?" he asked. + +"If I ain't yet, that's no sign I ain't goin' to be," said Mr. Critz +firmly. "One man has as good a right to try his hand at it as another, +especially when a man has had my experience in it. Mr. Gubb, there +ain't hardly a con' game I ain't been conned with. I been confidenced +long enough; from now on I'm goin' to confidence other folks. That's +what I'm goin' to do; and I won't be bothered by no detective livin' +in the same room with me. Detectives and con' men don't mix noways! +No, sir!" + +"Well, sir," said Mr. Gubb, "I can see the sense of that. But you +don't need to move right away. I don't aim to start in deteckating in +earnest for a couple of months yet. I got a couple of jobs of +paper-hanging and decorating to finish up, and I can't start in +sleuthing until I get my star, anyway. And I don't get my star until +I get one more lesson, and learn it, and send in the examination +paper, and five dollars extra for the diploma. Then I'm goin' at it as +a reg'lar business. It's a good business. Every day there's more +crooks--excuse me, I didn't mean to say that." + +"That's all right," said Mr. Critz kindly. "Call a spade a spade. If I +ain't a crook yet, I hope to be soon." + +"I didn't know how you'd feel about it," explained Mr. Gubb. +"Tactfulness is strongly advised into the lessons of the Rising Sun +Deteckative Agency Correspondence School of Deteckating--" + +"Slocum, Ohio?" asked Mr. Critz quickly. "You didn't see the ad. in +the 'Hearthstone and Farmside,' did you?" + +"Yes, Slocum, Ohio," said Mr. Gubb, "and that is the paper I saw the +ad. into; 'Big Money in Deteckating. Be a Sleuth. We can make you the +equal of Sherlock Holmes in twelve lessons.' Why?" + +"Well, sir," said Mr. Critz, "that's funny. That ad. was right atop of +the one I saw, and I studied quite considerable before I could make up +my mind whether 'twould be best for me to be a detective and go out +and get square with the fellers that sold me gold-bricks and things by +putting them in jail, or to even things up by sending for this book +that was advertised right under the 'Rising Sun Correspondence +School.' How come I settled to do as I done was that I had a sort of +stock to start with, with a fust-class gold-brick, and some green +goods I'd bought; and this book only cost a quatter of a dollar. And +she's a hummer for a quatter of a dollar! A hummer!" + +He pulled the paper-covered book from his pocket and handed it to Mr. +Gubb. The title of the book was "The Complete Con' Man, by the King of +the Grafters. Price 25 cents." + +"That there book," said Mr. Critz proudly, as if he himself had +written it, "tells everything a man need to know to work every con' +game there is. Once I get it by heart, I won't be afraid to try any of +them. Of course, I got to start in small. I can't hope to pull off a +wire-tapping game right at the start, because that has to have a gang. +You don't know anybody you could recommend for a gang, do you?" + +"Not right offhand," said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully. + +[Illustration: "THIS SHELL GAME IS EASY ENOUGH WHEN YOU KNOW HOW"] + +"If you wasn't goin' into the detective business," said Mr. Critz, +"you'd be just the feller for me. You look sort of honest and not as +if you was too bright, and that counts a lot. Even in this here simple +little shell game I got to have a podner. I got to have a podner I can +trust, so I can let him look like he was winnin' money off of me. You +see," he explained, moving to the washstand, "this shell game is easy +enough when you know how. I put three shells down like this, on a +stand, and I put the little rubber pea on the stand, and then I take +up the three shells like this, two in one hand and one in the +other, and I wave 'em around over the pea, and maybe push the pea +around a little, and I say, 'Come on! Come on! The hand is quicker +than the eye!' And all of a suddent I put the shells down, and you +think the pea is under one of them, like that--" + +"I don't think the pea is under one of 'em," said Mr. Gubb. "I seen it +roll onto the floor." + +"It did roll onto the floor that time," said Mr. Critz apologetically. +"It most generally does for me, yet. I ain't got it down to perfection +yet. This is the way it ought to work--oh, pshaw! there she goes onto +the floor again! Went under the bed that time. Here she is! Now, the +way she ought to work is--there she goes again!" + +"You got to practice that game a lot before you try it onto folks in +public, Mr. Critz," said Mr. Gubb seriously. + +"Don't I know that?" said Mr. Critz rather impatiently. "Same as +you've got to practice snoopin', Mr. Gubb. Maybe you thought I didn't +know you was snoopin' after me wherever I went last night." + +"Did you?" asked Mr. Gubb, with surprise plainly written on his face. + +"I seen you every moment from nine P.M. till eleven!" said Mr. Critz. +"I didn't like it, neither." + +"I didn't think to annoy you," apologized Mr. Gubb. "I was practicin' +Lesson Four. You wasn't supposed to know I was there at all." + +"Well, I don't like it," said Mr. Critz. "'Twas all right last night, +for I didn't have nothin' important on hand, but if I'd been workin' +up a con' game, the feller I was after would have thought it mighty +strange to see a man follerin' me everywhere like that. If you went +about it quiet and unobtrusive, I wouldn't mind; but if I'd had a +customer on hand and he'd seen you it would make him nervous. He'd +think there was a--a crazy man follerin' us." + +"I was just practicin'," apologized Mr. Gubb. "It won't be so bad when +I get the hang of it. We all got to be beginners sometime." + +"I guess so," said Mr. Critz, rearranging the shells and the little +rubber pea. "Well, I put the pea down like this, and I dare you to bet +which shell she's goin' to be under, and you don't bet, see? So I put +the shells down, and you're willin' to bet you see me put the first +shell over the pea like this. So you keep your eye on that shell, and +I move the shells around like this--" + +"She's under the same shell," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Well, yes, she _is_," said Mr. Critz placidly, "but she hadn't ought +to be. By rights she ought to sort of ooze out from under whilst I'm +movin' the shells around, and I'd ought to sort of catch her in +between my fingers and hold her there so you don't see her. Then when +you say which shell she's under, she ain't under any shell; she's +between my fingers. So when you put down your money I tell you to pick +up that shell and there ain't anything under it. And before you can +pick up the other shells I pick one up, and let the pea fall on the +stand like it had been under that shell all the time. That's the game, +only up to now I ain't got the hang of it. She won't ooze out from +under, and she won't stick between my fingers, and when she does +stick, she won't drop at the right time." + +"Except for that, you've got her all right, have you?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Except for that," said Mr. Critz; "and I'd have that, only my fingers +are stubby." + +"What was it you thought of having me do if I wasn't a deteckative?" +asked Mr. Gubb. + +"The work you'd have to do would be capping work," said Mr. Critz. +"Capper--that's the professional name for it. You'd guess which shell +the ball was under--" + +"That would be easy, the way you do it now," said Mr. Gubb. + +"I told you I'd got to learn it better, didn't I?" asked Mr. Critz +impatiently. "You'd be capper, and you'd guess which shell the pea was +under. No matter which you guessed, I'd leave it under that one, so'd +you'd win, and you'd win ten dollars every time you bet--but not for +keeps. That's why I've got to have an honest capper." + +"I can see that," said Mr. Gubb; "but what's the use lettin' me win it +if I've got to bring it back?" + +"That starts the boobs bettin'," said Mr. Critz. "The boobs see how +you look to be winnin', and they want to win too. But they don't. When +they bet, I win." + +"That ain't a square game," said Mr. Gubb seriously, "is it?" + +"A crook ain't expected to be square," said Mr. Critz. "It stands to +reason, if a crook wants to be a crook, he's got to be crooked, ain't +he?" + +"Yes, of course," said Mr. Gubb. "I hadn't looked at it that way." + +"As far as I can see," said Mr. Critz, "the more I know how a +detective acts, the better off I'll be when I start in doin' real +business. Ain't that so? I guess, till I get the hang of things +better, I'll stay right here." + +"I'm glad to hear you say so, Mr. Critz," said Mr. Gubb with relief. +"I like you, and I like your looks, and there's no tellin' who I might +get for a roommate next time. I might get some one that wasn't +honest." + +So it was agreed, and Mr. Critz stood over the washstand and +manipulated the little rubber pea and the three shells, while Mr. Gubb +sat on the edge of the bed and studied Lesson Eleven of the "Rising +Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting." + +When, presently, Mr. Critz learned to work the little pea neatly, he +urged Mr. Gubb to take the part of capper, and each time Mr. Gubb won +he gave him a five-dollar bill. Then Mr. Gubb posed as a "boob" and +Mr. Critz won all the money back again, beaming over his spectacle +rims, and chuckling again and again until he burst into a fit of +coughing that made him red in the face, and did not cease until he had +taken a big drink of water out of the wash-pitcher. Never had he +seemed more like a kindly old gentleman from behind the candy counter +of a small village. He hung over the washstand, manipulating the +little rubber pea as if fascinated. + +"Ain't it curyus how a feller catches onto a thing like that all to +once?" he said after a while. "If it hadn't been that I was so +anxious, I might have fooled with that for weeks and weeks and not got +anywheres with it. I do wisht you could be my capper a while anyway, +until I could get one." + +"I need all my time to study," said Mr. Gubb. "It ain't easy to learn +deteckating by mail." + +"Pshaw, now!" said Mr. Critz. "I'm real sorry! Maybe if I was to pay +you for your time and trouble five dollars a night? How say?" + +Mr. Gubb considered. "Well, I dunno!" he said slowly. "I sort of hate +to take money for doin' a favor like that." + +"Now, there ain't no need to feel that way," said Mr. Critz. "Your +time's wuth somethin' to me--it's wuth a lot to me to get the hang of +this gold-brick game. Once I get the hang of it, it won't be no +trouble for me to sell gold-bricks like this one for all the way from +a thousand dollars up. I paid fifteen hundred for this one myself, and +got it cheap. That's a good profit, for this brick ain't wuth a cent +over one hundred dollars, and I know, for I took it to the bank after +I bought it, and that's what they was willin' to pay me for it. So +it's easy wuth a few dollars for me to have help whilst I'm learnin'. +I can easy afford to pay you a few dollars, and to pay a friend of +yours the same." + +"Well, now," said Mr. Gubb, "I don't know but what I might as well +make a little that way as any other. I got a friend--" He stopped +short. "You don't aim to _sell_ the gold-brick to him, do you?" + +Mr. Critz's eyes opened wide behind their spectacles. + +"Land's sakes, no!" he said. + +"Well, I got a friend may be willing to help out," said Mr. Gubb. +"What'd he have to do?" + +"You or him," said Mr. Critz, "would be the 'come-on,' and pretend to +buy the brick. And you or him would pretend to help me to sell it. +Maybe you better have the brick, because you can look stupid, and the +feller that's got the brick has got to look that." + +"I can look anyway a'most," said Mr. Gubb with pride. + +"Do tell!" said Mr. Critz, and so it was arranged that the first +rehearsal of the gold-brick game should take place the next evening, +but as Mr. Gubb turned away Mr. Critz deftly slipped something into +the student detective's coat pocket. + +It was toward noon the next day that Mr. Critz, peering over his +spectacles and avoiding as best he could the pails of paste, entered +the parlor of the vacant house where Mr. Gubb was at work. + +"I just come around," said Mr. Critz, rather reluctantly, "to say you +better not say nothing to your friend. I guess that deal's off." + +"Pshaw, now!" said Mr. Gubb. "You don't mean so!" + +"I don't mean nothing in the way of aspersions, you mind," said Mr. +Critz with reluctance, "but I guess we better call it off. Of course, +so far as I know, you are all right--" + +"I don't know what you're gettin' at," said Mr. Gubb. "Why don't you +say it?" + +"Well, I been buncoed so often," said Mr. Critz. "Seem's like any one +can get money from me any time and any way, and I got to thinkin' it +over. I don't know anything about you, do I? And here I am, going to +give you a gold-brick that cost me fifteen hundred dollars, and let +you go out and wait until I come for it with your friend, and--well, +what's to stop you from just goin' away with that brick and never +comin' back?" + +Mr. Gubb looked at Mr. Critz blankly. + +"I've went and told my friend," he said. "He's all ready to start in." + +"I hate it, to have to say it," said Mr. Critz, "but when I come to +count over them bills I lent you to cap the shell game with, there was +a five-dollar one short." + +"I know," said Gubb, turning red. "And if you go over there to my +coat, you'll find it in my pocket, all ready to hand back to you. I +don't know how I come to keep it in my pocket. Must ha' missed it, +when I handed you back the rest." + +"Well, I had a notion it was that way," said Mr. Critz kindly. "You +look like you was honest, Mr. Gubb. But a thousand-dollar gold-brick, +that any bank will pay a hundred dollars for--I got to get out of this +way of trustin' everybody--" + +Mr. Critz was evidently distressed. + +"If 'twas anybody else but you," he said with an effort, "I'd make +him put up a hundred dollars to cover the cost of a brick like that +whilst he had it. There! I've said it, and I guess you're mad!" + +"I ain't mad," protested Mr. Gubb, "'long as you're goin' to pay me +and Pete, and it's business; I ain't so set against puttin' up what +the brick is worth." + +Mr. Critz heaved a deep sigh of relief. + +"You don't know how good that makes me feel," he said. "I was almost +losin' what faith in mankind I had left." + +Mr. Gubb ate his frugal evening meals at the Pie Wagon, on Willow +Street, just off Main, where, by day, Pie-Wagon Pete dispensed light +viands; and Pie-Wagon Pete was the friend he had invited to share Mr. +Critz's generosity. The seal of secrecy had been put on Pie-Wagon +Pete's lips before Mr. Gubb offered him the opportunity to accept or +decline; and when Mr. Gubb stopped for his evening meal, Pie-Wagon +Pete--now off duty--was waiting for him. The story of Mr. Critz and +his amateur con' business had amused Pie-Wagon Pete. He could hardly +believe such utter innocence existed. Perhaps he did not believe it +existed, for he had come from the city, and he had had shady +companions before he landed in Riverbank. He was a sharp-eyed, +red-headed fellow, with a hard fist, and a scar across his face, and +when Mr. Gubb had told him of Mr. Critz and his affairs, he had seen +an opportunity to shear a country lamb. + +"How goes it for to-night, Philo?" he asked Mr. Gubb, taking the stool +next to Mr. Gubb, while the night man drew a cup of coffee. + +"Quite well," said Mr. Gubb. "Everything is arranged satisfactory. I'm +to be on the old house-boat by the wharf-house on the levee at nine, +with _it_." He glanced at the night man's back and lowered his voice. +"And Mr. Critz will bring you there." + +"Nine, eh?" said Pie-Wagon. "I meet him at your room, do I?" + +"You meet him at the Riverbank Hotel at eight-forty-five," said Mr. +Gubb. "Like it was the real thing. I'm goin' over to my room now, and +give him the money--" + +"What money?" asked Pie-Wagon Pete quickly. + +"Well, you see," said Mr. Gubb, "he sort of hated to trust the--trust +_it_ out of his hands without a deposit. It's the only one he has. So +I thought I'd put up a hundred dollars. He's all right--" + +"Oh, sure!" said Pie-Wagon. "A hundred dollars, eh?" + +He looked at Mr. Gubb, who was eating a piece of apple pie +hand-to-mouth fashion, and studied him in a new light. + +"One hundred dollars, eh?" he repeated thoughtfully. "You give +him a hundred-dollar deposit now and he meets you at nine, and +me at eight-forty-five, and the train leaves for Chicago at +eight-forty-three, halfway between the house-boat and the hotel! +Say, Gubby, what does this old guy look like?" + +Mr. Gubb, albeit with a tongue unused to description, delineated Mr. +Critz as best he could, and as he proceeded, Pie-Wagon Pete became +interested. + +"Pinkish, and bald? Top of his head like a hard-boiled egg? He ain't +got a scar across his face? The dickens he has! Short and plump, and a +reg'lar old nice grandpa? Blue eyes? Say, did he have a coughin' spell +and choke red in the face? Well, sir, for a brand-new detective, +you've done well. Listen, Jim: Gubby's got the Hard-Boiled Egg!" + +The night man almost dropped his cup of coffee. + +"Go 'way!" he said. "Old Hard-Boiled? Himself?" + +"That's right! And caught him with the goods. Say, listen, Gubby!" + +For five minutes Pie-Wagon Pete talked, while Mr. Gubb sat with his +mouth wide open. + +"See?" said Pie-Wagon at last. "And don't you mention me at all. +Don't mention no one. Just say to the Chief: 'And havin' trailed him +this far, Mr. Wittaker, and arranged to have him took with the goods, +it's up to you?' See? And as soon as you say that, have him send a +couple of bulls with you, and if they can do it, they'll nab Old +Hard-Boiled just as he takes your cash. And Old Sleuth and Sherlock +Holmes won't be in it with you when to-morrow mornin's papers come +out. Get it?" + +Mr. Gubb got it. When he entered his bedroom, Mr. Critz was waiting +for him. It was slightly after eight o'clock; perhaps eight-fifteen. +Mr. Critz had what appeared to be the gold-brick neatly wrapped in +newspaper, and he looked up with his kindly blue eyes. He had been +reading the "Complete Con' Man," and had pushed his spectacles up on +his forehead as Mr. Gubb entered. + +"I done that brick up for you," he said, indicating it with his hand, +"so's it wouldn't glitter whilst you was goin' through the street. If +word got passed around there was a gold-brick in town, folks might +sort of get suspicious-like. Nice night for goin' out, ain't it? Got a +letter from my wife this aft'noon," he chuckled. "She says she hopes +I'm doin' well. Sally'd have a fit if she knew what business I was +goin' into. Well, time's gettin' along--" + +"I brung the money," said Mr. Gubb, drawing it from his pocket. + +"Don't seem hardly necess'ry, does it?" said Mr. Critz mildly. "But I +s'pose it's just as well. Thankee, Mister Gubb. I'll just pile into +my coat--" + +Mr. Gubb had picked up the gold-brick, and now he let it fall. Once +more the door flew open, but this time it opened for three stalwart +policemen, whose revolvers pointed unwaveringly at Mr. Critz. The +plump little man gave one glance, and put up his hands. + +"All right, boys, you've got me," he said in quite another voice, and +allowed them to seize his arms. He paid no attention to the police, +but at Mr. Gubb, who was tearing the wrapper from what proved to be +but a common vitrified paving-brick, he looked long and hard. + +"Say," said Mr. Critz to Mr. Gubb, "I'm the goat. You stung _me_ all +right. You worked me to a finish. I thought I knew all of you from +Burns down, but you're a new one to me. Who are you, anyway?" + +Mr. Gubb looked up. + +"Me?" he said with pride. "Why--why--I'm Gubb, the foremost +deteckative of Riverbank, Iowa." + + + + +THE PET + + +On the morning following his capture of the Hard-Boiled Egg, the +"Riverbank Eagle" printed two full columns in praise of Detective Gubb +and complimented Riverbank on having a superior to Sherlock Holmes in +its midst. + +"Mr. Philo Gubb," said the "Eagle," "has thus far received only eleven +of the twelve lessons from the Rising Sun Detective Agency's +Correspondence School of Detecting, and we look for great things from +him when he finally receives his diploma and badge. He informed us +to-day that he hopes to begin work on the dynamite case soon. With the +money he will receive for capturing the Hard-Boiled Egg, Mr. Gubb +intends to purchase eighteen complete disguises from the Supply +Department of the Rising Sun Detective Agency, Slocum, Ohio. Mr. Gubb +wishes us to announce that until the disguises arrive he will continue +to do paper-hanging, decorating, and interior painting at reasonable +rates." + +Unfortunately there were no calls for Mr. Gubb's detective services +for some time after he received his disguises and diploma, but while +waiting he devoted his spare time to the dynamite mystery, a +remarkable case on which many detectives had been working for many +weeks. This led only to his being beaten up twice by Joseph Henry, +one of the men he shadowed. + +The arrival in Riverbank of the World's Monster Combined Shows the day +after Mr. Gubb received his diploma seemed to offer an opportunity for +his detective talents, as a circus is usually accompanied by crooks, +and early in the morning Mr. Gubb donned disguise Number Sixteen, +which was catalogued as "Negro Hack-Driver, Complete, $22.00"; but, +while looking for crooks while watching the circus unload, his eyes +alighted on Syrilla, known as "Half a Ton of Beauty," the Fat Lady of +the Side-Show. + +As Syrilla descended from the car, aided by the Living Skeleton and +the Strong Man, the fair creature wore a low-neck evening gown. Her +arms and shoulders were snowy white (except for a peculiar mark on one +arm). Not only had Mr. Gubb never seen such white arms and shoulders, +but he had never seen so much arm and shoulder on one woman, and from +that moment he was deeply and hopelessly in love. Like one hypnotized +he followed her to the side-show tent, paid his admission, and stood +all day before her platform. He was still there when the tent was +taken down that night. + +Mr. Gubb was not the only man in Riverbank to fall in love with +Syrilla. When the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service League heard +that the circus was coming to town they were distressed to think how +narrow the intellectual life of the side-show freaks must be and they +instructed their Field Secretary, Mr. Horace Winterberry, to go to the +side-show and organize the freaks into an Ibsen Literary and Debating +Society. This Mr. Winterberry did and the Tasmanian Wild Man was made +President, but so deeply did Mr. Winterberry fall in love with Syrilla +that he begged Mr. Dorgan, the manager of the side-show, to let him +join the side-show, and this Mr. Dorgan did, putting him in a cage as +Waw-Waw, the Mexican Hairless Dog-Man, as Mr. Winterberry was +exceedingly bald. + +At the very next stop made by the circus a strong, heavy-fisted woman +entered the side-show and dragged Mr. Winterberry away. This was his +wife. Of this the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service League knew +nothing, however. They believed Mr. Winterberry had been stolen by the +circus and that he was doubtless being forced to learn to swing on a +trapeze or ride a bareback horse, and they decided to hire Detective +Gubb to find and return him. + +At the very moment when the ladies were deciding to retain Mr. Gubb's +services the paper-hanger detective was on his way to do a job of +paper-hanging, thinking of the fair Syrilla he might never see again, +when suddenly he put down the pail of paste he was carrying and +grasped the handle of his paste-brush more firmly. He stared with +amazement and fright at a remarkable creature that came toward him +from a small thicket near the railway tracks. Mr. Gubb's first and +correct impression was that this was some remarkable creature escaped +from the circus. The horrid thing loping toward him was, indeed, the +Tasmanian Wild Man! + +As the Wild Man approached, Philo Gubb prepared to defend himself. He +was prepared to defend himself to his last drop of blood. + +When halfway across the field, the Tasmanian Wild Man glanced back +over his shoulder and, as if fearing pursuit, increased his speed and +came toward Philo Gubb in great leaps and bounds. The Correspondence +School detective waved his paste-brush more frantically than ever. The +Tasmanian Wild Man stopped short within six feet of him. + +Viewed thus closely, the Wild Man was a sight to curdle the blood. +Remnants of chains hung from his wrists and ankles; his long hair was +matted about his face; and his finger nails were long and claw-like. +His face was daubed with ochre and red, with black rings around the +eyes, and the circles within the rings were painted white, giving him +an air of wildness possessed by but few wild men. His only garments +were a pair of very short trunks and the skin of some wild animal, +bound about his body with ropes of horse-hair. + +Philo Gubb bent to receive the leap he felt the Tasmanian Wild Man was +about to make, but to his surprise the Wild Man held up one hand in +token of amity, and with the other removed the matted hair from his +head, revealing an under-crop of taffy yellow, neatly parted in the +middle and smoothed back carefully. + +"I say, old chap," he said in a pleasant and well-bred tone, "stop +waving that dangerous-looking weapon at me, will you? My intentions +are most kindly, I assure you. Can you inform me where a chap can get +a pair of trousers hereabout?" + +Philo Gubb's experienced eye saw at once that this creature was less +wild than he was painted. He lowered the paste-brush. + +"Come into this house," said Philo Gubb. "Inside the house we can +discuss pants in calmness." + +The Tasmanian Wild Man accepted. + +"Now, then," said Philo Gubb, when they were safe in the kitchen. He +seated himself on a roll of wall-paper, and the Tasmanian Wild Man, +whose real name was Waldo Emerson Snooks, told his brief story. + +Upon graduating from Harvard, he had sought employment, offering to +furnish entertainment by the evening, reading an essay entitled, "The +Comparative Mentality of Ibsen and Emerson, with Sidelights on the +Effect of Turnip Diet at Brook Farm," but the agency was unable to get +him any engagements. They happened, however, to receive a request from +Mr. Dorgan, manager of the side-show, asking for a Tasmanian Wild Man, +and Mr. Snooks had taken that job. To his own surprise, he made an +excellent Wild Man. He was able to rattle his chains, dash up and down +the cage, gnaw the iron bars of the cage, eat raw meat, and howl as +no other Tasmanian Wild Man had ever done those things, and all would +have been well if an interloper had not entered the side-show. + +The interloper was Mr. Winterberry, who had introduced the subject of +Ibsen's plays, and in a discussion of them the Tasmanian Wild Man and +Mr. Hoxie, the Strong Man, had quarreled, and Mr. Hoxie had threatened +to tear Mr. Snooks limb from limb. + +"And he would have done so," said the Tasmanian Wild Man with emotion, +"if I had not fled. I dare not return. I mean to work my way back to +Boston and give up Tasmanian Wild Man-ing as a profession. But I +cannot without pants." + +"I guess you can't," said Philo Gubb. "In any station of Boston life, +pants is expected to be worn." + +"So the question is, old chap, where am I to be panted?" said Waldo +Emerson Snooks. + +"I can't pant you," said Philo Gubb, "but I can overall you." + +The late Tasmanian Wild Man was most grateful. When he was dressed in +the overalls and had wiped the grease-paint from his face on an old +rag, no one would have recognized him. + +"And as for thanks," said Philo Gubb, "don't mention it. A deteckative +gent is obliged to keep up a set of disguises hitherto unsuspected by +the mortal world. This Tasmanian Wild Man outfit will do for a hermit +disguise. So you don't owe me no thanks." + +As Philo Gubb watched Waldo Emerson Snooks start in the direction of +Boston--only some thirteen hundred miles away--he had no idea how soon +he would have occasion to use the Tasmanian Wild Man disguise, but +hardly had the Wild Man departed than a small boy came to summon Mr. +Gubb, and it was with a sense of elation and importance that he +appeared before the meeting of the Riverbank Ladies' Social Service +League. + +"And so," said Mrs. Garthwaite, at the close of the interview, "you +understand us, Mr. Gubb?" + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb. "What you want me to do, is to find Mr. +Winterberry, ain't it?" + +"Exactly," agreed Mrs. Garthwaite. + +"And, when found," said Mr. Gubb, "the said stolen goods is to be +returned to you?" + +"Just so." + +"And the fiends in human form that stole him are to be given the full +limit of the law?" + +"They certainly deserve it, abducting a nice little gentleman like Mr. +Winterberry," said Mrs. Garthwaite. + +"They do, indeed," said Philo Gubb, "and they shall be. I would only +ask how far you want me to arrest. If the manager of the side-show +stole him, my natural and professional deteckative instincts would +tell me to arrest the manager; and if the whole side-show stole him I +would make bold to arrest the whole side-show; but if the whole +circus stole him, am I to arrest the whole circus, and if so ought I +to include the menagerie? Ought I to arrest the elephants and the +camels?" + +"Arrest only those in human form," said Mrs. Garthwaite. + +Philo Gubb sat straight and put his hands on his knees. + +"In referring to human form, ma'am," he asked, "do you include them +oorangootangs and apes?" + +"I do," said Mrs. Garthwaite. "Association with criminals has probably +inclined their poor minds to criminality." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, rising. "I leave on this case by the +first train." + +Mr. Gubb hastily packed the Tasmanian garment and six other disguises +in a suitcase, put the fourteen dollars given him by Mrs. Garthwaite +in his pocket, and hurried to catch the train for Bardville, where the +World's Monster Combined Shows were to show the next day. With true +detective caution Philo Gubb disguised even this simple act. + +Having packed his suitcase, Mr. Gubb wrapped it carefully in manila +paper and inserted a laundry ticket under the twine. Thus, any one +seeing him might well suppose he was returning from the laundry and +not going to Bardville. To make this seem the more likely, he donned +his Chinese disguise, Number Seventeen, consisting of a pink, +skull-like wig with a long pigtail, a blue jumper, and a yellow +complexion. Mr. Gubb rubbed his face with crude ochre powder, and his +complexion was a little high, being more the hue of a pumpkin than the +true Oriental skin tint. Those he met on his way to the station +imagined he was in the last stages of yellow fever, and fled from him +hastily. + +He reached the station just as the train's wheels began to move; and +he was springing up the steps onto the platform of the last car when a +hand grasped his arm. He turned his head and saw that the man grasping +him was Jonas Medderbrook, one of Riverbank's wealthiest men. + +"Gubb! I want you!" shouted Mr. Medderbrook energetically, but Philo +Gubb shook off the detaining arm. + +"Me no savvy Melican talkee," he jabbered, bunting Mr. Medderbrook off +the car step. + +Bright and early next morning, Philo Gubb gave himself a healthy coat +of tan, with rather high color on his cheek-bones. From his collection +of beards and mustaches--carefully tagged from "Number One" to "Number +Eighteen" in harmony with the types of disguise mentioned in the +twelve lessons of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence +School of Detecting--he selected mustache Number Eight and inserted +the spring wires in his nostrils. + +Mustache Number Eight was a long, deadly black mustache with up-curled +ends, and when Philo Gubb had donned it he had a most sinister +appearance, particularly as he failed to remove the string tag which +bore the legend, "Number Eight. Gambler or Card Sharp. Manufactured +and Sold by the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of +Detecting Supply Bureau." Having put on this mustache, Mr. Gubb took a +common splint market-basket from under the bed and placed in it the +matted hair of the Tasmanian Wild Man, his make-up materials, a small +mirror, two towels, a cake of soap, the Tasmanian Wild Man's animal +skin robe, the hair rope, and the abbreviated trunks. He covered these +with a newspaper. + +The sun was just rising when he reached the railway siding, and hardly +had Mr. Gubb arrived when the work of unloading the circus began. + +[Illustration: MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED AMONG +THEM] + +Mr. Gubb--searching for the abducted Mr. Winterberry--sped rapidly +from place to place, the string tag on his mustache napping over his +shoulder, but he saw no one answering Mrs. Garthwaite's description of +Mr. Winterberry. When the tent wagons had departed, the elephants and +camels were unloaded, but Mr. Winterberry did not seem to be concealed +among them, and the animal cages--which came next--were all tightly +closed. There were four or five cars, however, that attracted Philo +Gubb's attention, and one in particular made his heart beat rapidly. +This car bore the words, "World's Monster Combined Shows Freak Car." +And as Mr. Winterberry had gone as a social reform agent to the +side-show, Mr. Gubb rightly felt that here if anywhere he would +find a clue, and he was doubly agitated since he knew the beautiful +Syrilla was doubtless in that car. + +Walking around the car, he heard the door at one end open. He crouched +under the platform, his ears and eyes on edge. Hardly was he concealed +before the head ruffian of the unloading gang approached. + +"Mister Dorgan," he said, in quite another tone than he had used to +his laborers, "should I fetch that wild man cage to the grounds for +you to-day?" + +"No," said Dorgan. "What's the use? I don't like an empty cage +standing around. Leave it on the car, Jake. Or--hold on! I'll use it. +Take it up to the grounds and put it in the side-show as usual. I'll +put the Pet in it." + +"Are ye foolin'?" asked the loading boss with a grin. "The cage won't +know itself, Mister Dorgan, afther holdin' that rip-snortin' Wild Man +to be holdin' a cold corpse like the Pet is." + +"Never you mind," said Dorgan shortly. "I know my business, Jake. You +and I know the Pet is a dead one, but these country yaps don't know +it. I might as well make some use of the remains as long as I've got +'em on hand." + +"Who you goin' to fool, sweety?" asked a voice, and Mr. Dorgan looked +around to see Syrilla, the Fat Lady, standing in the car door. + +"Oh, just folks!" said Dorgan, laughing. + +"You're goin' to use the Pet," said the Fat Lady reproachfully, "and +I don't think it is nice of you. Say what you will, Mr. Dorgan, a +corpse is a corpse, and a respectable side-show ain't no place for it. +I wish you would take it out in the lot and bury it, like I wanted you +to, or throw it in the river and get rid of it. Won't you, dearie?" + +"I will not," said Mr. Dorgan firmly. "A corpse may be a corpse, +Syrilla, any place but in a circus, but in a circus it is a feature. +He's goin' to be one of the Seven Sleepers." + +"One of what?" asked Syrilla. + +"One of the Seven Sleepers," said Dorgan. "I'm goin' to put him in the +cage the Wild Man was in, and I'm goin' to tell the audiences he's +asleep. 'He looks dead,' I'll say, 'but I give my word he's only +asleep. We offer five thousand dollars,' I'll say, 'to any man, woman, +or child that proves contrary than that we have documents provin' that +this human bein' in this cage fell asleep in the year 1837 and has +been sleepin' ever since. The longest nap on record,' I'll say. +That'll fetch a laugh." + +"And you don't care, dearie, that I'll be creepy all through the show, +do you?" said Syrilla. + +"I won't care a hang," said Dorgan. + +Mr. Gubb glided noiselessly from under the car and sped away. He had +heard enough to know that deviltry was afoot. There was no doubt in +his mind that the Pet was the late Mr. Winterberry, for if ever a man +deserved to be called "Pet," Mr. Winterberry--according to Mrs. +Garthwaite's description--was that man. There was no doubt that Mr. +Winterberry had been murdered, and that these heartless wretches meant +to make capital of his body. The inference was logical. It was a +strong clue, and Mr. Gubb hurried to the circus grounds to study the +situation. + +"No," said Syrilla tearfully, "you _don't_ care a hang for the nerves +of the lady and gent freaks under your care, Mr. Dorgan. It's nothin' +to you if repulsion from that corpse-like Pet drags seventy or eighty +pounds of fat off of me, for you well know what my contract is--so +much a week and so much for each additional pound of fat, and the less +fat I am the less you have to add onto your pay-roll. The day the Pet +come to the show first I fainted outright and busted down the +platform, but little do you care, Mr. Dorgan." + +"Don't you worry; you didn't murder him," said Mr. Dorgan. + +"He looks so lifelike!" sobbed Syrilla. + +"Oh, Hoxie!" shouted Mr. Dorgan. + +"Yes, sir?" said the Strong Man, coming to the car door. + +"Take Syrilla in and tell the girls to put ice on her head. She's +gettin' hysterics again. And when you've told 'em, you go up to the +grounds and tell Blake and Skinny to unpack the Petrified Man. Tell +'em I'm goin' to use him again to-day, and if he's lookin' shop-worn, +have one of the men go over his complexion and make him look nice and +lifelike." + +Mr. Dorgan swung off from the car step and walked away. + +The Petrified Man had been one of his mistakes. In days past petrified +men had been important side-show features and Mr. Dorgan had supposed +the time had come to re-introduce them, and he had had an excellent +petrified man made of concrete, with steel reinforcements in the legs +and arms and a body of hollow tile so that it could stand rough +travel. + +Unfortunately, the features of the Petrified Man had been entrusted to +an artist devoted to the making of clothing dummies. Instead of an +Aztec or Cave Dweller cast of countenance, he had given the Petrified +Man the simpering features of the wax figures seen in cheap clothing +stores. The result was that, instead of gazing at the Petrified Man +with awe as a wonder of nature, the audiences laughed at him, and the +living freaks dubbed him "the Pet," or, still more rudely, "the +Corpse," and when the glass case broke at the end of the week, Mr. +Dorgan ordered the Pet packed in a box. + +Just now, however, the flight of the Tasmanian Wild Man, and the +involuntary departure of Mr. Winterberry at the command of his wife +after his short appearance as Waw-Waw, the Mexican Hairless Dog-Man, +suggested the new use for the Petrified Man. + +When Detective Gubb reached the circus grounds the glaring banners had +not yet been erected before the side-show tent, but all the tents +except the "big top" were up and all hands were at work on that one, +or supposed to be. Two were not. Two of the roughest-looking +roustabouts, after glancing here and there, glided into the property +tent and concealed themselves behind a pile of blue cases, hampers, +and canvas bags. One of them immediately drew from under his coat a +small but heavy parcel wrapped in an old rag. + +"Say, cul," he said in a coarse voice, "you sure have got a head on +you. This here stuff will be just as safe in there as in a bank, see? +Gimme the screw-driver." + +"'Not to be opened until Chicago,'" said the other gleefully, pointing +to the words daubed on one of the blue cases. "But I guess it will +be--hey, old pal? I guess so!" + +Together they removed the lid of the box, and Detective Gubb, seeking +the side-show, crawled under the wall of the property tent just in +time to see the two ruffians hurriedly jam their parcel into the case +and screw the lid in place again. Mr. Gubb's mustache was now in a +diagonal position, but little he cared for that. His eyes were +fastened on the countenances of the two roustabouts. The men were easy +to remember. One was red-headed and pockmarked and the other was dark +and the lobes of his ears were slit, as if some one had at some time +forcibly removed a pair of rings from them. Very quietly Philo Gubb +wiggled backward out of the tent, but as he did so his eyes caught a +word painted on the side of the blue case. It was "_Pet_"! + +Mr. Gubb proceeded to the next tent. Stooping, he peered inside, and +what he saw satisfied him that he had found the side-show. Around the +inside of the tent men were erecting a blue platform, and on the far +side four men were wheeling a tongueless cage into place. A door at +the back of the cage swung open and shut as the men moved the cage, +but another in front was securely bolted and barred. Mr. Gubb lowered +the tent wall and backed away. It was into this cage that the body of +Mr. Winterberry was to be put to make a public holiday for yokels! And +the murderer was still at large! + +Murderer? Murderers! For who were the two rough characters he had seen +tampering with the case containing the remains of the Pet? What had +they been putting in the case? If not the murderers, they were surely +accomplices. Walking like a wary flamingo, Mr. Gubb circled the tent. +He saw Mr. Dorgan and Syrilla enter it. Himself hidden in a clump of +bushes, he saw Mr. Lonergan, the Living Skeleton; Mr. Hoxie, the +Strong Man; Major Ching, the Chinese Giant; General Thumb, the Dwarf; +Princess Zozo, the Serpent Charmer; Maggie, the Circassian Girl; and +the rest of the side-show employees enter the tent. Then he removed +his Number Eight mustache and put it in his pocket, and balanced his +mirror against a twig. Mr. Gubb was changing his disguise. + +For a while the lady and gentleman freaks stood talking, casting +reproachful glances at Mr. Dorgan. Syrilla, with traces of tears on +her face, was complaining of the cruel man who insisted that the Pet +become part of the show once more and Mr. Dorgan was resisting their +reproaches. + +"I'm the boss of the show," he said firmly. "I'm goin' to use that +cage, and I'm goin' to use the Pet." + +"Couldn't you put Orlando in it, and get up a spiel about him?" asked +Princess Zozo, whose largest serpent was called Orlando. "If you got +him a bottle of cold cream from the make-up tent he'd lie for hours +with his dear little nose sniffin' it. He's pashnutly fond of cold +cream." + +"Well, the public ain't pashnutly fond of seein' a snake smell it," +said Mr. Dorgan. "The Pet is goin' into that cage--see?" + +"Couldn't you borry an ape from the menagerie?" asked Mr. Lonergan, +the Living Skeleton, who was as passionately fond of Syrilla as +Orlando was of cold cream. "And have him be the first man-monkey to +speak the human language, only he's got a cold and can't talk to-day? +You did that once." + +"And got roasted by the whole crowd! No, sir, Mr. Lonergan. I can't, +and I won't. Bring that case right over here," he added, turning to +the four roustabouts who were carrying the blue case into the tent. +"Got it open? Good! Now--" + +He looked toward the cage and stopped short, his mouth open and his +eyes staring. Sitting on his haunches, his fore paws, or hands, +hanging down like those of a "begging" dog, a Tasmanian Wild Man +stared from between the bars of the cage. The matted hair, the bare +legs, the animal skin blanket, the streaks of ochre and red on the +face, the black circles around the eyes with the white inside the +circles, were those of a real Tasmanian Wild Man, but this Tasmanian +Wild Man was tall and thin, almost rivaling Mr. Lonergan in that +respect. The thin Roman nose and the blinky eyes, together with the +manner of holding the head on one side, suggested a bird--a large and +dissipated flamingo, for instance. + +Mr. Dorgan stared with his mouth open. He stared so steadily that he +even took a telegram from the messenger boy who entered the tent, and +signed for it without looking at the address. The messenger boy, too, +stopped to stare at the Tasmanian flamingo. The men who had brought +the blue case set it down and stared. The freaks gathered in front of +the cage and stared. + +"What is it?" asked Syrilla in a voice trembling with emotion. + +"Say! Where in the U.S.A. did _you_ come from?" asked Mr. Dorgan +suddenly. "What in the dickens are you, anyway?" + +"I'm a Tasmanian Wild Man," said Mr. Gubb mildly. + +"You a Tasmanian Wild Man?" said Mr. Dorgan. "You don't think you look +like a Tasmanian Wild Man, do you? Why, you look like--you look +like--you look--" + +"He looks like an intoxicated pterodactyl," said Mr. Lonergan, who had +some knowledge of prehistoric animals,--"only hairier." + +"He looks like a human turkey with a piebald face," suggested General +Thumb. + +"He don't look like nothin'!" said Mr. Dorgan at last. "That's what he +looks like. You get out of that cage!" he added sternly to Mr. Gubb. +"I don't want nothin' that looks like you nowhere near this show." + +"But, Mr. Dorgan, dearie, think how he'd draw crowds," said Syrilla. + +"Crowds? Of course he'd draw crowds," said Mr. Dorgan. "But what would +I say when I lectured about him? What would I call him? No, he's got +to go. Boys," he said to the four roustabouts, two of whom were those +Mr. Gubb had seen in the property tent, "throw this feller out of the +tent." + +"Stop!" said Mr. Gubb, raising one hand. "I will admit I have tried to +deceive you: I am not a Tasmanian Wild Man. I am a deteckative!" + +"Detective?" said Mr. Dorgan. + +"In disguise," said Mr. Gubb modestly. "In the deteckative profession +the assuming of disguises is often necessary to the completion of the +clarification of a mystery plot." + +He pointed down at the Pet, whose newly rouged and powdered face +rested smirkingly in the box below the cage. + +"I arrest you all," he said, but before he could complete the +sentence, the red-headed man and the black-headed man turned and +bolted from the tent. Mr. Gubb beat and jerked at the bars of his cage +as frantically as Mr. Waldo Emerson Snooks had ever beaten and +jerked, but he could not rend them apart. + +"Get those two fellers," Mr. Gubb shouted to Mr. Hoxie, and the strong +man ran from the tent. + +"What's this about arrest?" asked Mr. Dorgan. + +"I arrest this whole side-show," said Mr. Gubb, pressing his face +between the bars of the cage, "for the murder of that poor, gentle, +harmless man now a dead corpse into that blue box there--Mr. +Winterberry by name, but called by you by the alias of the 'Pet.'" + +"Winterberry?" exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. "That Winterberry? That ain't +Winterberry! That's a stone man, a made-to-order concrete man, with +hollow tile stomach and reinforced concrete arms and legs. I had him +made to order." + +"The criminal mind is well equipped with explanations for use in time +of stress," said Mr. Gubb. "Lesson Six of the Correspondence School of +Deteckating warns the deteckative against explanations of murderers +when confronted by the victim. I demand an autopsy onto Mr. +Winterberry." + +"Autopsy!" exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. "I'll autopsy him for you!" + +He grasped one of the Pet's hands and wrenched off one concrete arm. +He struck the head with a tent stake and shattered it into crumbling +concrete. He jerked the Roman tunic from the body and disclosed the +hollow tile stomach. + +"Hello!" he said, lifting a rag-wrapped parcel from the interior of +the Pet. "What's this?" + +When unwrapped it proved to be two dozen silver forks and spoons and a +good-sized silver trophy cup. + +"'Riverbank Country Club, Duffers' Golf Trophy, 1909?'" Mr. Dorgan +read. "'Won by Jonas Medderbrook.' How did that get there?" + +"Jonas Medderbrook," said Mr. Gubb, "is a man of my own local town." + +"He is, is he?" said Mr. Dorgan. "And what's your name?" + +"Gubb," said the detective. "Philo Gubb, Esquire, deteckative and +paper-hanger, Riverbank, Iowa." + +"Then this is for you," said Mr. Dorgan, and he handed the telegram to +Mr. Gubb. The detective opened it and read:-- + + Gubb, + Care of Circus, + Bardville, Ia. + + My house robbed circus night. Golf cup gone. Game now + rotten: never win another. Five hundred dollars reward for + return to me. + + JONAS MEDDERBROOK + +"You didn't actually come here to find Mr. Winterberry, did you?" +asked Syrilla. + +Mr. Gubb folded the telegram, raised his matted hair, and tucked the +telegram between it and his own hair for safe-keeping. + +"When a deteckative starts out to detect," he said calmly, "sometimes +he detects one thing and sometimes he detects another. That cup is one +of the things I deteckated to-day. And now, if all are willing, I'll +step outside and get my pants on. I'll feel better." + +"And you'll look better," said Mr. Dorgan. "You couldn't look worse." + +"In the course of the deteckative career," said Mr. Gubb, "a gent has +to look a lot of different ways, and I thank you for the compliment. +The art of disguising the human physiology is difficult. This disguise +is but one of many I am frequently called upon to assume." + +"Well, if any more are like this one," said Mr. Dorgan with sincerity, +"I'm glad I'm not a detective." + +Syrilla, however, heaved her several hundred pounds of bosom and cast +her eyes toward Mr. Gubb. + +"I think detectives are lovely in any disguise," she said, and Mr. +Gubb's heart beat wildly. + + + + +THE EAGLE'S CLAWS + + +As Philo Gubb boarded the train for Riverbank after recovering the +silver loving-cup from the interior of the petrified man, he cast a +regretful glance backward. It was for Syrilla. There was half a ton of +her pinky-white beauty, and her placid, cow-like expression touched an +echoing chord in Philo Gubb's heart. + +Philo felt, however, that his admiration must be hopeless, for Syrilla +must earn a salary in keeping with her size, and his income was too +irregular and small to keep even a thin wife. + + * * * * * + +Five hundred dollars was a large reward for a loving-cup that cost not +over thirty dollars, it is true, but Mr. Jonas Medderbrook could +afford to pay what he chose, and as he was passionately fond of golf +and passionately poor at the game, and as this was probably the only +golf prize he would ever win, he was justified in paying liberally, +especially as this cup was not merely a tankard, but almost large +enough to be called a tank. + +Detective Gubb hastened to the home of Mr. Medderbrook, but when the +door of that palatial house opened, the colored butler told Mr. Gubb +that Mr. Medderbrook was at the Golf Club, attending the annual +banquet of the Fifty Worst Duffers. Mr. Gubb started for the Golf +Club. As he walked he thought of Syrilla, and he was at the gate of +the Golf Club before he knew it. + +He walked up the path toward the club-house, but when halfway, he +stopped short, all his detective instincts aroused. The windows of the +club-house glowed with light, and sounds of merriment issued from +them, but the cause of Philo Gubb's sudden pause was a head +silhouetted against one of the glowing windows. As Mr. Gubb watched, +he saw the head disappear in the gloom below the window only to +reappear at another window. Mr. Gubb, following the directions as laid +down in Lesson Four of the Correspondence Lessons, dropped to his +hands and knees and crept silently toward the "Paul Pry." When within +a few feet of him, Mr. Gubb seated himself tailor-fashion on the +grass. + +As Philo sat on the damp grass, the man at the window turned his head, +and Mr. Gubb noted with surprise that the stranger had none of the +marks of a sodden criminal. The face was that of a respectably +benevolent old German-American gentleman. Kindliness and good-nature +beamed from its lines; but at the moment the plump little man seemed +in trouble. + +"Good-evening," said Mr. Gubb. "I presume you are taking an +observation of the dinner-party within the inside of the club." + +The old gentleman turned sharply. + +[Illustration: A HEAD SILHOUETTED AGAINST ONE OF THE GLOWING WINDOWS] + +"Shess!" he said. "I look at der peoples eading and drinking. Alvays I +like to see dot. Und sooch goot eaders! Dot man mit der black beard, +he vos a schplendid eader!" + +Mr. Gubb raised himself to his knees and looked into the dining-room. + +"That," he said, "is the Honorable Mr. Jonas Medderbrook, the +wealthiest rich man in Riverbank." + +"Metterbrook? Mettercrook?" said the old German-American. "Not Chones, +eh?" + +"Not Jones, to my present personal knowledge at this time," said Philo +Gubb. + +"Not Chones!" repeated the plumply benevolent-looking German-American. +"Dot vos stranche! You vos sure he vos not Chones?" + +"I'm quite almost positive upon that point of knowledge," said Philo +Gubb, "for I have under my arm a golf cup I am returning back to Mr. +Medderbrook to receive five hundred dollars reward from him for." + +"So?" queried the stranger. "Fife hunderdt dollars? Und it is his +cup?" + +"It is," said Philo Gubb. He raised the cup in his hand that the +stranger might read the inscription stating that the cup was Jonas +Medderbrook's. + +The light of the window made the engraving easy to read, but the old +German-American first drew from his pocket a pair of gold-rimmed +spectacles and adjusted them carefully on his nose. He then took the +cup and moved closer to the window and read the inscription. + +"Shess! Shess!" he agreed, nodding his head several times, and then he +smiled at Mr. Gubb a broadly benevolent smile. "Oxcoose me!" he added, +and with gentle deliberation he removed Mr. Gubb's hat. "Shoost a +minute, please!" he continued, and with his free hand he felt gently +of the top of Mr. Gubb's head. He turned Mr. Gubb's head gently to the +right. "So!" he exclaimed: "Dot vos goot!" He raised the cup above his +head and brought it down on top of Mr. Gubb's head in the exact spot +he had selected. For two moments Mr. Gubb made motions with his hands +resembling those of a swimmer, and then he collapsed in a heap. The +kindly looking old German-American gentleman, seeing he was quite +unconscious, tucked the golf cup under his own arm, and waddled slowly +down the path to the club gates. + +Ten minutes later a small automobile drove up and young Dr. Anson +Briggs hopped out. Mr. Gubb was just getting to his feet, feeling the +top of his head with his hand as he did so. + +"Here!" said Dr. Briggs. "You must not do that!" + +"Why can't I do it?" Mr. Gubb asked crossly. "It is my own personal +head, and if I wish to desire to rub it, you are not concerned in the +occasion whatever." + +"Oh, rub your head if you want to!" exclaimed the doctor. "I say you +must not stand up. A man that has just had a fit must not stand up." + +"Who had a fit?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"You did," said Dr. Briggs. "I am told you had a very bad fit, and +fell and knocked your head against the building. You're dazed. Lie +down!" + +"I prefer to wish to stand erect on my feet," said Mr. Gubb firmly. +"Where's my cup?" + +"What cup?" + +"Who told you I was suffering from the symptom of a fit?" demanded +Philo Gubb. + +"Why, a short, plump little German did," said the doctor. "He sent me +here. And he gave me this to give to you." + +The doctor held an envelope toward Mr. Gubb, and the detective took it +and tore it open. By the light of the window he read:-- + + Rec'd of J. Jones, golluf cup worth $500. P. H. + SCHRECKENHEIM. + +Philo Gubb turned to Dr. Briggs. + +"I am much obliged for the hastiness with which you came to relieve +one you considered to think in trouble, doctor," he said, "but fits +are not in my line of sickness, which mainly is dyspeptic to date." + +"Now, what is all this?" asked the doctor suspiciously. "What is that +letter, anyway?" + +"It is a clue," said Philo Gubb, "which, connected with the bump on +the top of the cranium of my skull, will, no doubt, land somebody into +jail. So good-evening, doctor." + +He picked his hat from the lawn, and in his most stately manner +walked around the club-house and in at the door. + +Inside the club-house, Mr. Gubb asked one of the waiters to call Mr. +Medderbrook, and Mr. Medderbrook immediately appeared. + +As he came from the dining-room rapidly, the napkin he had had tucked +in his neck fell over his shoulder behind him, and Mr. Medderbrook, +instead of turning around bent backward until he could pick up the +napkin with his teeth, after which he resumed his normal upright +position. + +"Excuse me, Gubb," he said; "I didn't think what I was doing. Where is +the cup?" + +The detective explained. He handed Mr. Medderbrook the receipt that +had been sent by Mr. Schreckenheim, and the moment Mr. Medderbrook's +eyes fell upon it he turned red. + +"That infernal Dutchman!" he cried, although Mr. Schreckenheim was not +a Dutchman at all, but a German-American. "I'll jail him for this!" + +He stopped short. + +"Gubb," he said, "did that fellow tell you what his business was?" + +"He did not," said Philo Gubb. "He failed to express any mention of +it." + +"That man," said Mr. Medderbrook bitterly, "is Schreckenheim, the +greatest tattoo artist in the world. He is the king of them all. A +connoisseur in tattooish art can tell a Schreckenheim as easily as a +picture-dealer can tell a Corot. But no matter! Mr. Gubb, you are a +detective and I believe what is told detectives is held inviolable. +Yes. You--and all Riverbank--see in me an ordinary citizen, wealthy, +perhaps, but ordinary. As a matter of fact, I was once"--he looked +cautiously around--"I was once a contortionist. I was once _the_ +contortionist. And now I am a wealthy man. My wife left me because she +said I was stingy, and she took my child--my only daughter. I have +never seen either of them since. I have searched high and low, but I +cannot find them. Mr. Gubb, I would give the man that finds my +daughter--if she is alive--a thousand dollars." + +"You don't object to my attempting to try?" said Philo Gubb. + +"No," said Mr. Jonas Medderbrook, "but that is not what I wish to +explain. In my contortion act, Mr. Gubb, I was obliged to wear the +most expensive silk tights. Wiggling on the floor destroys them +rapidly. I had a happy thought. I was known as the Man-Serpent. Could +I not save all expense of tights by having myself tattooed so that my +skin would represent scales? Look." + +Mr. Medderbrook pulled up his cuff and showed Mr. Gubb his arm. It was +beautifully tattooed in red and blue, like the scales of a cobra. + +"The cost," continued Mr. Medderbrook, "was great. Herr Schreckenheim +worked continuously on me, and when he reached my manly chest I had a +brilliant thought. I would have tattooed upon it an American eagle. +Imagine the enthusiasm of an audience when I stood straight, spread my +arms and showed that noble emblem of our nation's strength and +freedom! I told Herr Schreckenheim and he set to work. When--and the +contract price, by the way, for doing that eagle was five hundred +dollars--when the eagle was about completed, I said to Herr +Schreckenheim, 'Of course you will do no more eagles?' + +"'More eagles?' he said questioningly. + +"'On other men," I said. 'I want to be the only man with an eagle on +my chest.' + +"'I am doing an eagle on another man now,' he said. + +"I was angry at once. I jumped from the table and threw on my clothes. +'Cheater!' I cried. 'Not another spot or dot shall you make on me! Go! +I will never pay you a cent!' + +"He was very angry. 'It is a contract!' he cried. 'Five hundred +dollars you owe me!' + +"'I owe it to you when the job is complete,' I declared. 'That was the +contract. Is this job complete? Where are the eagle's claws? I'll +never pay you a cent!' + +"We had a lot of angry words. He demanded that I give him a chance to +put the claws on the eagle. I refused. I said I would never pay. He +said he would follow me to the end of the world and collect. He said +he would do those eagle claws if he had to do them on my infant +daughter. I dared him to touch the child. And now," said Mr. +Medderbrook, "he has taken the golf cup I value at five hundred +dollars. He has won." + +At the mention of the threat regarding the child, Philo Gubb's eyes +opened wide, but he kept silence. + +"Gubb," said Mr. Medderbrook suddenly, "I'll give you a thousand +dollars if you can recover my poor child." + +"The deteckative profession is full of complicity of detail," said Mr. +Gubb, "and the impossible is quite possible when put in the right +hands. The cup--" + +"Bother the cup!" said Mr. Medderbrook carelessly. "I want my +child--I'll give _ten_ thousand dollars for my child, Gubb." + +With difficulty could Philo Gubb restrain his eagerness to depart. He +had a clue! + +Ordinarily Mr. Gubb would have taken any disguise that seemed to him +best suited for the work in hand; but now he was going to see and be +seen by Syrilla! + +Mr. Gubb ran down the list--Number Seven, Card Sharp; Number Nine, +Minister of the Gospel; Number Twelve, Butcher; Number Sixteen, Negro +Hack-Driver; Number Seventeen, Chinese Laundryman; Number Twenty, +Cowboy.... Philo Gubb paused there. He would be a cowboy, for it was a +jaunty disguise--"chaps," sombrero, spurs, buckskin gloves, holsters +and pistols, blue shirt, yellow hair, stubby mustache. He donned the +complete disguise, put his street garments in a suitcase and viewed +himself in his small mirror. He highly approved of the disguise. He +touched his cheeks with red to give himself a healthy, outdoor +appearance. + +Early the next morning, before the earliest merchants had opened their +shops, Philo Gubb boarded the train for West Higgins, for it was there +the World's Greatest Combined Shows were to appear. The few sleepy +passengers did not open their eyes; the conductor, as he took Mr. +Gubb's ticket, merely remarked, "Joining the show at West Higgins?" +and passed on. Boys were already gathering on the West Higgins station +platform when the train pulled in, and they cheered Mr. Gubb, thinking +him part of the show. This greatly increased the difficulty of Mr. +Gubb's detective work. He had hoped to steal unobserved to the circus +grounds, but a dozen small boys immediately attached themselves to +him, running before him and whooping with joy. + +"Boys," said Mr. Gubb sternly, "I wish you to run away and play +elsewhere than in front of me continuously and all the time,"--and +they cheered because he had spoken. Only the glad news that the circus +trains had reached town finally dragged them reluctantly away. +Detective Gubb hurried to the circus grounds. The cook tent was +already up, and the grub tent was being put up. Presently the +side-show tent was up and the "big top" rising. It was not until nine +o'clock, however, that the side-show ladies and gentlemen began to +appear, and when they arrived they went at once to the grub tent and +seated themselves at the table. From a corner of the "big top's" side +wall, Detective Gubb watched them. + +"Look there, dearie," said Syrilla suddenly to Princess Zozo, "don't +that cowboy look like Mr. Gubb that was at Bardville and got the golf +cup?" + +"It don't look like him," said Princess Zozo; "it is him. Why don't +you ask him to come over and help at the eats? You seemed to like him +yesterday." + +"I thought he was a real gentlem'nly gentlemun, dearie, if that's what +you mean," said Syrilla; and raising her voice she called to Mr. Gubb. +For a moment he hesitated, and then he came forward. "We knowed you +the minute we seen you, Mr. Gubb. Come and sit in beside me and have +some breakfast if you ain't dined. I thought you went home last night. +You ain't after no more crim'nals, are you?" + +"There are variously many ends to the deteckative business," said Mr. +Gubb, as he seated himself beside Syrilla. "I'm upon a most important +case at the present time." + +Syrilla reached for her fifth boiled potato, and as her arm passed Mr. +Gubb's face he thrilled. He had not been mistaken. Upon that arm was a +pair of eagle's claws, tattooed in red and blue! How little these had +meant to him before, and how much they meant now! + +"I presume you don't hardly ever long for a home in one place, Miss +Syrilla," he began, with his eye fixed on her arm just above the +elbow. + +"Well, believe me, dearie," said Syrilla, "you don't want to think +that just because I travel with a side-show I don't long for the +refinements of a true home just like other folks. Some folks think I'm +easy to see through and that I ain't nothin' but fat and appetite, but +they've got me down wrong, Mr. Gubb. I was unfortunate in gettin' lost +from my father and mother when a babe, but many is the time I've said +to Zozo, 'I got a refined strain in my nature.' Haven't I, Zozo?" + +"You say it every time we begin to rag you about fallin' in love with +every new thin man you see," said Princess Zozo. "You said it last +night when we was joshin' you about Mr. Gubb here." + +Syrilla colored, but Mr. Gubb thrilled joyously. + +"Just the same, dearie," Syrilla said to Princess Zozo, "I've got +myself listed right when I say I got a refined nature. I've got all +the instincts of a real society lady and sometimes it irks me awful +not to be able to let myself loose and bant like--" + +"Pant?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"_Bant_ was the word I used, Mr. Gubb," Syrilla replied. "Maybe you +wouldn't guess it, lookin' at me shovelin' in the eatables this way, +but eatin' food is the croolest thing I have to do. It jars me +somethin' terrible. Yes, dearie, what I long for day and night is a +chance to take my place in the social stratums I was born for and +bant off the fat like other social ladies is doin' right along. I +don't eat food because I like it, Mr. Gubb, but because a lady in a +profession like mine has got to keep fatted up. My outside may be fat, +Mr. Gubb, but I got a soul inside of me as skinny as any fash'nable +lady would care to have, and as soon as possible I'm goin' to quit the +road and bant off six or seven hundred pounds. Would you believe it +possible that I ain't dared to eat a pickle for over seven years, +because it might start me on the thinward road?" + +"I presume to suppose," said Mr. Gubb politely, "that if you was to be +offered a home that was rich with wealth and I was to take you there +and place you beside your parental father, you wouldn't refuse?" + +Mr. Gubb awaited the reply with eagerness. He tried to remain calm, +but in spite of himself he was nervous. + +"Watch me!" said Syrilla. "If you could show me a nook like that, you +couldn't hold me in this show business with a tent-stake and bull +tackle. But that's a rosy dream!" + +"You ain't got a locket with the photo' of your mother's picture into +it?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"No," said Syrilla. "My pa and ma was unknown to me. I dare say they +got sick of hearin' me bawl and left me on a doorstep. The first I +knew of things was that I was travelin' with a show, representin' a +newborn babe in an incubator machine. I was incubated up to the time +I was five years old, and got too long to go in the glass case." + +"But some one was your guardian in charge of you, no doubt?" asked +Gubb. + +"I had forty of them, dearie," said Syrilla. "Whenever money run low, +they quit because they couldn't get paid on Saturday night." + +"Hah!" said Mr. Gubb. "And does the name Jones bring back the memory +of any rememberance to you?" + +"No, Mr. Gubb," said Syrilla regretfully, seeing how eager he was. "It +don't." + +"In that state of the case of things," said Mr. Gubb, "I've got to go +over to that wagon-pole and sit down and think awhile. I've got a +certain clue I've got to think over and make sure it leads right, and +if it does I'll have something important to say to you." + +The wagon-pole in question was attached to a canvas wagon near by, and +Detective Gubb seated himself on it and thought. The side-show ladies +and gentlemen, having finished, entered the side-show tent--with the +exception of Syrilla, who remained to finish her meal. She ate a great +deal at meals, before meals, and after meals. Mr. Gubb, from his seat +on the wagon-pole, looked at Syrilla thoughtfully. He had not the +least doubt that Syrilla was the lost daughter of Mr. Jones (or +Medderbrook as he now called himself). The German-American tattoo +artist had sworn to complete the eagle by putting its claws on Mr. +Jones's daughter, if need be, and here were the claws on Syrilla's +arm. But, just as it is desirable at times to have a handwriting +expert identify a bit of writing, Mr. Gubb felt that if he could prove +that the claws tattooed on Syrilla's arm were the work of Mr. +Schreckenheim, his case would be complete. He longed for Mr. +Schreckenheim's presence, but, lacking that, he had a happy idea. Mr. +Enderbury, the tattooed man of the side-show, should be a connoisseur +and would perhaps be able to identify the eagle's claws. Leaving +Syrilla still eating, Mr. Gubb entered the side-show tent. + +Mr. Enderbury, seated on a blue property case, was engaged in biting +the entire row of finger nails on his right hand, and a frown creased +his brow. He was enwrapped by a long purple bathrobe which tied +closely about his neck. As he caught sight of Mr. Gubb, he started +slightly and doubled his hand into a fist, but he immediately calmed +himself and assumed a nonchalant air. As a matter of fact, Mr. +Enderbury led a dog's life. For years he had loved Syrilla devotedly, +but he was so bashful he had never dared to confess his love to her, +and year after year he saw her smile upon one thin man after another. +Now it was Mr. Lonergan; again it was Mr. Winterberry--or it was Mr. +Gubb, or Smith, or Jones, or Doe; but for Mr. Enderbury she seemed to +have nothing but contempt. Mr. Enderbury had first seen her when she +was posing in the infant incubator, and had loved her even then, for +he was twenty when she was but five. The coming of a new rival always +affected him as the coming of Mr. Gubb had, but for good reason he +hated Mr. Gubb worse than any of the others. + +"Excuse me for begging your pardon," said Mr. Gubb, "but in the +deteckative business questions have to be asked. Have you ever chanced +to happen to notice some tattoo work upon the arm of Miss Syrilla of +this side-show?" + +"I have," said Mr. Enderbury shortly. + +"A pair of eagle's claws," said Mr. Gubb. "Can you tell me, from your +knowledge and belief, if the work there done was the work of a Mr. +Herr Schreckenheim?" + +"I can tell you if I want to," said Mr. Enderbury. "What do you want +to know for?" + +"If those claws are the work of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim," said Mr. +Gubb, "I am prepared to offer to Miss Syrilla her daughterly place in +a home of wealth at Riverbank, Iowa. If those claws are Schreckenheim +claws, Miss Syrilla is the daughter of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook of the +said burg, beyond the question of a particle of doubt." + +Mr. Enderbury looked at Mr. Gubb with surprise. + +"That's non--" he began. "And if Schreckenheim did those claws, you'll +take Syrilla away from this show? Forever?" he asked. + +"I will," said Philo Gubb, "if she desires to wish to go." + +"Then I have nothing whatever to say," said Mr. Enderbury, and he +shut his mouth firmly; nor would he say more. + +"Do you desire to wish me to understand that they are not the work of +Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?" persisted Mr. Gubb. + +"I have nothing to say!" said Mr. Enderbury. + +"I consider that conclusive circumstantial evidence that they are," +said Detective Gubb, and he clanked out of the side-show. + +Syrilla was still seated at the grub table, finishing her meal, and +Mr. Gubb seated himself opposite her. As delicately as he could, he +told of Jonas Medderbrook and his lost daughter, of the home of wealth +that awaited that daughter, and finally, of his belief that Syrilla +was that daughter. It was clear that Syrilla was quite willing to take +up a life of refinement and dieting if she was given an opportunity +such as Mr. Gubb was able to offer in the name of Jonas Medderbrook; +and, this being so, he questioned her regarding the eagle's claws. + +"Mr. Gubb," she said, "I wish to die on the spot if I know how I got +them claws tattooed onto me. If you ask me, I'll say it is the mystery +of my life. They've been on me since I was a little girl no bigger +than--why, who is that?" + +Mr. Gubb turned his head quickly, but he was not in time to see a +plump, good-natured looking little German-American slip quickly out of +sight behind the cook tent. Neither did he see the glitter of the sun +on a large silver golf cup the plump German-American carried under +his arm; but the German-American had recognized Mr. Gubb, even through +his disguise of a cowboy. + +"No matter," said Syrilla. "But these claws have been on my arm since +I was a wee little girl, Mr. Gubb. I always thought they was a +trademark of a hospital." + +"I was not knowingly aware that hospitals had trademarks," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"Maybe they don't," said Syrilla. "But when I was a small child I had +an accident and had to be took to a hospital, and it wasn't until +after that that anybody saw the eagle's claws on me. I considered that +maybe it was like the mark the laundry puts on a handkerchief it has +laundered." + +"I don't know much about the manners of the ways of hospitals," +admitted Mr. Gubb, "and that may be so, but I have another idea. Did +you ever hear of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?" + +"Only that Mr. Enderbury is always cross on the days of the month that +he gets Mr. Schreckenheim's statements of money due. Mr. Schreckenheim +is the man that tattooed Mr. Enderbury so beautiful, but poor Mr. +Enderbury has never been able to pay him in full." + +Philo Gubb arose. + +"I am going to telegraph Mr. Medderbrook to come on to West Higgins +immediately by the three P.M. afternoon train," he said, "and you will +meet him as your paternal father and arrange to make your home with +him as soon as you desire to wish it." + + * * * * * + +At five o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Medderbrook, escorted by Mr. Gubb, +entered the side-show tent. The lady and gentlemen freaks were resting +before evening grub, and all were gathered around Syrilla's platform, +for the news that she was to leave the show to enter a home of wealth +and refinement had spread quickly. Syrilla herself was in tears. Now +that the time had come she was loath to part from her kind companions. + +"I tell you, Mr. Gubb," Mr. Medderbrook said, as they entered the +side-show, "if you have indeed found my daughter you have made me a +happy man. You cannot know how lonesome my life has been. Now, which +is she?" + +"She is the female lady in the pink satin dress on that platform," +said Mr. Gubb. + +Mr. Medderbrook looked toward Syrilla and gasped. + +"Why, that--that's the Fat Woman! That's the Fat Woman of the +side-show!" he exclaimed. "I thought--I--why, my daughter wouldn't be +a Fat Woman in a side-show!" + +"But she is," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Great Scott!" exclaimed Mr. Medderbrook. + +For years Mr. Medderbrook had retained a memory of his daughter +as he had seen her last, a tender babe in long clothes. As he rode +toward West Higgins, however, he had thought about his daughter and +he had revised his conception of her. She was older now, of course, +and he had finally settled the matter by deciding that she would be +a dainty slip of a girl--probably a tight-rope walker or one of the +toe-dancers in the Grand Spectacle, or perhaps even engaged as the +Ten-Thousand-Dollar Beauty. But a Fat Lady! Mr. Medderbrook walked +toward Syrilla. Every eye in the tent was upon him. There was utter +silence except for Syrilla's happy sobbing. + +"Shess!" said a voice suddenly. "You bet I vos here! Und I vant my +money! Years I haf been collecding dot bill, und still you owe me. Now +I come, and you pay me all vot you owe or I make troubles!" + +The voice came from outside the tent, and with surprising agility +Detective Gubb dived under the platform and wriggled under the canvas +wall. + +"I don't owe you a cent!" exclaimed the voice of Mr. Enderbury. "I've +paid you for every bit of tattoo I have on me." + +"Seven hunderdt dollars vos der contract," cried the voice of Herr +Schreckenheim. "Und ten dollars is due me yet. I vant it." + +"Well, you'll keep on wanting it," said Mr. Enderbury's voice. "Look +here! Look at my chest. There's the eagle you did on me--do you see +any claws on it? No, you don't! Well, I'm not going to pay for claws +that are not on me. No, sir!" + +"Claws? I do some claws on you, don't I, ven I do dot eagle?" asked +the German-American. + +"Yes, but they're not on me now, are they?" asked Mr. Enderbury, "You +can go and collect from the person that has them. What do I care for +her now? She's going to quit the circus business. I've paid for all +the tattoo that's on me; you go and collect ten dollars for those +claws from Syrilla." + +"Und how does she get those claws on her?" asked Herr Schreckenheim +shrewdly. + +"I'll tell you how," said Mr. Enderbury. "You remember when Griggs' & +Barton's Circus burned down years ago? Well, Syrilla was burned in +that fire--burned on the arm--and they took her to a hospital and her +arm wouldn't heal. So somebody had to furnish some skin for a +skin-grafting job, and I did it. The piece they took had those claws +on it. That's what happened. I gave those eagle's claws to cure her, +and I've hung around her all these years like a faithful dog, and she +don't care a hang for me, and now she's going away. Go and collect for +those claws from her. I haven't got them. She's going to be rich; she +can pay you!" + +Simultaneously there was an exclamation from Mr. Medderbrook, a cry +from Syrilla, and a short, sharp yell from outside the tent. Mr. Gubb +entered, spurs first, creeping backward under the canvas. As he backed +from under the platform it was observed that he held a shoe--about No. +8 size--in one hand, and that a foot was in the shoe, and the foot on +a leg, and the leg on a short, plump, elderly German-American, who +yelled as he was dragged into the tent on his back. In one hand of the +German-American was a large silver golf cup with a deep dent on one +side. As Mr. Gubb arose to his feet, still holding the German-American +tattoo artist's foot in his hand, he said:-- + +"Mr. Medderbrook, the deteckative business is not always completely +satisfactory in all kinds of respects, and it looks as if it appeared +that the daughter I found for you is somebody else's, but if you will +look at the other end of the assaulter and batterer I have in hand, +you will see that I have recovered the silver golf cup trophy once +again for the second time." + +"And that," said Mr. Medderbrook as he took the cup from the +German-American's hand, "is remarkable work. The ordinary detective is +usually satisfied to recover stolen property once, but you have +recovered this cup twice." + +"The motto of my deteckative business," said Mr. Gubb modestly, "is +'Perfection, no matter how many times.'" + +Mr. Gubb might have said more, but he was interrupted by Princess +Zozo, the Snake Charmer, who had walked around Syrilla and unhooked +two of the hooks at the top of Syrilla's low-necked gown. + +"Look!" she exclaimed, and she pointed to a second pair of eagle's +claws tattooed between Syrilla's shoulder blades. Without a word Mr. +Medderbrook took five hundred dollars from his purse and handed them +to Mr. Schreckenheim. + +"That pays you for the cup," he said. And then, turning to Syrilla: +"Come to my arms, my long-lost daughter!" + +After Syrilla had hugged her father affectionately, Mr. Gubb and the +freaks laid him on the ground and, by fanning him vigorously, were +able to bring him back to life. Mr. Medderbrook's first act upon +opening his eyes was to hold out his hand to Mr. Gubb. + +"Thank you, Gubb," he panted. "It's a big price, but I'll keep my +word. The ten thousand dollars shall be yours." + +"Into ordinary circumstances," said Mr. Gubb gravely, "ten thousand +dollars would be a largely big price to pay for recovering back a lost +daughter, Mr. Medderbrook, but into the present case it don't amount +to more than ten dollars per pound of daughter, which ain't a largely +great rate per pound." + + + + +THE OUBLIETTE + + +The discovery that Syrilla was the daughter of Jonas Medderbrook (born +Jones) was a great triumph for Philo Gubb, but while the "Riverbank +Eagle" made a great hurrah about it, Philo Gubb was not entirely happy +over the matter. Having won a reward of ten thousand dollars for +discovering Syrilla and five hundred dollars for recovering Mr. +Medderbrook's golf cup, Mr. Gubb might have ventured to tell Syrilla +of his love for her but for three reasons. + +The first reason was that Mr. Gubb was so bashful that it was +impossible for him to speak his love openly and immediately. If +Syrilla had returned to Riverbank with her father, Mr. Gubb would have +courted her by degrees, or if Syrilla had weighed only two hundred +pounds, Mr. Gubb might have had the bravery to propose to her +instantly, but she weighed one thousand pounds, and it required five +times the bravery to propose to a thousand pounds that was required to +propose to two hundred pounds. + +The second reason was that Mr. Dorgan, the manager of the side-show, +would not release Syrilla from her contract. + +"She's a beauty of a Fat Lady," said Mr. Dorgan, "and I've got a +five-year contract with her and I'm going to hold her to it." + +Mr. Medderbrook and Mr. Gubb would have been quite hopeless when Mr. +Dorgan said this if Syrilla had not taken them to one side. + +"Listen, dearies," she said, "he's a mean, old brute, but don't you +fret! I got a hunch how to make him cancel my contract in a perfectly +refined an' ladylike manner. Right now I start in bantin' and dietin' +in the scientific-est manner an' the way I can lose three or four +hundred pounds when I set out to do it is something grand. It won't be +no time at all until I'm thin and wisp-like, an' Mr. Dorgan will be +glad to get rid of me." + +This information greatly cheered Mr. Gubb. While he admired Syrilla +just as she was, a rapid mental calculation assured him that she would +still be quite plump at seven hundred pounds and he knew he could love +seven tenths of Syrilla more than he could love ten tenths of any +other lady in the world. + +The third reason had to do with the ten-thousand-dollar reward. When +Mr. Gubb and Mr. Medderbrook were proceeding homeward on the train, +Mr. Medderbrook brought up the subject of the reward again. + +"I'm going to pay you that ten thousand dollars, Gubb," he said, "but +I'm going to pay it so it will be worth a lot more than ten thousand +dollars to you." + +"You are very overly kind," said Mr. Gubb. + +"It's because I know you are fond of Syrilla," said Mr. Medderbrook. + +Mr. Gubb blushed. + +"So I ain't going to give you ten thousand dollars in cash," said Mr. +Medderbrook. "I'm going to do a lot better by you than that. I'm going +to give you gold-mine stock. The only trouble--" + +"Gold-mine stock sounds quite elegantly nice," said Mr. Gubb. + +"The only trouble," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is that the gold-mine stock +I want to give you is in a block of twenty-five thousand dollars. It's +nice stock. It's as neatly engraved as any stock I ever saw, and it is +genuine common stock in the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine Company." + +"The name sounds sort of unhopeful," ventured Mr. Gubb timidly. + +"That shows you don't know anything about gold mines," said Mr. +Medderbrook cheerfully. "The reason I--the reason the miners gave it +that name is because this mine lies right between two of the best +gold-mines in Minnesota. One of them is the Utterly Good Gold-Mine, +and the other is the Far-From-Hopeless. So when I--so when the miners +named this mine they took part of the names of the two others and +called this one the Utterly Hopeless. That's the way I--the way it is +always done." + +"It's very cleverly bright," said Mr. Gubb. + +"It's an old trick--I should say an old and approved method," said +Mr. Medderbrook. "So what I'm going to do, Mr. Gubb, is to let you in +on the ground floor on this mine. It's a chance I wouldn't offer to +everybody. This mine hasn't paid out all its money in dividends. I +tell you as an actual fact, Mr. Gubb, that so far it hasn't paid out a +cent in dividends, not even to the preferred stock. No, sir! And it +ain't one of these mines that has been mined until all the gold is +mined out of it. No, sir! Not an ounce of gold has ever been taken out +of the Utterly Hopeless Mine. Not an ounce." + +"It is all there yet!" exclaimed Mr. Gubb. + +"All there ever was," said Mr. Medderbrook. "Yes, sir! If you want me +to I'll give you a written guarantee that the Utterly Hopeless Mine +has never paid a cent in dividends and that not an ounce of gold has +ever been taken out of the mine. That shows you I'm square about this. +So what I'm going to do," he said impressively, "is to turn over to +you a block of twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock and apply the ten thousand dollars I owe you as part +of the purchase price. All you need to do then is to pay me the other +fifteen thousand dollars as rapidly as you can." + +"That's very kindly generous of you," said Mr. Gubb gratefully. + +"And that isn't all," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I own every single share +of the stock of that mine, Mr. Gubb, and as soon as you get the +fifteen thousand dollars paid up I'll advance the price of that stock +one hundred per cent! Yes, sir, I'll double the price of the stock, +and what you own will be worth fifty thousand dollars!" + +There were tears in Philo Gubb's eyes as he grasped Mr. Medderbrook's +hand. + +"And all I ask," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is that you hustle up and pay +that fifteen thousand dollars as quick as you can. So that," he added, +"you'll be worth fifty thousand dollars all the sooner." + +Upon reaching Riverbank Mr. Medderbrook took Mr. Gubb to his home and +turned over to him the stock in the Utterly Hopeless Mine. + +"And here," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is a receipt for ten thousand five +hundred dollars, and you can give me back that five hundred I paid you +for recovering of my golf cup. That's to show you everything is fair +and square when you deal with me. Now you owe me only fourteen +thousand five hundred dollars." + +While Mr. Gubb was handing the five hundred dollars back to Mr. +Medderbrook the colored butler entered with a telegram. Mr. +Medderbrook tore it open hastily. + +"Good news already," he said and handed it to Mr. Gubb. It was from +Syrilla and said:-- + + Be brave. Have lost four ounces already. Kind regards and + best love to Mr. Gubb. + +With only partial satisfaction Mr. Gubb left Mr. Medderbrook and +proceeded downtown. He now had a double incentive for seeking the +rewards that fall to detectives, for he had Syrilla to win and the +Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock to pay for. He started for the +Pie-Wagon, for he was hungry, but on the way certain suspicious +actions of Joe Henry (the liveryman who had twice beaten him up while +he was working on the dynamiter case), stopped him, and it was much +later when he entered the Pie-Wagon. + +As Philo Gubb entered, Billy Getz sat on one of the stools and stirred +his coffee. He held a dime novel with his other hand, reading; but +Pie-Wagon Pete kept an eye on him. He knew Billy Getz and his +practical jokes. If unwatched for a moment, the young whipper-snapper +might empty the salt into the sugar-bowl, or play some other prank +that came under his idea of fun. + +Billy Getz was a good example of the spoiled only son. He went in for +all the vice there was in town, and to occupy his spare time he +planned practical jokes. He was thirty years old, rather bald, had a +pale and leathery skin, and a preternaturally serious expression. In +his pranks he was aided by the group of young poker-playing, +cigarette-smoking fellows known as the "Kidders." + +Billy Getz, as he read the last line of the thrilling tale of "The +Pale Avengers," tucked the book in his pocket, and looked up and saw +Philo Gubb. The hawk-eyes of Billy Getz sparkled. + +"Hello, detective!" he cried. "Sit down and have something! You're +just the man I've been lookin' for. Was askin' Pete about you not a +minute ago--wasn't I, Pete?" + +Pie-Wagon Pete nodded. + +"Yes, sir," said Billy Getz eagerly, "I've got something right in your +line--something big; mighty big--and--say, detective, have you ever +read 'The Pale Avengers'?" + +"I ain't had that pleasure, Mr. Getz," said Philo Gubb, straddling a +stool. + +"What's the matter? You're out of breath," said Pie-Wagon. + +"I been runnin'," said Philo Gubb. "I had to run a little. +Deteckatives have to run at times occasionally." + +"You bet they do," said Billy Getz earnestly. "You ain't been after +the dynamiters, have you?" + +"I am from time to time working upon that case," said Philo Gubb with +dignity. + +"Well, you be careful. You be mighty careful! We can't afford to lose +a man like you," said Billy Getz. "You can't be too careful. Got any +of the ghouls yet?" + +"Not yet," said Philo Gubb stiffly. "It's a difficult case for one +that's just graduated out of a deteckative school. It's like Lesson +Nine says--I got to proceed cautiously when workin' in the dark." + +"Or they'll get you before you get them," said Billy Getz. "Like in +'The Pale Avengers.' Here, I want you to read this book. It'll teach +you some things you don't know about crooks, maybe." + +"Thank you," said Philo Gubb, taking the dime novel. "Anything that +can help me in my deteckative career is real welcome. I'll read it, +Mr. Getz, and--Look out!" he shouted, and in one leap was over the +counter and crouching behind it. + +Billy Getz turned toward the door, where a short, red-faced man was +standing with a pine slab held in his hand. Intense anger glittered in +his eyes, and he darted to the counter and, leaning over, brought the +slab down on Philo Gubb's back with a resounding whack. + +"Here! Here! None o' that stuff in here, Joe," cried Pie-Wagon Pete, +grasping the intruder's arm. + +"I'll kill him, that's what I'll do!" shouted the intruder. "Snoopin' +around my place, and follerin' me up an' down all the time! I told him +I wasn't goin' to have him doggin' me an' pesterin' me. I've beat him +up twice, an' now I'm goin' to give him the worst lickin' he ever had. +Come out of there, you half-baked ostrich, you." + +"Now, you stop that," said Pie-Wagon Pete sternly. "You're goin' to be +sorry if you beat him up. He don't mean no harm. He's just foolish. He +don't know no better. All you got to do is to explain it to him +right." + +"Explain?" said Joe Henry. "I'd look nice explainin' anything, +wouldn't I? Hand him over here, Pete." + +"Now, listen," shouted Pie-Wagon Pete angrily. "You ain't everything. +I'm your pardner, ain't I? Well, you let me fix this." He winked at +Joe Henry. "You let me explain to Mr. Gubb, an' if he ain't satisfied, +why--all right." + +For a moment Joe Henry studied Pie-Wagon's face, and then he put down +the slab. + +"All right, you explain," he said ungraciously, and Philo Gubb raised +his white face above the counter. + + * * * * * + +Upon the passage of the State prohibitory law every saloon in +Riverbank had been closed and there had been growlings from the saloon +element. Five of the leading prohibitionists had received threatening +letters and, a few nights later, the houses of four of the five were +blown up. Kegs of powder had been placed in the cellar windows of each +of the four houses, wrecking them, and the fifth house was saved only +because the fuse there was damp. Luckily no one was killed, but that +was not the fault of the "dynamiters," as every one called them. + +The town and State immediately offered a reward of five thousand +dollars for the arrest and conviction of the dynamiters, and +detectives flocked to Riverbank. Real detectives came to try for the +noble prize. Amateur detectives came in hordes. Citizens who were not +detectives at all tried their hands at the work. + +For the first few days rumors of the immediate capture of the "ghouls" +were flying everywhere, but day followed day and week followed week, +and no one was incarcerated. The citizen-detectives went back to their +ordinary occupations, the amateur detectives went home, the real +detectives were called off on other and more promising jobs, and soon +the field was left clear for Philo Gubb. + +Not that he made much progress. Each night he hid himself in the dark +doorway of Willcox Hall waiting to pick up (Lesson Four, Rule Four) +some suspicious-looking person, and having picked him up, he proceeded +to trail and shadow him (Lesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen). Six +times--twice by Joe Henry--he was well beaten by those he followed. It +became such a nuisance to be followed by Philo Gubb in false mustache +or whiskers, that it was a public relief when Billy Getz and other +young fellows took upon themselves the duty of being shadowed. With +hats pulled over their eyes and coat-collars turned up, they would +pass the dark doorway of Willcox Hall, let themselves be picked up, +and then lead poor Detective Gubb across rubbish-encumbered vacant +lots, over mud flats or among dark lumber piles, only to give him the +slip with infinite ease when they tired of the game. + +But Philo Gubb was back the next night, waiting in the shadow of the +doorway of Willcox Hall. He did not progress very rapidly toward the +goal of the reward, but he counted it all good practice. + +But being beaten twice in succession by Joe Henry aroused his +suspicion. + +Joe Henry ran a small carting business. He had three teams and three +drays, and a small stable on Locust Street, on the alley corner. He +was a great friend of Pie-Wagon Pete and he ate at the Pie-Wagon. + +Philo Gubb, after leaving Mr. Medderbrook, had not intentionally +picked up Joe Henry. On his way to the Pie-Wagon it had been necessary +for him to pass the alley opposite Joe Henry's stable and his +detective instinct told him to hide himself behind a manure bin in the +alley and watch the stable. In the warm June dusk he had crouched +there, watching and waiting. + +Mr. Gubb could see into the stable, but there was not much to see. The +stable boy sat at the door, his chair tipped back, until a few minutes +after eleven, when one of Joe Henry's drays drove up with a load of +baled hay. + +Philo Gubb heard the voices of the men as they hoisted the hay to the +hay-loft, and he saw Joe Henry helping with the hoisting-rope. The hay +was water-soaked. Water dripped from it onto the floor of the stable. + +But nothing exciting occurred, and Philo Gubb was about to consider +this a dull evening's work, when Joe Henry appeared in the doorway, a +pitchfork in one hand and the slab of pine in the other. He looked up +and down the street and then, with surprising agility, sprang across +the street toward where Philo Gubb lay hid. With a wild cry, Philo +Gubb fled. The pitchfork clattered at his feet, but missed him, and +he had every advantage of long legs and speed. His heels clattered on +the alley pave, and Joe Henry's clattered farther and farther behind +at each leap of the Correspondence School detective. + + * * * * * + +"All right, you explain," said Joe Henry sullenly. + +"Now you ain't to breathe a word of this, cross-your-heart, +hope-to-die, Philo Gubb. Nor you neither, Billy," said Pie-Wagon Pete. +"Listen! Me an' Joe Henry ain't what we let on to be. That's why we +don't want to be follered. We're detectives. Reg'lar detectives. From +Chicago. An' we're hired by the Law an' Order League to run down them +gools. We're right clost onto 'em now, ain't we, Joe? An' that's why +we don't want to have no one botherin' us. You wouldn't want no one +shadowin' you when you was on a trail, would you, Gubby?" + +"No, I don't feel like I would," admitted Philo Gubb. + +"That's right," said Pie-Wagon Pete approvingly. "An' when these here +dynamite gools is the kind of murderers they is, an' me and Joe is +expectin' to be murdered by them any minute, it makes Joe nervous to +be follered an' spied on, don't it, Joe?" + +"You bet," said Joe. "I'm liable to turn an' maller up anybody I see +sneakin' on me. I can't take chances." + +"So you won't interfere with Joe in the pursoot of his dooty no more, +will you, Gubby?" said Pie-Wagon Pete. + +"I don't aim to interfere with nobody, Peter," said Philo Gubb. "I +just want to pursoo my own dooty, as I see it. I won't foller Mr. +Henry no more, if he don't like it; but I got a dooty to do, as a full +graduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School +of Deteckating. I got to do my level best to catch them dynamiters +myself." + +Joe Henry frowned, and Pie-Wagon Pete shook his head. + +"If you'll take my advice, Gubby," he said, "you'll drop that case +right here an' now. You don't know what dangerous characters them +gools are. If they start to get you--" + +"You want to read that book--'The Pale Avengers'--I just gave you," +said Billy Getz, "and then you'll know more." + +"Well, I won't interfere with you, Mr. Henry," said Philo Gubb. "But +I'll do my dooty as I see it. Fear don't frighten me. The first words +in Lesson One is these: 'The deteckative must be a man devoid of +fear.' I can't go back on that. If them gools want to kill me, I can't +object. Deteckating is a dangerous employment, and I know it." + +He went out and closed the door. + +"There," said Pie-Wagon Pete. "Ain't that better than beatin' him up?" + +"Maybe," said Joe Henry grudgingly. "Chances are--he's such a +dummy--he'll go right ahead follerin' me. He needs a good scare +thrown into him." + +Billy Getz slid from his stool and ran his hands deep into his +pockets, jingling a few coins and a bunch of keys. + +"Want me to scare him?" he asked pleasantly. + +"Say! You can do it, too!" said Joe Henry eagerly. "You're the feller +that can kid him to death. Go ahead. If you do, I'll give you a case +of Six Star. Ain't that so, Pete?" + +"Absolutely," said Pie-Wagon. + +"That's a bet," said Billy Getz pleasantly. "Leave it to the Kidders." + +Philo Gubb went straight to his room at the Widow Murphy's, and having +taken off his shoes and coat, leaned back in his chair with his feet +on the bed, and opened "The Pale Avengers." He had never before read a +dime novel, and this opened a new world to him. He read breathlessly. +The style of the story was somewhat like this:-- + + The picture on the wall swung aside and Detective Brown + stared into the muzzles of two revolvers and the sharp eyes + of the youngest of the Pale Avengers. A thrill of horror + swept through the detective. He felt his doom was at hand. + But he did not cringe. + + "Your time has come!" said the Avenger. + + "Be not too sure," said Detective Brown haughtily. + + "Are you ready to die?" + + "Ever ready!" + + The detective extended his hand toward the table, on which + his revolver lay. A cruel laugh greeted him. It was the + last human voice he was to hear. As if by magic the floor + under his feet gave way. Down, down, down, a thousand feet + he was precipitated. He tried to grasp the well-like walls + of masonry, but in vain. Nothing could stay him. As he + plunged into the deep water of the oubliette a fiendish + laugh echoed in his ears. The Pale Avengers had destroyed + one more of their adversaries. + +Until he read this thrilling tale, Philo Gubb had not guessed the +fiendishness of malefactors when brought to bay, and yet here it was +in black and white. The oubliette--a dark, dank dungeon hidden beneath +the ground--was a favorite method of killing detectives, it seemed. +Generally speaking, the oubliette seemed to be the prevailing fashion +in vengeful murder. Sometimes the bed sank into the oubliette; +sometimes the floor gave way and cast the victim into the oubliette; +sometimes the whole room sank slowly into the oubliette; but death for +the victim always lurked in the pit. + +Before getting into bed Philo Gubb examined the walls, the floor, and +the ceiling of his room. They seemed safe and secure, but twice during +the night he awoke with a cry, imagining himself sinking through the +floor. + +Three nights later, as Philo Gubb stood in the dark doorway of the +Willcox Building waiting to pick up any suspicious character, Billy +Getz slipped in beside him and drew him hastily to the back of the +entry. + +"Hush! Not a word!" he whispered. "Did you see a man in the window +across the street? The third window on the top floor?" + +"No," whispered Philo Gubb. "Was--was there one?" + +"With a rifle!" whispered Billy Getz. "Ready to pick you off. Come! It +is suicide for you to try to go out the front way now. Follow me; I +have news for you. Step quietly!" + +He led the paper-hanger through the back corridor to the open air and +up the outside back stairs to the third floor and into the building. +He tapped lightly on a door and it was opened the merest crack. + +"Friends," whispered Billy Getz, and the door opened wide and admitted +them. + +The room was the club-room of the Kidders, where they gathered night +after night to play cards and drink illicit whiskey. Green shades over +which were hung heavy curtains protected the windows. A large, round +table stood in the middle of the floor under the gas-lights; a couch +was in one corner of the room; and these, with the chairs and a +formless heap in a far corner, over which a couch-cover was thrown, +constituted all the furniture, except for the iron cuspidors. Here the +young fellows came for their sport, feeling safe from intrusion, for +the possession of whiskey was against the law. There was a fine of +five hundred dollars--one half to the informer--for the misdemeanor of +having whiskey in one's possession, but the Kidders had no fear. They +knew each other. + +For the moment the cards were put away and the couch-cover hid the +four cases of Six Star that represented the club's stock of liquor. +The five young men already in the room were sitting around the table. + +"Sit down, Detective Gubb," said Billy Getz. "Here we are safe. Here +we may talk freely. And we have something big to talk to-night." + +Philo Gubb moved a chair to the table. He had to push one of the +cuspidors aside to make room, and as he pushed it with his foot he saw +an oblong of paper lying in it among the sand and cigar stubs. It was +a Six Star whiskey label. He turned his head from it with his +bird-like twist of the neck and let his eyes rest on Billy Getz. + +"We know who dynamited those houses!" said Billy Getz suddenly. "Do +you know Jack Harburger?" + +"No," said Philo Gubb. "I don't know him." + +"Well, we do," said Billy Getz. "He's the slickest ever. He was the +boss of the gang. Read this!" + +He slid a sheet of note-paper across to Philo Gubb, and the detective +read it slowly:-- + + Billy: Send me five hundred dollars quick. I've got to get + away from here. J. H. + +"And we made him our friend," said Billy Getz resentfully. "Why, he +was here the night of the dynamiting--wasn't he, boys?" + +"He sure was," said the Kidders. + +"Now, he's nothing to us," said Billy Getz. "Now, what do you say, +Detective Gubb? If we fix it so you can grab him, will you split the +reward with us?" + +"Half for you and half for me?" asked Philo Gubb, his eyes as big as +poker chips. + +"Three thousand for you and two for us, was what we figured was fair," +said Billy Getz. "You ought to have the most. You put in your +experience and your education in detective work." + +"And that ought to be worth something," admitted Philo Gubb. + +So it was agreed. They explained to Philo Gubb that Jack Harburger was +the son of old Harburger of the Harburger House at Derlingport, and +that they could count on the clerk of that hotel to help them. Billy +Getz would go up and get things ready, and the next day Philo Gubb +would appear at the hotel--in disguise, of course--and do his part. +The clerk would give him a room next to Jack Harburger's room, and see +that there was a hidden opening in the partition; and Billy Getz, +pretending he was bringing the money, would wring a full confession +from Jack Harburger. Then Philo Gubb need only step into the room and +snap the handcuffs on Jack Harburger and collect the reward. + +They shook hands all 'round, finally, and Billy Getz went to the +window to see that no ghoul was lurking in the street, ready to murder +Philo Gubb when he went out. As he turned away from the window the +toe of his shoe caught in the fringe of the couch-cover and dragged it +partially from the odd-shaped pile in the corner. With a quick sweep +of his hand Billy Getz replaced the cover, but not before Philo Gubb +had seen the necks of a full case of bottles and had caught the glint +of the label on one of them, bearing the six silver stars, like that +in the cuspidor. Billy Getz cast a quick glance at the Correspondence +School detective's face, but Philo Gubb, his head well back on his +stiff neck, was already gazing at the door. + +Two days later Philo Gubb, with his telescope valise in his hand, +boarded the morning train for Derlingport. The river was on one of its +"rampages" and the water came close to the tracks. Here and there, on +the way to Derlingport, the water was over the tracks, and in many +places the wagon-road, which followed the railway, was completely +swamped, and the passing vehicles sank in the muddy water to their +hubs. The year is still known as the "year of the big flood." In +Riverbank the water had flooded the Front Street cellars, and in +Derlingport the sewers had backed up, flooding the entire lower part +of the town. + +When the train reached Derlingport Philo Gubb, with his telescope +valise, which contained his twelve Correspondence School lessons, "The +Pale Avengers," a pair of handcuffs, his revolver, and three extra +disguises, walked toward the Harburger House. He was already +thoroughly disguised, wearing a coal-black beard and a red mustache +and an iron-gray wig with long hair. Luckily he passed no one. With +that disguise he would have drawn an immense crowd. Nothing like it +had ever been seen on the streets of Derlingport--or elsewhere, for +that matter. + +A full block away Philo Gubb saw the sign of the hotel, and he +immediately became cautious, as a detective should. He crossed the +street and observed the exits. There was a main entrance on the +corner, a "Ladies' Entrance" at the side, and an entrance to what had +once been the bar-room. From the fire-escape one could drop to the +street without great injury. + +Philo Gubb noted all these, and then walked to the alley. There were +two doors opening on the alley--one a cook's door, and the other +evidently leading to the cellar. At the latter a dray stood, and as +Philo Gubb paused there, two men came from this door and laid a bale +of hay on the dray, pushing it forward carefully. They did not toss it +carelessly onto the dray but slid it onto the dray. And the hay was +wet. Moreover, the two men were two of Joe Henry's men, and that was +odd. It was odd that Joe Henry should send a dray the full thirty +miles to Derlingport to get a load of wet hay, when he could get all +the dry hay he wanted in Riverbank. But it did not impress Philo Gubb. +He hurried to the main entrance of the hotel, and entered. + +The lobby of the Harburger House was large, and gloomy in its +old-fashioned black-walnut woodwork. Except for one man sitting at a +desk by the window and writing industriously, and the clerk behind the +counter, the lobby was untenanted. To the left a huge stairway led to +the gloom above, for the hotel boasted no elevator except the huge +"baggage lift," which had been put in in the palmy days of the house, +when the great river packets were still a business factor. + +Philo Gubb walked across the lobby to the clerk's desk. The +industrious penman by the window glanced over his shoulder. He looked +more like a hotel clerk than like a traveling salesman, but Philo Gubb +gave this no thought. The clerk behind the desk put his fingers on his +lips. + +"Sh!" he whispered. "Are you Detective Gubb? Good! I've been expecting +you. Have you a gun?" + +"In my telescope case," whispered Philo Gubb. + +"Take this one," said the clerk, handing the paper-hanger-detective a +glittering revolver. "Be careful. Come--I'll show you the room." + +He came from behind the desk and picked up Philo Gubb's telescope +valise and led the way up the dingy stairway. Luckily for Billy Getz's +great practical joke, Philo Gubb had never seen Jack Harburger, or he +would have recognized him in the plump little man carrying his +telescope valise. Up three flights of dark stairs, Jack Harburger led +Philo Gubb, and at the landing of the fourth floor he stopped. + +[Illustration: "THESE HERE IS FALSE WHISKERS AND HAIR"] + +"You were taking a risk--a big risk--coming undisguised," he said. + +"But I am disguised," said Philo Gubb. "These here is false whiskers +and hair." + +"What!" exclaimed Jack Harburger. "Wonderful work! A splendid make-up, +detective! You fooled me with it, and I was on my guard. You'll do. +Bend down like an old man. That's it! Now, listen: I have cut a hole +through the wall from your room into Jack's. You can hear every word +he speaks. Have you pencil and paper? Good! Jot down every word you +hear. And don't make a sound. If you are discovered--well, they're a +desperate gang. Come!" + +He led the way through a long, dark corridor that turned and twisted. +At the extreme end he stopped, put down the telescope valise, and drew +a key from his pocket. + +"That's Jack's room," he breathed softly, "and you go in here. Sorry +it isn't a better room. We had to use it, and you won't be here long, +anyway." + +He opened the door. It was a large door that swung outward, and it +occupied one half of one side of the room. The floor of the room was +carpeted, and the walls were papered, as was the ceiling. There was no +window, but an electric light burned in the center of the ceiling. +Across the far side of the room stood a narrow iron bed, with a small +bureau beside it. Jack Harburger pointed to a hole in the wall-paper. + +"That's your ear-hole," he whispered, and Philo Gubb stepped into the +room. Instantly the door slammed behind him, the key turned in the +lock, and he heard a heavy iron bar clank as it fell into place +outside. He was a prisoner, caught like a rat in a trap, and he knew +it! He threw himself against the door, but it did not give. The +electric light above his head went dark. He put out his hand, and the +wall gave slightly. He drew the revolver and waited, dreading what +might next occur. He heard soft footsteps outside the door, and, +raising the revolver, pulled the trigger. The trigger snapped +harmlessly. He had been tricked, tricked all around. + +"Is the oubliette prepared?" whispered a voice outside. + +"All ready for him. Twelve feet of water. He'll drown like a rat." + +"Good. A slow death, like a rat in a trap--like we served the other +two. Then get rid of his body the same way." + +"A stone on it, and the river?" + +"Yes. They never come up again." + +The voices died away along the corridor, and Philo Gubb was left in +utter silence. Oubliette! The fate of the detectives of "The Pale +Avengers" was to be his! Suddenly the room began to quiver. The floor +and the walls trembled and creaked, and Philo Gubb threw himself once +more against the door. He shouted and beat upon it with his hands. +Inch by inch, creaking and swaying, the room glided downward. The +door seemed to glide upward beyond the ceiling, giving place to a +solid wall. He turned and beat on the side of the room, and it gave +forth a hollow sound. As he moved, the room swayed under his feet. He +was doomed! + +Alone in the darkness, his fear suddenly gave way to a feeling of +pride. He was dangerous enough, then, to be thought worthy of death? +His last drop of doubt oozed out of his mind. He was--he must be--a +great detective, or such means would not have been taken to get rid of +him. He felt a sort of calm joy in this. His murderers knew his +prowess. + +Locked in the room, going down to certain death, he exulted. And if he +was as great as all that, it could not be that his position was +hopeless. Time and again Carl Carroll, the Boy Detective, had been in +equally precarious positions, but in the end he had brought the Pale +Avengers low. And what a boy, untrained, could do, a graduate of the +Rising Sun Correspondence School of Detecting ought to be able to do! +He drew his knife from his pocket and cut into the wall-paper of the +side wall. + +Being a paper-hanger, the first touch of his hand against the side +wall had told him the wall-paper was pasted on canvas and not on a +solid wall, and now he ripped the canvas away. The wall was of rough +boards, scarred and marred. The opposite wall was the same. He kneeled +on the bed and tried the rear wall. He felt the plastered wall gliding +upward. He stood on the bed and ripped the canvas ceiling away. + +As he ripped the ceiling away, light entered the cage from a dirty +skylight far above. Just over his head a heavy iron grating covered +the cage, barring him in, but high up he could see the great drum, +from which the cable slowly unwound as the car descended. He was in an +elevator, but this knowledge gave him small comfort. Cage, room, or +elevator--call it what he chose--it was relentlessly descending into +the flooded cellar. He watched the drum with fascinated eyes, as the +wire cable unwound itself. He lay back on the bed, his feet hanging to +the floor, and stared upward. He could not take his eyes from the +revolving drum. It was like a clock, marking the moments he still had +to live. + +But suddenly he was galvanized into action. Over his feet something +cold ran, making him jerk them from the floor. It was the water of the +oubliette, and he gazed on it with horror as it rose, inch by inch, +toward him. Slowly, as the car dropped, the water crept up. It reached +the first drawer of the small bureau. It crept up to the side rails of +the bed. It wet the mattress--and still it rose. He stood on the bed +and grasped the iron grating above his head. + +"Stop!" whispered a voice above his head, and the creaking cage +stopped. + +"Gubb! Detective Gubb!" whispered the voice, and Philo Gubb looked +upward. "Listen, Detective Gubb," said the voice. "One touch of my +hand on the lever, and you will be dropped beneath the waters, never +to appear again, except dead. One only chance remains for your life, +and, blackened with crime though we are, we offer you that chance. If +you will swear to leave the State, never to return, we will spare you. +What say you, Philo Gubb?" + +It was an offer no mortal could refuse. Life, after all, is sweet. +Philo Gubb, the relentless Correspondence School detective, opened his +mouth, but as he turned his head upward, he closed it again and licked +his lips twice. + +"No, durn ye!" he shouted angrily. "I won't never do no such thing!" + +There was a hurried whispering of many voices above him. + +"Think well," said the voice again. "We will give you until midnight +to reconsider your rashness. Until midnight, Detective Gubb!" + +"You can't scare _me_!" shouted Philo Gubb. + +"Until midnight!" repeated the voice, and then there was silence. + +Philo Gubb immediately drew his heavy pocket-knife from his pocket and +began cutting out one of the panels of the door that shut him in on +one side. He did not work hurriedly. He was not at all frightened. +Looking up, he had seen the drum, and there was no more cable on the +drum to be unwound. The car could descend no farther. His feet were as +wet as they could get. Unless the river rose to unbelievable height, +he could not be drowned in the makeshift oubliette, unless he +voluntarily lay down in the shallow water and inhaled it. He worked on +the panel slowly, but with the earnestness of a very angry victim of a +hoax. The panel fell outward with a splash, and floated away. Philo +Gubb bent sideways and squeezed out of the small opening into the +cellar. + +The huge cellar was dusky in the dim light that entered through the +cobwebbed panes, high in the wall. It was an immense place, and now +knee-deep in water, except for a gangway of boards laid on low +trestles, which led from one side of the cellar to the cellar door. +There were coal-bins and vegetable-bins, like watery bays leading from +the general cellar sea, and--strange appliance to discover in a hotel +cellar--a small hay-baling press stood on an extemporized platform +against one wall, and alongside it, on a long table, such as are seen +in factories, bales of hay, some complete and some torn open--and +cases! The cases were labeled "Blue River Canned Tomatoes," but one, +split across the end, gave evidence that their contents were not +canned tomatoes at all. Through the crack in the case glittered the +six silver stars of the Six Star whiskey. There were twenty-six of the +cases. + +Philo Gubb waded to the raised gangway and walked to the cellar door. +It was double-barred on the inside, and he lifted the bars cautiously +and stepped into the alley, closing the door carefully behind him. He +pulled his false whiskers and wig from his face and stuffed them in +his pockets and hurried down the alley. + +When he returned, Billy Getz, Jack Harburger, and six of the Kidders +were holding high revel in the closed bar-room of the Harburger House, +but they all fell silent when the door opened and the Sheriff of +Derling County entered, with Philo Gubb and three deputies in company. +It was evident that the Sheriff did not consider Philo Gubb a joke. + +"Search-warrant, Jack," he said to Harburger. "Detective Gubb, of +Riverbank, has been doing some sleuthing in your hotel, he says. We +want to have a look at the cellar." + +The next morning the "Riverbank Eagle" was full of Philo Gubb again. +Through the superb acumen of that wonderful detective, three stores of +whiskey had been discovered and confiscated--one in the cellar of the +Harburger House at Derlingport; one in Joe Henry's stable at +Riverbank; and a smaller one in the room in the Willcox Building +frequented by the "Kidders." + +"How I done it?" said Philo Gubb to one of his admirers. "I done it +like a deteckative does it--a deteckative that wants to detect--picks +up some feller that looks suspicious-like, like it says in Lesson +Four, Rule Four. And then he shadows and trails him, like it says in +Lesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen. And then somethin's bound to +happen." + +"But how can you tell what's goin' to happen?" asked his admirer. + +"Well, sir," said Philo Gubb, "that's the beauty of the deteckative +business. You don't ever know what's goin' to happen until it +happens." + + + + +THE UN-BURGLARS + + +Although Detective Gubb's experience with the oubliette-elevator did +not lead to the detection of the dynamiters for whom a reward of five +thousand dollars was offered, it resulted in the payment to him of one +half of three fines of five hundred dollars for each of the three +stores of whiskey he had unearthed. With this money, amounting to +seven hundred and fifty dollars, Mr. Gubb went to the home of Jonas +Medderbrook and paid that gentleman the entire amount. + +"That there payment," Mr. Gubb said, "deducted from what I owe onto +them shares of Perfectly Worthless Gold-Mine Stock--" + +"The name of the mine, if you please, is Utterly Hopeless and not +Perfectly Worthless," said Mr. Medderbrook severely. + +"Just so," said Mr. Gubb apologetically. "You must excuse me, Mr. +Medderbrook. I ain't no expert onto gold-mines' names and, offhand, +them two names seem about the same to me. But my remark was to be that +the indebtedness of the liability I now owe you is only thirteen +thousand seven hundred and fifty dollars." + +"And the sooner you get it paid up the better it will suit me," said +Mr. Medderbrook. + +"Yes, sir," said Mr. Gubb, and hesitated. Then, assuming an air of +little concern, he asked: "It ain't likely to suppose we've had any +word from Miss Syrilla, is it, Mr. Medderbrook?" + +For answer Mr. Medderbrook went to his desk and brought Mr. Gubb a +telegram. It was from Syrilla. It said:-- + + Eating no potatoes, drinking no water. Have lost eight + pounds. Kind love to Mr. Gubb. + +"She's wore herself down to nine hundred and ninety-two pounds, +according to that," said Mr. Gubb. "She has only got to wear off two +hundred and ninety-two pounds more before Mr. Dorgan will discharge +her away from the side-show." + +"And at the rate she is wearing herself away," said Mr. Medderbrook, +"that will be in about ten years! What interests me more is that the +telegram came collect and cost me forty cents. If you want to do the +square thing, Mr. Gubb, you'll pay me twenty cents for your share of +that telegram." + +Mr. Gubb immediately gave Mr. Medderbrook twenty cents and Mr. +Medderbrook kindly allowed him to keep the telegram. Mr. Gubb placed +it in the pocket nearest his heart and proceeded to a house on Tenth +Street where he had a job of paper-hanging. + +At about this same time Smith Wittaker, the Riverbank Marshal--or +Chief of Police, as he would have been called in a larger +city--knocked the ashes from his pipe against the edge of his +much-whittled desk in the dingy Marshal's room on the ground floor of +the City Hall, and grinned at Mr. Griscom, one of Riverbank's +citizens. + +"Well, I don't know," he said with a grin. "I don't know but what I'd +be glad to be un-burgled like that. I guess it was just somebody +playing a joke on you." + +"If it was," said Mr. Griscom, "I am ready to do a little joking +myself. I'm just enough of a joker to want to see whoever it was in +jail. My house is my house--it is my castle, as the saying is--and I +don't want strangers wandering in and out of it, whether they come to +take away my property, or leave property that is not mine. Is there, +or is there not, a law against such things as happened at my house?" + +"Oh, there's a law all right," said Marshal Wittaker. "It's burglary, +whether the burglar breaks into your house or breaks out of it. How do +you know he broke out?" + +"Well, my wife and I went to the Riverbank Theater last night," said +Mr. Griscom, "and when I got home and went to put the key in the +keyhole, there was another key in it. Here are the two keys." + +Marshal Wittaker took the two keys and examined them. One was an old +doorkey, much worn, and the other a new key, evidently the work of an +amateur key-maker. + +"All right," said Marshal Wittaker, when he had examined the keys. +"This new one was made out of an old spoon. Go ahead." + +"We never had a key like that in the house," said Mr. Griscom. "But +when we reached home last night, this nickel-silver key was sticking +in the lock of the front door, on the outside, and the door was +unlocked and standing ajar." + +"Just as if some one had gone in at the front door and left it +unlocked," said Mr. Wittaker. + +"Exactly!" said Mr. Griscom. "So the first thing we thought was +'Burglars!' and the first place my wife looked was the sideboard, in +the dining-room, and there--" + +"Yes," said Mr. Wittaker. "There, on the sideboard, were a dozen solid +silver spoons you had never seen before." + +"And marked with my wife's initials--understand!" said Mr. Griscom. +"And the cellar window--the one on the east side of the house--had +been broken out of." + +"Why not broken into?" asked the Marshal. + +"Well, I'm not quite a fool," said Mr. Griscom with some heat. "I know +because of the marks his jimmy made on the sill." + +"Some one has been playing a joke on you," said Mr. Wittaker. "You +wait, and you'll see. You won't be offended if I ask you a question?" + +"My wife knows no more about it than I do," said Mr. Griscom hotly. + +"Now, now," said Mr. Wittaker soothingly. "I didn't mean that. What +are your own spoons, solid or plated?" + +"Plated," said Mr. Griscom. + +"Well," said Mr. Wittaker, "there's where to look for the joke. Try to +think who would consider it a joke to send you solid silver spoons." + +"Billy Getz!" exclaimed Mr. Griscom, mentioning the town joker. + +"That's the man I had in mind," said Mr. Wittaker. "Now, I guess you +can handle this alone, Mr. Griscom." + +"I guess I can," agreed Mr. Griscom. And he went out. + +The Marshal chuckled. + +"Un-burgled!" he said to himself. "That's a new one for sure! That's +the sort of burglary to set Philo Gubb, the un-detective, on." + +He was still grinning as he went out, but he tried to hide the grin +when he met Billy Getz on Main Street. Billy uttered a hasty "Can't +stop now, Wittaker!" but the head of the Riverbank police grasped his +arm. + +"What's your rush? I've got some fun for you," said Wittaker. + +"Some other time," said Billy. "I just borrowed this from Doc Mortimer +and promised to take it back quick." + +"What is it?" asked the Marshal, gazing at the curious affair Billy +had in his hands. It looked very much like a coffeepot, and on the lid +was a wheel, like a small tin windmill. Just below the lid, and above +the spout, was a hole as large as a dime. + +"Lung-tester," said Billy, trying to pull away. "Let me go, will you, +Wittaker? I'm in a hurry. Just borrowed it to settle a bet with Sam +Simmons. I show two pounds more lung pressure than he does. Twenty-six +pounds." + +"You?" scoffed Wittaker. "I bet I can show twenty-eight, if you can +show twenty-six." + +"Oh, well! I suppose I can't get away until baby tries the new toy. +But hurry up, will you?" + +The Marshal put his lips to the spout and blew. Instantly, from the +hole under the lid, a great cloud of flour shot out, covering his face +and head, and deluging his garments. From up and down the street came +shouts of joy, and the Marshal, brushing at his face, grinned. + +"One on me, Billy," he said, good-naturedly, patting the flour out of +his hair, "and just when I was coming to put you onto some fun, too. +What do you know about the Griscom un-burglary?" + +"Not a thing!" Billy said. "Tell me." + +"I didn't expect you would know anything about it," said the Marshal +with a wink. "But how about putting Correspondence School Detective +Gubb onto the job?" + +"Fine!" said Billy. "Tell me what the un-burgled Griscom thing is, and +I'll do the rest." + +Billy found Philo Gubb at work in the house on Tenth Street, hanging +paper on the second floor, and the lank detective looked at Billy +solemnly as the story of the Griscom affair was explained to him. + +"When I started in takin' lessons from the Rising Sun Deteckative +Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating," said Mr. Gubb +solemnly, "I aimed to do a strictly retail business in deteckating, +and let the wholesale alone." + +"Seeing that you learned by mail," said Billy Getz, "I should think +you'd be better fitted to do a mail-order business." + +"Them terms of retail and wholesale is my own," said Mr. Gubb. + +"You don't believe anybody would un-burgle a house, I guess," said +Billy. + +"Yes, I do," Philo Gubb said. "A fellow can tie a knot, or he can +un-tie it, can't he? He can hitch a horse, or he can un-hitch it. And +if a man can burgle, he can un-burgle. A mercenary burglar would +naturally burgle things out of a house after he had burgled himself +in, but a generous-hearted burglar would just as naturally un-burgle +things into a house and then un-burgle himself out. That stands to +reason." + +"Of course it does," said Billy Getz. "And I knew you would see it +that way." + +"I see things reasonable," said Philo Gubb. "But I guess I won't take +up the case; un-burgling ain't no common crime. It ain't mentioned in +the twelve lessons I got from the Rising Sun Correspondence School. I +wouldn't hardly know how to go about catching an un-burglar--" + +"Just do the opposite from what it says to do to catch a burglar," +said Billy Getz. "Common sense would tell you that, wouldn't it? But, +listen, Mr. Gubb: I'd let Wittaker catch his own burglars. The reason +I ask you to take this case is because I know you have a good heart." + +"It's good, but it's hard," said Philo Gubb. "A deteckative has to +have a hard heart." + +"All right! Here is this man, un-burgling houses. For all we know he +is honest and upright," said Billy Getz. "He continues un-burgling +houses. The habit grows. Each house he un-burgles tempts him to +un-burgle two. Each set of spoons he leaves in a house tempts him to +leave two sets in the next house, or four sets, or a solid silver +punch-bowl. In a short time he wipes out his little fortune. He +borrows. He begs. At last he steals! In order to un-burgle one house +he burgles another. He leads a dual life, a sort of Jekyll-Hyde +life--" + +"But what if I caught him?" said Mr. Gubb. + +"Oh, you won't catch--I mean, we will leave that to you. Frighten him +out of the un-burgling habit. I'll tell Marshal Wittaker you will get +on the trail?" + +"Yes," said Philo Gubb. "I feel sorry for the feller. Maybe he's +lettin' his wife and children suffer for food whilst he un-burgles +away his substance." + +"Then," said Billy Getz, taking up his lung-tester, "suppose you stop +in at the Marshal's office to-night at eight-thirty. Wittaker will +tell you all about it." + +Philo Gubb waited until Billy was well out of the house, and then he +said: "He done it, and I know he done it, and he done it to make a +fool out of me, but I guess I owe Billy Getz a scare, and if I can +prove that un-burglary onto him, he'll get the scare all right!" + +Detective Gubb, when it was time to go to the Marshal's office, pinned +his large nickel-plated star on his vest, put three false beards in +his pocket, and went. + +The Marshal received him cordially. Billy Getz was there. + +"You understand," said Wittaker, "I have nothing to do with putting +you on this case. But I want to ask you to report to me every +evening." + +"I could write out a docket," said Philo Gubb. "That's what them +French deteckatives did always." + +"Good idea!" said Wittaker. "Write out a docket, and bring it in every +night. Now, I'll go over this Griscom case, so you'll understand how +to go at it. Here, for instance, is the house--" + +The clock on the Marshal's desk marked ten before they were aware. +Billy had arisen from his chair, for he had a poker game waiting for +him at the Kidders' Club, when the telephone bell rang. The Marshal +drew the 'phone toward him. + +"Yes!" he said, into the telephone. "Yes, this is Marshal Wittaker. +Mr. Millbrook? Yes, I know--765 Locust Avenue. Broken into? What? Oh, +broken out of! While you were out at dinner. Yes. Opened the front +door with a key. Yes. What kind of a key, Mr. Millbrook? Thin, +nickel-silver key. Nothing taken? What's that? Left a dozen solid +silver spoons engraved with your wife's initials? I see. And broke out +through a cellar window. Yes, I understand. No, it doesn't seem +possible, but such things have happened. I'll send--" + +He looked around, but Philo Gubb, who had heard the name and address, +was already gone. + +"I'll attend to it at once," he concluded, and hung up the receiver. +He turned to Billy Getz. "Billy," he said severely, "is this another +of your jokes?" + +"Wittaker," said Billy, "I give you my word I had nothing to do with +this." + +"Well, I'll believe you," said Wittaker rather reluctantly. "I thought +it was you. Who do you suppose is trying to take the honor of town +cut-up from you?" + +"I can't imagine," said Billy. "Are you going to leave the thing in +Gubb's hands?" + +"That mail-order detective? Not much! It is getting serious. I'll send +Purcell up to look the ground over. A man can't make nickel-silver +keys, and break out of houses and leave engraved spoons and forks +around without leaving plenty of traces. We'll have the man to-morrow, +and give him a good scare." + +Detective Gubb in the meanwhile had gone directly to Mr. Millbrook's +un-burgled house at 765 Locust Avenue. Mr. Millbrook, a short, stout +man with a husky voice that gurgled when he was excited, opened the +door. + +"I'm Deteckative Gubb, of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's +Correspondence School of Deteckating, come to see about your +un-burglary," said Philo Gubb, opening his coat to show his badge. +"This is a most peculiar case." + +"I never heard anything like it in my life!" gurgled Mr. Millbrook. +"Didn't take a thing. Left a dozen spoons. Came in at the front door +and broke out through the cellar window." + +"How long have you been married?" asked Mr. Gubb, seating himself on +the edge of a chair and drawing out a notebook and pencil. + +"Married? Married? What's that got to do with it?" asked Mr. +Millbrook. "Twenty years next June, if you want to know." + +"That makes it a difficult case," said Philo Gubb. "If you was a bride +and a groom it would be easier, but I guess maybe you can tell me the +names of some of the folks you've had to dinner." + +"Dinner?" gurgled Mr. Millbrook. "Dinner? When?" + +"Since you were married," said Mr. Gubb. + +"My dear man," exclaimed Mr. Millbrook, "we've had thousands to +dinner! Dining out and giving dinners is our favorite amusement. I +can't see what you mean. I can't understand you." + +"Well, you got plated spoons and forks, ain't you?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"What if we have?" gurgled Mr. Millbrook. "That's our affair, ain't +it?" + +"It's my affair too," said Detective Gubb. "Mr. Griscom's house was +un-burgled last night, and he had plated spoons. The un-burglar left +solid ones on him, like he did on you. Now, I reason induc-i-tively, +like Sherlock Holmes. You both got plated spoons. An un-burglar leaves +you solid ones. So he must have known you had plated ones and needed +solid ones. So it must be some one who has had dinner with you." + +"My dear man," gurgled Mr. Millbrook, "we never have had a plated +spoon in this house! Who sent you here, anyway?" + +"Nobody," said Philo Gubb. "I come of myself." + +"Well, you can go of yourself!" gurgled Mr. Millbrook angrily. +"There's the door. Get out!" + +On his way out Mr. Gubb met Patrolman Purcell coming in. + +[Illustration: "WHO SENT YOU HERE, ANYWAY?"] + +Detective Gubb, outside the house, examined the cellar window as well +as he could. There was not a mark to be seen from the outside, but a +pansy-bed bore the marks of the un-burglar's exit. To get out of the +cellar, the un-burglar had had to wiggle himself out of the small +window, and had crushed the pansies flat. Detective Gubb felt +carefully among the crushed pansies, and his hand found something hard +and round. It was the drumstick bone of a chicken's leg. Detective +Gubb threw it away. Even an un-burglar would not have chosen a +chicken's leg bone as a weapon. Evidently Billy Getz had not left any +clue in the pansy-bed. + +Philo Gubb had no doubt that Billy was putting up a joke on him. The +detective decided that his best method would be to shadow Billy Getz +from sundown each day, until he caught him un-burgling another house, +or found something to connect him with the un-burglaries. So he went +home. It was eleven when he began to undress. + +It was then he first realized that the knees of his light trousers +were damp from kneeling in the pansy-bed, and he looked at them +ruefully. The knees were stained like Joseph's coat of many colors, +and they were his best trousers. He hung them carefully over the back +of his chair, and went to bed. + +The next morning he rolled the trousers in a bundle and took them with +him on his way to his paper-hanging job. On Main Street he stopped at +Frank the Tailor's--"Pants Cleaned and Pressed, 35 Cents." He unrolled +the trousers and laid them across the counter. + +"Can you remove those stains?" he asked. + +"Oh, sure I couldt!" said Frank. "I make me no droubles by dot, Mister +Gupp. Shust dis morning alretty I didt it der same ding. You fall ofer +der vire too, yes?" + +"Certainly. I expect it was the same wire. Into a flower-bed." + +"Chess," said Frank. "Like Misder Vestcote, yes? Cudding across der +corner, yes, und didn't see der vire?" + +"That so?" said Detective Gubb. "You don't mean old Mr. Westcote, do +you?" + +"Sure, yes!" said Frank. "He falls by der flower-bed in, und stains +his knees alretty, shust like dot. Vell, I have me dese pants retty by +you dis efenings. You vant dem pressed too?" + +"Press 'em, an' clean 'em, an' make 'em nice," said Philo Gubb, and +went out. + +[Illustration: UNDER HIS ARM HE CARRIED A SMALL BUNDLE] + +Old John Westcote, and pansy stains on his trouser knees, was it? The +thing seemed impossible, but so did un-burglary, for that matter. Old +John Westcote was one of the richest men in Riverbank. He was a +retired merchant and as mean as sin. He was the last man in Riverbank +any one would suspect of leaving spoons and forks in other people's +houses. But how did it come that he had pansy stains on the knees of +his trousers? Philo Gubb thought of old John Westcote all day, and +toward night he hit on a solution. Wedding presents! From what he had +heard, old John was--or had been--the sort of man to accept a wedding +invitation, go to the reception and eat his fill, and never send the +bride so much as a black wire hairpin. And now, grown old, his +conscience might be hurting him. He might be in that semi-senile state +when restitution becomes a craze, and the ungiven wedding presents +might press upon his conscience. It was not at all unlikely that he +had chosen the un-burglary method of giving the presents at this +late date. The form of the un-burgled goods--forks and spoons--and the +initials engraved upon them, made this more likely. + +That night Detective Gubb did not report in person or by docket to +Marshal Wittaker. At seven o'clock he was hiding in the hazel brush +opposite old John Westcote's lonely house on Pottex Lane. At +seven-fifteen the old man tottered from his gate and tottered down the +lane toward the more thickly settled part of the town. Under his arm +he carried a small bundle--a bundle wrapped in newspaper! + +Detective Gubb waited until the old man was well in advance, and then +slipped from the hazel brush and followed him, observing all the rules +for Shadowing and Trailing as taught by the Rising Sun Detective +Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting. For three hours the old +man wandered the streets. Now he walked along Main Street, peering +anxiously into the faces of the pedestrians, with purblind eyes, and +now walking the residence streets. Detective Gubb kept close behind. + +As ten o'clock struck from the clock in the High School tower, old +John Westcote quickened his steps a little and walked toward the +opposite end of the town, where the lumber-yards are. Down the hill +into the lumber district he walked, and Detective Gubb dodged from +tree to tree. Halfway down the hill the old man hesitated. He glanced +around. At his side was a mass of lilac bushes, seeming strangely out +of place among the huge piles of lumber. Without stopping, the old man +let the bundle slide from under his arm and fall on the walk. For a +moment it lay like a white spot on the walk, and then it moved rapidly +out of sight into the bushes. + +Bundles do not move thus, unless assisted, but Philo Gubb was too far +away to see the hand he knew must have reached out for the bundle. He +ran rapidly, keeping in the sawdust that formed the unfruitful soil of +the lumber-yard, until he dared come no nearer, and then he climbed to +the top of the tallest lumber-pile and lay flat. He commanded every +side of the hillside lumber-yard, and he did not have long to wait. +From the lower side of the yard he saw a black figure emerge, cross +the street and disappear over the bank into the railway switch-yard +below. Mr. Gubb scrambled down and followed. + +At the bank above the switch-yard he paused, keeping in a shadow, and +looked here and there. Flat cars and box cars stood on the tracks in +great numbers, most of them closed and sealed--some partly open. He +heard a car door grate as it was closed. He slipped down the bank and +crept on his hands and knees. He was halfway down the line of cars +when he heard a voice. It came from car 7887, C. B. & Q. + +"Run all the breath out of me," said the voice in a wheeze. + +"Well, did you get it?" whispered another voice. + +"Sure I got it! Got something, anyway. Strike a match, Bill, and let's +see if he put up a job on us. If he did, we'll blow him up to-morrow +night, hey?" + +"That's right. We got a can o' powder left under the pile by the +laylocks. How much is it?" + +"We tol' him one thousand, didn't we? Same as he give the Law and +Order to help grab us. Now, listen! You take half of this and go one +way, an' I'll take half an' go the other. We can get away with five +hundred apiece." + +"And we got the five hundred apiece we got for doin' the dynamite job, +too. Say, I never thought to have a thousand dollars at once in me +life. What's that?" + +It was Philo Gubb, slipping the car door latch over the staple and +hammering home the hasp with a rock. It was the engine, backing +against the long row of cars to make a coupling, and then moving +slowly forward toward Derlingport as the heavy train got under way. +The two rascals hammered on the side of the car with their fists. They +swore. They kicked against the doors. Philo Gubb drew himself into the +next open car as the train moved away. + +About the same time, Officer Purcell entered the Marshal's office, +where Wittaker and Billy Getz sat awaiting the coming of Philo Gubb. +Purcell led John Gutman, the town half-wit. + +"I got him," he said proudly. "Caught him comin' out of Sam Wentz's +cellar window. Says he didn't mean no harm. Had a dream he was to +leave spoons on all the society folks an' he'd be invited to all their +parties." + +"Did he fight you?" asked Wittaker. "Your pants is all stained up." + +"Fight? No, he wouldn't fight a sheep. I tripped over a wire fence +cuttin' a corner an' fell into a flower-bed. Got Hail Columbia from +the lady, too. She said old man Westcote fell into the flowers +yesterday, and she didn't mean to have her flower-bed used as no +landin' place. Heard from Detective Gubb yet?" + +Wittaker grinned. "We ought to hear from him soon. And I reckon he'll +be worth waiting to hear from." + +And he was. Word came from him about an hour later. It was a telegram +from the Sheriff of Derling County:-- + + Detective Gubb captured two of the dynamiters to-night. Have + their confession. Arrest Pie-Wagon Pete, Long Sam Underbury, + and Shorty Billings. All implicated. + +"An' the rewards tot up to five thousand dollars," said Officer +Purcell. "Let's hustle out an' nab the other three, an' maybe we can +split it with Gubb." + +"And us sitting here thinking we had a joke on him!" exclaimed Marshal +Wittaker with disgust. "It makes me sick!" + +"Well, I feel a little bilious myself," said Billy Getz. + + + + +THE TWO-CENT STAMP + + +The house in Tenth Street where Philo Gubb was doing a job of +paper-hanging when he made the happy error of capturing the dynamiters +while seeking the un-burglars was the home of Aunt Martha Turner, a +member of the Ladies' Temperance League of Riverbank. + +The members of the Ladies' Temperance League--and Aunt Martha Turner +particularly--had recently begun a movement to have City Attorney +Mullen impeached and thrown out of office, for they claimed that while +he had been elected by the Prohibition-Republican Party, and had +pledged himself to close every saloon, he had not closed one single +saloon. Aunt Martha Turner and her associates believed this was +because Attorney Mullen was himself a drinker of beer, and it was to +get proof of this that the hot-headed ladies had engaged a youth named +Slippery Williams to make a raid on his home. + +Detective Gubb was, however, quite unconscious of all this when he +proceeded to the home of Aunt Martha to complete his work there. He +was in an unhappy frame of mind, for he had in his pocket nothing but +one two-cent stamp and he had immediate need for one hundred dollars. + +Mr. Gubb had, early that morning, visited the home of Mr. +Medderbrook, from whom he hoped to have news of Syrilla, but the +colored butler informed him that Mr. Medderbrook had been called to +Chicago. + +"He done lef word, howsomedever," said the butler, "dat ef you come +an' was willin' to pay thutty cents you could have dis telegraf whut +come from Mis' Syrilla. An' he lef dis note fo' you, whut you can have +whever you pay or not." + +Mr. Gubb quite willingly gave the negro thirty cents, the very last +money he possessed, and read the telegram. It said:-- + + Hope on, hope ever. Have given up wheat bread, corn bread, + rye bread, home-made bread, bakers' bread, biscuit and + rolls. Have lost six pounds more. Love to Gubby. + +This would have sent Mr. Gubb to his work in a happy frame of mind, +had it not been for the note Mr. Medderbrook had left. This note +said:-- + + Called to Chicago suddenly. I must have one hundred dollars + payment on account of the gold stock immediately. Cannot let + my daughter marry a man who puts off paying for gold stock + forever. Unless I hear from you with money to-morrow, all is + over between us. + +Such a letter would have made any lover sad. Mr. Gubb had no idea +where he could raise one hundred dollars during the day and he saw his +promising romance cut short just when Syrilla was beginning to lose +weight handsomely. The greeting he received when he reached Aunt +Martha Turner's was not of a sort to cheer him. Mrs. Turner met him +with a sour face. + +"No, you can't go ahead with puttin' the wall-paper on this kitchen +ceilin' to-day, Mr. Gubb," she said. + +"I'd like to, if I could," said Philo Gubb wistfully. "My financial +condition ain't such as to allow me to waste a day. I'm very low in a +monetary shape, right now." + +Aunt Martha Turner seemed worried. + +"Well," she said reluctantly, "I guess if that's the case you might as +well go ahead. I expect I'll have to be out of the house 'most all +day. If you get done before I get back, lock the kitchen door and put +the key behind a shutter." + +She departed, and Philo Gubb set up his trestle, unrolled and trimmed +a strip of ceiling-paper, pasted it, and climbed his ladder. At the +top he seated himself a moment and shook his head. + +He sighed and picked up the paste-covered strip of ceiling-paper, but +before he could get to his feet the kitchen door opened and "Snooks" +Turner put his head in cautiously. + +"Say, Gubb, where's Aunt Martha?" he asked in a whisper. + +"She's gone out," said Philo Gubb. "She won't be back for quite some +time, I guess, Snooksy." + +"Good!" said Snooks, and he entered the kitchen. Some weeks before he +had met Nan Kilfillan. He was deeply in love with Nan, and Nan was a +good girl, although Aunt Martha Turner did not approve of her, because +she was "hired girl" to City Attorney Mullen. Before she had met +Snooks Nan had done her best to "make something" of "Slippery" +Williams, who was courting her then, but that task was beyond even +Nan's powers. + +Snooks held a job on the "Eagle" as city reporter, with the dignified +title of City Editor, and he was making good. He got the news. He +seemed able to smell news. When there was big news in the air he would +become uneasy and feel nervous. + +"I got the twitches again," he would say to the editor of the "Eagle." +"There's some big item around. I've got to get it." And he would get +it. + +"She's gone out, has she?" said Snooks, when he had entered his aunt's +kitchen and asked Philo Gubb about Aunt Martha. "That's good. I wanted +to see you on a matter of business--detective business." + +He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small roll of bills. He +was not the usually neat Snooks. One eye was blackened and one side of +his face was scratched. His clothes were badly torn and soiled. He +looked as if some one had tried to murder him. + +"There!" he said, holding the bills up to Philo Gubb after counting +them. "There's twenty-five dollars. You take that and find out what I +have done, and what's the matter with me, and all about it." + +"What do you want me to find out?" asked Mr. Gubb, fondling the bills. + +"If I knew, I wouldn't ask you," said Snooks peevishly. "I don't know +what it is. I'd go and find out myself, but I'm in jail." + +"Where did you say you was?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"In jail," said Snooks. "I'm in jail, and I'm in bad. When the marshal +put me in last night I gave him my word I'd stay in all day to-day, +and it ain't right for me to be here now. + +"'Dog-gone you, Snooks!' he says, 'you ain't got no consideration for +me at all. Here I figgered that there wouldn't be no wave of crime +strike town for some days, and I went and took the jail door down to +the blacksmith to have a panel put in where the one rusted out, and my +wife made me promise to drive out to the farm with her to-morrow, and +now you come and spoil everything. I got to stay in town and watch +you.' + +"'Go on,' I says, 'and take your drive. I'll stay in jail. I got a +strong imagination. I'll imagine there's a door.' + +"'Honor bright?' he says. + +"'Yes, honor bright,' I says. + +"So he went," said Snooks, "and he's trusting me, and here I am. You +can see it wouldn't do for me to be running all over town when, by +rights, I'm locked and barred and bolted in jail. I'm locked and +barred and bolted in jail, and well started on my way to the +penitentiary as a burglar." + +"As a burglar!" exclaimed Gubb. + +"That's it!" said Snooks. "I can't see head or tail of it. You got to +help me out, Gubb. See if you can make any sense of this:-- + +"Last night I went out for a walk with Nan. She's my girl, you know, +and she's going to marry me. Maybe she won't now, but she was going +to. She works for Mullen. We got back to Mullen's house about eleven +o'clock, and Mrs. Mullen always locks the door at half-past ten, +whether Nan is in or not. So, being late, we had to ring the doorbell, +and Mr. Mullen came to the door to let Nan in, and when he saw I was +with her he shook hands with me and asked me to come in and have a +cigar, and sit awhile, but I told him I had to hustle up some news for +to-day's paper, and he let me go. That's how pleasant he was. So I +went downtown, and the first fellow I met was Sammy Wilmerton." + +"Widow Wilmerton's boy?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Exactly!" said Snooks, feeling his eye with his finger. "And he says, +'Snooks, did you hear what the Ladies' Temperance League did last +night?' I hadn't heard. 'I heard ma say,' says Sammy, 'but don't say I +told you. They got up a petition to have City Attorney Mullen +impeached by the City Council.' + +"Well, that was news! I went into the 'Eagle' office and called up +Mullen. + +"'Hello! Is that Attorney Mullen?' I says. + +"'Yes,' he says. + +"'Well, something happened last night,' I says, 'and I'd like to see +you about it.' + +"'How do you know what happened?' he says. + +"'No matter,' I says; 'can I come up?' + +"After a half a minute he says, 'Oh, yes! Come up. Come right away. +I'll be waiting for you.' + +"So I went." + +"Nothing strange about that," said Philo Gubb, shifting himself on the +ladder. + +"So I went," continued Snooks. "I rang the doorbell and, the moment it +rang, the door flew open and--_bliff!_--down came a bed-blanket over +me and somebody grabbed me in his arms and lugged me into the house. I +guess it was Attorney Mullen--you know how big and husky he is. But I +couldn't see him. I couldn't see anything. Only, every two seconds, +bump! he hit at my head through the blanket. That's how I got this +eye. And, all the time, he was talking to me, mad as a hatter, and I +couldn't hear a word he said. But I could hear his wife screaming at +the top of the stairs, and I could hear Nan screaming, and I heard a +window go up. + +"'Stop that yelling!' says Mullen, in a voice I _could_ hear, and then +he picked me up again and carried me to the back door, and opened it +and threw me all the way down the eight steps. I chucked off the +blanket, and I was going up the steps again, to show him he couldn't +treat me that way, when--_bing!_--somebody next door took a shot at me +with a revolver. Thought I was a burglar, I guess. I started to run +for the back gate, when--_bing!_--somebody shot at me from the other +house. What do you think of that? For a few minutes it sounded like +the battle of San Juan, and I can't understand yet why I didn't suffer +an awful loss of life." + +"But you didn't?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"No, siree! I made a dive for the cellar door, just as they got the +range. I stayed in the cellarway, with the bullets pattering on it +like hail, until the cop came. Tim Fogarty was the cop. He ordered +'Cease firing!' and the shower stopped, and I let him capture me. He +took me to the calaboose, and this morning, early, he had me before +the judge, and I'm held for the grand jury, and the charge is burglary +and petit larceny. Now what is the answer?" + +"Being pulled into a house and thrown out the other door isn't +burglary," said Philo Gubb. "Burglary is breaking in or breaking out. +Maybe Attorney Mullen mistook you for some one else." + +"Mistook nothing!" said Snooks. "He was in the court-room this +morning. He handled the case against me. Who is that?" + +Some one was climbing the back steps, and Snooks made one dive for the +cellar door, and slipped inside. He knew how to get out through the +cellar, for he was familiar with it. He did not wait now, but opened +the outside cellar door, and after looking to see that the way was +clear, hurried back to the jail. + +Philo Gubb did not have time to descend from his ladder before the +kitchen door opened. The visitor was Policeman Fogarty. + +"Mawrnin'!" he said, removing his hat and wiping the sweat-band with +his red handkerchief. "Don't ye get down, Misther Gubb, sor. I want +but a wurrd with ye. I seen Snooksy Tur-rner here but a sicond ago, me +lookin' in at the windy, an' you an' him conversin'. Mayhap he was +speakin' t' ye iv his arrist?" + +"He was conversing with me of that occurrence," said Philo Gubb. "He +was consulting me in my professional capacity." + +"An' a fine young lad he is!" said Policeman Fogarty, reaching into +his pocket. "I got th' divvil for arristin' him. 'Twas that dark, ye +see, Misther Gubb, I cud not see who I was arristin'. Maybe he was +consultin' ye about gettin' clear iv th' charge ag'inst him?" + +"He retained my deteckative services," said Philo Gubb. + +"Poor young man!" said Fogarty. "I'll warrant he has none too much +money. Me hear-rt bleeds for him. Ye'll have no ind iv trailin' an' +shadowin' an' other detective wurrk to do awn th' case, no doubt. 'Tis +ixpinsive wurrk, that! I was thinkin' maybe ye'd permit me t' +contribute a five-dollar bill t' th' wurrk, for I'm that sad t' have +had a hand in arristin' him." + +Fogarty held up the bill and Philo Gubb took it. + +"Contingent expenses are always numerously present in deteckative +operations," he said. + +"Right ye ar-re!" said Fogarty. "An' ye'll remimber, if anny wan asks +ye, that I ixprissed me contrition for arristin' Snooksy. Whist!" he +said, putting his hand alongside his mouth and whispering: "Some wan +wanted me t' search th' house here t' see did Snooksy have sivin +bottles iv beer an' a silver beer-opener in his room." + +Philo Gubb sat on the ladder and contemplated the five-dollar bill +until he heard Fogarty returning. + +"Hist!" Fogarty said. "I did not see him, mind ye!" + +Fogarty slipped out of the back door and was gone, and Philo Gubb, +after a thoughtful moment, decided that the five-dollar bill was +rightfully his, and slipped it into his pocket. To earn it, however, +he must get to work on the case. He raised the pasted strip of paper, +but before he could place the loose end on the ceiling, some one +tapped at the kitchen door. + +"Come in!" he called, and the door opened. + +"Slippery" Williams glided into the room. His crafty eyes sought Philo +Gubb. + +"'Lo, Gubby! Watcha doin' up there? Where's Miss Turner?" he asked. + +"Miss Turner is out on business, I presume," said the Correspondence +School detective coldly, "and I am pursuing my professional duties in +the deteckating line." + +"Yar, hey?" said Slippery. "Who you detectin' for now?" + +"Snooks Turner," said Philo Gubb. "I'm solving a case for him." + +Instantly Slippery's manner changed. From rough he became smooth. From +bold he became cringing. + +"Why, I'm Snooksy's friend," he said. "You know me and Snooksy was +always chums, don't you, Gubby? Yes, sir, I think a lot of Snooksy. He +says, 'Slippery, you go up to my room and get me a bundle of clean +clothes--these are all torn and dirty, and--' Well, I guess I'll get +'em, and get back. Snooks is waitin' for me." + +He turned to the hall, but Philo Gubb called him back. + +"You can't go up there," said Philo Gubb, from his ladder-top. +"There's been enough folks up there already." + +"Who was up?" asked Slippery hastily. + +"Policeman Fogarty was," said Philo Gubb. + +"What'd he find up there?" asked Slippery anxiously. + +"Nothin'," said Philo Gubb. "He told me he couldn't find seven bottles +of beer and a beer-opener." + +"Look here!" said Slippery sweetly. "If I gave you five dollars to +hire you to hunt for them, could you find them seven bottles of beer +and that beer-opener, for me? Straight detective work? Could you?" + +"I could try to find them," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, that's all I want," said Slippery. "I don't want to do nothin' +with them. All I want to know is--where are they? Here's five +dollars." + +Philo Gubb took the money. + +"All right," said Slippery, "now, you find them. They're upstairs in +Mrs. Turner's bed, between the quilt and the mattress. Go find them." + +"Not until Miss Turner comes home," said Philo firmly. "It's her +house." + +"Why, you long-legged stork you!" said Slippery, "she knows I'm here +for that beer. She sent me." + +"I thought you said Snooks sent you for his clothes," said Philo. + +"Never you mind who sent me for what!" said Slippery, angrily. "You're +a dandy detective, ain't you? Sittin' on top of a ladder, and not +lettin' a friend of Snooks help him out. Say, listen, Gubby! +Everybody's goin' to get into worse trouble if I don't get away with +that beer. Understand? Come on! Let me take it away!" + +"When Miss Turner comes back!" said Philo Gubb. + +A new knock on the door interrupted them, and Slippery glided to the +cellar door, through which Snooks had so recently fled. The kitchen +door opened to admit Attorney Smith. He was a thin man, but +intelligent-looking, as thin men quite frequently are. + +"Don't get down, Mr. Gubb, don't get down!" he said. "I came in the +back way, hoping to find Miss Turner. She is not here?" + +"She's out," said Philo. + +"Too bad!" said Attorney Smith. "I wanted to see her about her nephew. +You have heard he is in jail?" + +"Why, yes," said Philo, crossing one leg over the other. "He hired me +to do some deteckating. I'm sort of in charge of that case. I'm just +going to start in looking it up." + +Attorney Smith took a turn to the end of the room and back. He was +known in Riverbank as the unsuccessful competitor against Attorney +Mullen for the City Attorneyship, and was supposed to be the counselor +of the liquor interests. + +"You have done nothing yet?" he asked suddenly, stopping below Philo +Gubb's elevated seat. + +"No, I'm just about beginning to commence," said Philo. + +"Then you know nothing regarding the--the articles young Turner is +charged with stealing?" + +"Well, maybe I do know something about that," said Philo. "If you mean +seven bottles of beer and a beer-opener, I do." + +"Where are they?" asked Attorney Smith in the sharp tone he used in +addressing a witness for the other side when he was trying a case. + +"I guess I've told about all I'm going to tell about them," said Philo +thoughtfully. "I don't want to be disobliging, Mister Smith, but I +look on them bottles of beer as a clue, and that beer-opener as a +clue, and they're about the only clue I've got. I got to save up my +clues." + +"Are they in this house?" asked Mr. Smith sharply. + +"If they ain't, they're somewheres else," said Philo. + +"Mr. Gubb," said Mr. Smith impressively "there are large interests +at stake in this case. Larger interests than you imagine. We are +all interested at this moment in clearing your client of the +suspicion--which I hope is an unjust suspicion--now resting over and +upon him. I need not say what the interests are, but they are very +powerful. I feel confident that those interests could succeed in +clearing Snooks Turner." + +"Well, I guess, if I was left alone long enough to get down from this +ladder, I could clear him myself. I didn't study in the Rising Sun +Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating for +nothing," said Philo Gubb. "Snooks hired me--" + +"And he did well!" said Attorney Smith heartily. "I praise his acumen. +I wonder if I might be permitted, on behalf of the powerful interests +I represent, to contribute to the expense of the work you will do?" + +"I guess you might," said Philo Gubb. "Deteckating runs into money." + +"The interests I represent," said Mr. Smith, taking out his wallet, +"will contribute ten dollars." + +And they did. They put a crisp ten-dollar bill in Philo Gubb's hands. + +"And now, having shown our unity of interest with young Mr. Turner, +there can be no harm in telling us where that beer is, can there?" + +He turned toward the kitchen door--for Nan Kilfillan stood there. Her +eyes were red and swollen. Attorney Smith hastily excused himself and +went away, and Nan came into the kitchen. + +"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she exclaimed. "You _will_ get Snooks out of jail, +won't you? It would break my heart if he was sent to the penitentiary, +and I _know_ he has done nothing wrong! He is depending on you, Mr. +Gubb. I brought you ten dollars--it is all I have left of last month's +wages, but it will help a little, won't it?" + +"Thank you," said Philo Gubb, taking the money. "I cannot estimate in +advance what the cost of his clearance will be. It may be more, and it +may be less. It is a complicated case. I am just about going to get +down from this ladder and start working on it vigorously. If you--" + +He stopped. + +"If you wish to help us in this case, Miss Kilfillan," he said, "will +you go to the jail and ask Snooks where is the beer and the +beer-opener?" + +"Where is--" Her face went white. "What beer and what beer-opener?" +she asked tensely. + +"Seven bottles and a beer-opener," said Philo Gubb. + +"Oh!" she moaned. "And he said he didn't do it! He swore he didn't do +it! Oh, Snooks, how could you--how could you!" + +"Now, don't you weep like that," said Philo Gubb soothingly. "You go +and ask him. I'll have my things ready for my immediate departure onto +the case by the time you get back." + +Nan hurried away, and Philo Gubb waited only to count the money he had +so far received. It amounted to fifty-five dollars. He slipped it into +his pocket and stood up on the stepladder. He had even proceeded so +far as to put one foot on a lower step, when Mrs. Wilmerton entered +the kitchen. + +She was a stout woman, and she was almost out of breath. She had to +stand a minute before she could speak, but as she stood she made +gestures with her hands, as if _that_ much of her delivery could be +given, at any rate, and the words might catch up with their +appropriate gestures if they could. + +"Mister Gubb! Mister Gubb!" she gasped. "Oh, this is terrible! +Terrible! Miss Turner should never have dared it! Oh, my breath! Do +you--do you know where the beer is?" + +"I wouldn't advise you to take beer for shortness of the breath," said +Philo Gubb. "Just rest a minute." + +"But," gasped poor Mrs. Wilmerton, "I _told_ Miss Turner it was folly! +She's so stubborn! Ah--h! I thought I'd never get a full breath again +as long as I lived. How can we get rid of the beer?" + +[Illustration: SHE MADE GESTURES WITH HER HANDS] + +"There's plenty want to take it," said Mr. Gubb. "Attorney Smith--" + +"Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" moaned Mrs. Wilmerton. "He threatened it!" + +"Threatened what?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"That he would find the beer in this house!" cried Mrs. Wilmerton. "He +threatened Aunt Martha that if she did not give it to him freely, he +would have it found here, and make a scandal! Beer hidden between the +quilt and the mattress of Aunt Martha's bed, and she Secretary of the +Ladies' Temperance League! It's awful! Martha is so headstrong! She's +getting herself in an awful fix! She never should have had a thing to +do with that Slippery fellow!" + +"With who? With Slippery Williams?" asked Philo Gubb, intensely +surprised. "Aunt Martha Turner? What did she have to do with Slippery +Williams?" + +"Well, she had plenty, and enough, and more than that to do with him," +said Mrs. Wilmerton angrily. "Getting bottles of beer in her bed, and +robbing houses at her time of life, and wanting the Ladies' Temperance +League to have a special meeting this morning to approve of burglary +and larceny! At her age!" + +"Now, Miss Wilmerton," said Philo Gubb, from the top of the ladder, +"I'd ought to warn you, before you go any farther, that Snooks Turner +has engaged me and my services to detect for him in this burglar +case. If Aunt Martha Turner burgled the burglary that Snooks is in +jail for, maybe you ought not say anything about it to me. I got to do +what I can to free Snooksy, no matter who it gets into trouble." + +"Mr. Gubb!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton suddenly--"Mr. Gubb, I'm not +authorized so to do, but I'll warrant I'll get the other ladies to +authorize, or I'll know why. If I was to give you twenty dollars on +behalf of the Ladies' Temperance League to help get Snooksy out of +jail,--and land only knows why he is in jail,--would you be so kind as +to beg and plead with Snooksy to leave Attorney Mullen alone, in the +'Eagle,' after this?" + +She held four five-dollar bills up to Philo Gubb, and he took them. + +"From what I saw of his eye," said Mr. Gubb, "I guess Snooks will be +willing to leave Attorney Mullen alone in every shape and form from +now on. Now, maybe you can tell me how Snooks got into this business." + +"I haven't the slightest idea in the world!" said Mrs. Wilmerton. "All +I know about it is--" + +Both Mrs. Wilmerton and Philo Gubb turned their heads toward the door. +The greater duskiness of the kitchen was caused by the large form of +City Attorney Mullen. He bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Wilmerton, who +turned bright red with embarrassment, probably because of her part in +the efforts of the League to have Mr. Mullen impeached by the City +Council. Attorney Mullen was not, however, embarrassed. + +"I am glad you are here, Mrs. Wilmerton," he said, "for I wish a +witness. I do not wish to have any stigma of bribery rest on me. I +came here," he continued, taking a leather purse from the inner pocket +of his coat, "to give these twenty-five dollars to Mr. Gubb. Mr. Gubb, +I have just visited Snooks--so called--Turner at the jail. I went +there with the intention of bailing him out, pending the simple +process of his ultimate and speedy release from the charges against +him. I am convinced that I was wrong when I made the charge of +burglary against him. I am convinced that no burglary was ever +committed on my premises--" + +"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton. "Not even seven bottles of beer and a +beer-opener, I suppose!" + +Attorney Mullen turned on her like a flash. + +"What do you know about beer and beer-openers?" he snapped. + +"I may not know as much as Detective Gubb, but I know what I know!" +she answered, and Mr. Mullen restrained himself sufficiently to hide +the glare of hatred in his eyes by turning to Philo Gubb. + +"Exactly!" he said with forced calmness. "And perhaps I know more +about them than Mr. Gubb knows. In fact, I do know more about them. I +know they are upstairs between a blanket and a mattress. I know, Mrs. +Wilmerton," he almost shouted, turning on her with an accusing +forefinger, "that they were stolen from a house in this town by some +one representing the Ladies' Temperance League. I know that burglary +was committed by, or at the behest of, some one representing the +Ladies' Temperance League! I know that, if this matter is carried to +the end, a respectable old lady--a leader in the Ladies' Temperance +League--will go behind the bars, sentenced as a burglar! That's what I +know!" + +"Oh, my!" gasped Mrs. Wilmerton, and sank into a chair. + +"Now, then!" said Attorney Mullen, turning to Philo Gubb again, and +handing him the twenty-five dollars, "I give you this money as my +share of the fund that is to pay you for the work you do for Snooks +Turner. I make no request, because of the money. It is yours. But if +you love justice, for Heaven's sake, send word to him to come out of +jail!" + +"Won't he come out?" asked Philo Gubb, puzzled. + +"No, he won't!" said Attorney Mullen. "I begged him to, but he said, +'No! Not until Philo Gubb gets to the bottom of this case.' But should +we, as citizens, and as members of the Prohibition Party, permit you, +Mr. Gubb, to land Aunt Martha Turner in the calaboose?" + +"Well, if what I find out, when I get down from this ladder and start +to work, sends her there, I don't see that I can help it," said Philo +Gubb. "Deteckative work is a science, as operated by them that has +studied in the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School +of Deteckating--" + +"Snooks says he don't know anything about any beer," said Nan +Kilfillan, entering hastily, and then pausing, as she saw Mr. Mullen. + +"Did you tell him it was upstairs, in bed?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"In his room? In his bed?" said Attorney Mullen eagerly. "Why, that +puts an entirely different aspect on the matter! That gives me, as +City Attorney, all the proof I shall need to convict the respectable +Miss Martha Turner and her honorable nephew of the 'Eagle.' And, by +the gods! I _will_ convict them!" + +He glared at Mrs. Wilmerton. Nan broke into sobs. + +"Unless," he added gently, "this whole matter is dropped." + +Philo Gubb took out all the money he had received and counted it, +sitting cross-legged on the ladder. + +"I guess," he said thoughtfully, "you had better run up to the jail +and tell Snooksy I want to see him right away, Miss Kilfillan. Maybe +he can stretch the jail that much again. Tell him I'm just going to +get down from this ladder and start to work, and I want to ask his +advice." + +"What do you want to ask him?" inquired Attorney Mullen, as Nan +hurried away. + +"I want to ask him about those seven bottles of beer and that +beer-opener," said Philo Gubb. + +"Mr. Gubb," said the City Attorney, "I can tell you about those +bottles of beer. If those bottles of beer came from my house Aunt +Martha Turner goes to the penitentiary. If she does not go to the +penitentiary, there are no bottles of beer and there is no +beer-opener. And never were!" + +"I told her she had done a foolish, foolish thing!" exclaimed Mrs. +Wilmerton. + +"Just so! And it _was_ foolish," said Attorney Mullen, "_If_ it was +done. And, if it was done, and Snooks Turner telephoned, and I thought +he meant the burglary, I would, naturally, assault him." + +"You hurt him bad," said Philo Gubb. + +"And I meant to!" said Attorney Mullen. + +All turned toward the door, where Policeman Fogarty entered with +Snooksy and Nan. + +"I've done ivrything I cud t' quiet th' matter up," said Fogarty to +Mullen, thus explaining his interest in the affair. + +"I like jail," said Snooks cheerfully. "I'm going to stay in jail." + +Aunt Martha Turner interrupted him. She came into the kitchen like a +gust of wind, scattering the others like leaves, and threw her arms +around her nephew Snooksy. + +"Oh, my Snooksy! My Snooksy!" she moaned. "Don't you love your old +auntie any more? Won't you be a good boy for your poor old auntie? +Don't you love her at all any more?" + +"Sure," said Snooks happily. "A fellow can love you in jail, can't +he?" + +"But won't you come out?" she pleaded. "Everybody wants you to come +out, dear, dear boy. See--they all want you to come out. Every last +one of them. Please come out." + +"Oh, I like it in jail," said Snooks. "It gives me time for +meditation. Well, good-bye, folks, I'll be going back." + +His aunt grasped him firmly by the arm and wailed. So did Nan. + +"But, Snooksy," begged Mrs. Turner, "don't you know they'll send me to +the penitentiary if you go back to that old jail?" + +"Yes, but don't you care, auntie. They say the penitentiary is nicer +than the jail. Better doors. Nobody can break in and steal things from +you." + +"Snooks Turner!" said his aunt. "You know as well as I do that Mr. +Mullen will forgive and forget, if you will. Would you rather see me +go to prison--suffer?" + +"No, of course not, auntie," said Snooks, laughing. "But you see, I've +hired Detective Gubb to work on this case, and if there's no case, it +will not be fair to him. He's all worked up about it. He's so eager to +be at it that he has almost come down from the top of that ladder. In +another day or two he would come all the way down, and then there's +no telling what would happen. No, I'm a newspaper man. I want Philo +Gubb to discover something we don't know anything about." + +"I might start in trailing and shadowing somebody that hasn't anything +to do with this case," suggested Philo Gubb. "That wouldn't discommode +none of you folks, and I'd sort of feel as if I was giving you your +money's worth. Somebody has been writin' on the front of the Methodist +Church with black chalk. I might try to detect who done that." + +"But that would be a very difficult job," said Snooks. + +"It would be some hard," admitted Philo Gubb. + +"Then you ought to have more money," said Snooks. "Aunt Martha ought +to contribute to the fund. If Aunt Martha contributes to the fund, +I'll be good. I'll come out of jail." + +Aunt Martha opened her shopping bag, and fumbled in it with her old +fingers. Philo Gubb took from his pocket the bills he had been given +during the morning. He counted them. He had exactly one hundred +dollars, just enough to send to Mr. Medderbrook. + +"How much should I give you, Mr. Gubb?" asked Aunt Martha tremulously, +and Philo Gubb stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes. +When he spoke, his words were cryptic to all those in the room. + +"Well, ma'am," he said, "I guess ten cents will be about enough. I've +got a two-cent postage stamp myself." + +"Ain't detectives wonderful?" whispered Nan, clinging to Snooks's arm. +"You can't ever tell what they really mean." + +Nobody seemed to care what Philo Gubb meant, but a week later Snooks +stopped him on the street and asked him why he had asked for ten +cents. + +"For to register a letter," said Philo Gubb. "A letter I had to send +off." + + + + +THE CHICKEN + + +Philo Gubb, with three rolls of wall-paper under his arm and a pail of +mixed paste in one hand, walked along Cherry Street near the +brick-yard. + +On this occasion Mr. Gubb was in a reasonably contented frame of mind, +for he had just received his share of the reward for capturing the +dynamiters and had this very morning paid the full amount to Mr. +Medderbrook, leaving but eleven thousand six hundred and fifty dollars +still to be paid that gentleman for the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine +Stock, and upon the further payment of seventy-five cents--half its +cost--Mr. Medderbrook gave him a telegram he had received from +Syrilla. The telegram was as follows:-- + + Rapidly shrinking. Have given up all soups, including tomato + soup, chicken soup, mulligatawny, mock turtle, green pea, + vegetable, gumbo, lentil, consomme, bouillon and clam broth. + Now weigh only nine hundred and fifty pounds. Wire at once + whether clam chowder is a soup or a food. Fond remembrances + to Gubby. + +Mr. Gubb was thinking of this telegram as he walked toward his work. +Just ahead of him a short lane led, between Mrs. Smith's house and the +Cherry Street Methodist Chapel, to the brick-yard. Mrs. Smith's +chicken coop stood on the fence line between her property and the +brick-yard! + +[Illustration: "DETECKATING IS MY AIM AND MY PROFESSION"] + +Philo Gubb had passed Mrs. Smith's front gate when Mrs. Smith waddled +to her fence and hailed him. + +"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she panted. "You got to excuse me for speakin' to you +when I don't know you. Mrs. Miffin says you're a detective." + +"Deteckating is my aim and my profession," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Well," said Mrs. Smith, "I want to ask a word of you about crime. +I've had a chicken stole." + +"Chicken-stealing is a crime if ever there was one," said Philo Gubb +seriously. "What was the chicken worth?" + +"Forty cents," said Mrs. Smith. + +"Well," said Philo Gubb, "it wouldn't hardly pay me." + +"It ain't much," admitted Mrs. Smith. + +"No. You're right, it ain't," said Philo Gubb. "Was this a rooster or +a hen?" + +"It was a hen," said Mrs. Smith. + +"Well," said Mr. Gubb, "if you was to offer a reward of a hundred +dollars for the capture of the thief--" + +"Oh, my land!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith. "It would be cheaper for me to +pay somebody five dollars to come and steal the rest of the chickens. +It seems to me, that you ought to make the thief pay. I ain't the one +that did the crime, am I? It's only right that a thief should pay for +the time and trouble he puts you to, ain't it?" + +"I never before looked at it that way," said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully, +"but it stands to reason." + +"Of course it does!" said Mrs. Smith. "You catch that thief and you +can offer yourself a million dollars reward if you want to. That's +none of my business." + +"Well," said Philo Gubb, picking up his paste-pail, "I guess if there +ain't any important murders or things turn up by seven to-night, I'll +start in to work for that reward. I guess I can't ask more than five +dollars reward." + +At seven the evening was still light, and Philo Gubb, to cover his +intentions and avert suspicion in case his interview with Mrs. Smith +had been observed by the thief, put a false beard in his pocket and a +revolver beside it and left his office in the Opera House Block +cautiously. He slipped into the alley and glided down it, keeping +close to the stables. A detective must be cautious. + +The abandoned brick-kilns offered admirable seclusion. A brick-kiln is +built entirely, or almost so, of the brick that are to be burned, and +the kilns are torn down and carted away as the brick are sold. The +over-structure of the kilns was a mere roof of half-inch planks laid +on timbers that were upheld by poles. + +A ladder leaning against one of the poles gave access to the roof. In +the darkness it was impossible for Philo Gubb to find a finger-print +of the culprit on the kilns, although he looked for one. He did not +even find the usual and highly helpful button, torn from its place in +the criminal's eagerness to depart. He found only an old horseshoe and +a broken tobacco pipe. As there were evidences that the pipe had been +abandoned on that spot several years earlier, neither of these was a +very valuable clue. + +Mr. Gubb next gave his attention to the chicken coop. It was +preeminently a hand-made chicken coop of the rough-and-ready variety. + +Philo Gubb entered the chicken-house and looked around, lighting his +dark lantern and throwing its rays here and there that he might see +better. The house was so low of roof that he had to stoop to avoid the +roosts, and the tails of the chickens brushed his hat. It needed +brushing, so this did no harm. The hens and the two roosters +complained gently of this interruption of their beauty sleep, and +moved along the roosts, and Mr. Gubb went outside again. It was quite +evident that the thief had had no great hardships to undergo in +robbing that roost. All he had to do was to enter the chicken-house, +choose a chicken, and walk away with it. + +Why had he not taken ten chickens? Mr. Gubb, as he put the keg hoop +over the end board of the gate, studied this. + +The theory that Mr. Gubb adopted was that the thief, coming for a raid +on the coop, had been surprised to find it so poorly guarded. It had +been so easy to enter the coop and steal the chicken that he had +decided it would be folly to take eight or ten chickens and thus +arouse instant suspicion and reprisal. Instead of this he had taken +but one, trusting that the loss of one would be unnoticed or laid to +rats or cats or weasels. Thus he would be able to return again and +again as fowl meat was needed or desired, and the chickens would be +like money in the bank--a fund on which to draw. This theory was so +sound that Mr. Gubb believed it would require nothing more than +patience to capture the criminal. The thief would come back for more +chickens! + +Philo Gubb looked around for an advantageous position in which to +await the coming of the thief, and be unseen himself, and the loose +board roof of the brick-kiln met his eye. No position could be better. +He climbed the ladder inside the kiln, pushed one of the boards aside +enough to permit him to squeeze through onto the roof, and creeping +carefully over the loose boards, reached the edge of the roof. Here he +stretched himself out flat on the boards, and waited. + +Nothing--absolutely nothing--happened! The mosquitoes, numerous indeed +because of the nearness of the pond, buzzed around his head and stung +him on the neck and hands, but he did not dare slap at them lest he +betray his hiding-place. Hour followed hour and no chicken thief +appeared. And when the first rays of the sun lighted the east he +climbed down and stalked stiffly away to a short hour of sleep. + +The next night the Correspondence School detective wasted no time in +preliminary observations of the lay of the land. He kept out of sight +until the sun had set and dusk covered the land with shade, and then +he went at once to the roof of the brick-kiln. This time he was +disguised in a red mustache, a pair of flowing white side-whiskers, +and a woolen cap. And he wore two revolvers--large ones--in a belt +about his waist. + +It was still too early for brisk business in chicken-stealing when +Philo Gubb climbed to the roof of the kiln and spread himself out +there, and he felt that he had time for a few minutes' sleep. + +He was tremendously sleepy. Sleep fairly pushed his eyelids down over +his eyes, and he put his crooked arm under his head and, after +thinking fondly of Syrilla for a few minutes, went to sleep so +suddenly that it was like falling off a cliff into dreamland. He +dreamed, uneasily, of having been captured by an array of forty +chicken thieves, of having been led in triumph before the Supreme +Court of the United States, and of having been condemned as a +Detective Trust on the charge of acting in restraint of trade--as +injuring the Chicken Stealers' Association's business--and required to +dissolve himself. + +The dream was agonizing as he tried one dissolvent after another +without success. Turpentine merely dissolved his skin; alcohol had no +effect whatever. He imagined himself in a long room in which stood +vast rows of vats bearing different labels, and in and out of these +he climbed, trying to obey the order of the court, but nothing seemed +capable of dissolving him, and he suddenly discovered that he was made +of rubber. He seemed to remember that rubber was soluble in benzine, +and he started on a tour of the vats, trying to find a benzine vat. + +He walked many miles. Sometimes he arose in the air, with ease and +grace, and flew a few miles. Finally he found the vat of benzine, +immersed himself in it, and began to dissolve calmly and with a +blessed sense of having done his duty. + +It was then that Philo Gubb entered the dreamless sleep of the utterly +weary, and, about the same time, two men slunk under the roof of the +brick-kiln and after looking carefully around took seats on the fallen +bricks, resting their backs against the partly demolished kiln. They +arranged the bricks as comfortably as possible before seating +themselves, and when they were seated, one of them drew a whiskey +bottle from his pocket and, after taking a good swig, offered it to +his partner. + +"Nope!" said he. "I'm going to steer clear of that stuff until I know +where I'm at, and you're a fool for not doing the same, Wixy. First +thing you know you'll be soused, and if you are, and anything turns +up, what'll I do? I got all I can do to take care of you sober." + +"Ah, turn up! What's goin' to turn up 'way out here?" asked Wixy. +"They ain't nobody follerin' us anyway. That's just a notion you got. +Your nerves has gone back on you, Sandlot." + +"My nerve is all right, and don't you worry about that," said Sandlot. +"I've got plenty of nerve so I don't have to brace it up with booze, +and you ain't. That's what's the matter with you. You saw that feller +as well as I did. Didn't you see him at Bureau?" + +"That feller with the white whiskers?" + +"Yes, him. And didn't you see him again at Derlingport? Well, what was +he follerin' us that way for when he told us at Joliet he was goin' +East?" + +"A tramp has as good a right to change his mind as what we have," said +Wixy. "Didn't we tell him we was goin' East ourselves? Maybe he ain't +lookin' for steady company any more than we be. Maybe he come this way +to get away from us, like we did to get away from--say!--Sandlot," he +said almost pleadingly, "you don't really think old White-Whiskers was +a-trailin' us, do you? You ain't got a notion he's a detective?" + +"How do I know what he is?" asked Sandlot. "All I know is that when I +see a feller like that once, and then again, and he looks like he was +tryin' to keep hid from us, I want to shake him off. I know that. And +I know I'm goin' to shake him off. And I know that if you get all +boozed up, and full of liquor, and can't walk, and that feller shows +up, I'm a-goin' to quit you and look out for myself. When a feller +steals something, or does any little harmless thing like that, it's +different. He can afford to stick to a pal, even if he gets nabbed. +But when it's a case of--" + +"Now, don't use that word!" said Wixy angrily. "It wasn't no more +murder than nothing. Was we going to let Chicago Chicken bash our +heads in just because we stood up for our rights? Him wantin' a full +half just because he put us onto the job! He'd ought to been killed +for askin' such a thing." + +"Well, he was, wasn't he?" asked Sandlot. "You killed him all right. +It was you swung on him with the rock, Wixy, remember that!" + +"Tryin' to put it off on me, ain't you!" said Wixy angrily. "Well, you +can't do it. If I hang, you hang. Maybe I did take a rock to him, but +you had him strangled to death before I ever hit him." + +"What's the use gabbin' about it?" said Sandlot. "He's dead, and we +made our get-away, and all we got to do is to keep got away. There +ain't anybody ever goin' to find him, not where we sunk him in that +deep water." + +"Ain't I been sayin' that right along?" asked Wixy. "Ain't I been +tellin' you you was a fool to be scared of an old feller like +White-Whiskers? Cuttin' across country this way when we might as well +be forty miles more down the Rock Island, travelin' along as nice as +you please in a box car." + +"Now, look here!" said Sandlot menacingly. "I ain't goin' to take no +abuse from you, drunk or sober. If you don't like my way, you go back +to the railroad and leave me go my own way. I'm goin' on across +country until I come to another railroad, I am. And if I come to a +river, and I run across a boat, I'm goin' to take that boat and float +a ways. When I says nobody is goin' to know anything about what we did +to the Chicken, over there in Chicago, I mean it. Nobody is. But +didn't Sal know all three of us was goin' out on that job that night? +And when the Chicken don't come back, ain't she goin' to guess +something happened to the Chicken?" + +"She's goin' to think he made a rich haul, like he did, and that he up +and quit her," said Wixy. "That's what she'll think." + +"And what if she does?" said Sandlot. "She and him has been boardin' +with Mother Smith, ain't they? Ain't Mother Smith been handin' the +Chicken money when he needed it, because he said he was workin' up +this job with us? I bet the Chicken owed Mother Smith a hundred +dollars, and when he don't come back, then what? Sal will say she +ain't got no money because the Chicken quit her, and Mother Smith +will--" + +"Well, what?" asked Wixy. + +"She'll send word to every crook in the country to spot the Chicken, +and you know it. And when word comes back that there ain't no trace of +him--" + +"You've lost your nerve, that's what ails you," said Wixy scornfully. + +"No, I ain't," Sandlot insisted. "I've heard plenty of fellers tell +how Mother Smith keeps tabs on anybody that tries to do her out of ten +cents even. Why, maybe the Chicken promised to come back that night +and pay up. I bet he did! And I bet he _was_ sour on Sal. And I bet +Mother Smith knew it all the time, and that when he didn't come back +that night she sent out word to spot him or us. I bet you!" + +"You've lost your nerve!" said Wixy drunkenly. "You never did have no +nerve. You're so scared you're seein' ghosts." + +"All right!" said Sandlot, rising. "I'll see ghosts, then. But I'll +see them by myself. You can go--" + +"Goo'-bye!" said Wixy carelessly, and finished the last drop in his +bottle. "Goo'-bye, ol' Sandlot! Goo'-bye!" + +Sandlot hesitated a moment and then arose and, after a parting glance +at Wixy, struck out across the drying floor of the brick-yard, and was +lost in the darkness. Wixy blinked and balanced the empty bottle in +his hand. + +"He's afraid!" he boasted to himself. "He's coward. 'Fraid of dark. +'Fraid of ghosts. Los' his nerve. I ain' 'fraid." + +He arose to his feet unsteadily. + +"Sandlot's coward!" he said, and threw down the empty bottle with a +motion of disgust at the cowardice of Sandlot. The bottle burst with a +jangling of glass. + +On the loose board roof Philo Gubb raised his head suddenly. For an +instant he imagined he was a disembodied spirit, his body having been +dissolved in benzine, but as he became wider awake he was conscious of +a noise beneath him. Wixy was shifting twenty or thirty bricks that +had fallen from the kiln upon a truss of straw, used the last winter +to cover new-moulded bricks to protect them from the frost against +their drying. He was preparing a bed. He muttered to himself as he +worked, and Philo Gubb, placing his eye to a crack between the boards +of the roof, tried to observe him. The darkness was so absolute he +could see nothing whatever. + +He heard Wixy stretch out on the straw, and in a minute more he heard +the heavy breathing of a sleeper. Wixy was not letting any cowardice +disturb his repose, at all events, and Philo Gubb considered how he +could best get himself off the roof. + +The sleeping man was immediately beneath him; the ladder was a full +ten yards away; every motion made the loose boards complain. Looking +down, Mr. Gubb saw that the top of the kiln reached within a few feet +of where he lay, and that the partially removed sides had left a +series of giant steps. + +Mr. Gubb loosened his pistols in his belt. Now that he had the chicken +thief so near, he meant to capture him. With the utmost care he slid +one of the boards of the roof aside and put his long legs into the +opening thus made, feeling for the kiln until he touched it, and when +he had a firm footing on it he lowered the upper part of his body +through the roof. + +Five feet away a cross-timber reached from one pillar of the roof to +another, and just below that was one of the steps of the kiln. Philo +Gubb lighted his dark lantern, and casting its ray, saw this +cross-piece. If he could jump and reach it he could drop to the lower +step and avoid the danger of bringing the side of the kiln down with +him. He slipped the lantern into his pocket, reached out his hands, +and jumped into the dark. + +For an instant his fingers grappled with the cross-piece; he struggled +to gain a firmer hold; and then he dropped straight upon the sleeping +Wixy. He alighted fair and square on the murderer's stomach, and the +air went out of Wixy in a sudden _whoof_! + +Philo Gubb, in the unreasoning excitement of the moment, grappled with +Wixy, but the unresistance of the man told that he was unconscious, +and the Correspondence School detective released him and stood up. He +uncovered the lens of his dark lantern and turned the ray on Wixy. + +The murderer lay flat on his back, his eyes closed and his mouth open. +Mr. Gubb put his hand on Wixy's heart. It still beat! The man was not +dead! + +[Illustration: WITH ANOTHER GROAN WIXY RAISED HIS HANDS] + +With the dark lantern in one hand and a rusty tin can in the other, +Mr. Gubb hurried to the pond and returned with the can full of water, +but even in this crisis he did not act thoughtlessly. He set the dark +lantern on a shelf of the kiln, so that its rays might illuminate +Wixy and himself alike, drew one of his pistols and pointed it full at +Wixy's head, and holding it so, he dashed the can of water in the face +of the unconscious man. Wixy moved uneasily. He emitted a long sigh +and opened his eyes. + +"I got you!" said Philo Gubb sternly. "There ain't no use to make a +move, because I'm a deteckative, and if you do I'll shoot this pistol +at you. If you're able so to do, just put up your hands." + +Wixy blinked in the strong light of the lantern. He groaned and placed +one of his hands on his stomach. + +"Put 'em up!" said Philo Gubb, and with another groan Wixy raised his +hands. He was still flat on his back. He looked as if he were doing +some sort of health exercise. In a minute the hands fell to the +ground. + +"I guess you'd better set up," said Philo Gubb. "You ain't goin' to be +able to hold up your hands if you lay down that way." + +As he helped Wixy to a sitting position, he kept his pistol against +the fellow's head. + +"Now, then," said Philo Gubb, when he had arranged his captive to suit +his taste, "what you got to say?" + +"I got to say I never done what you think I done, whatever it is," +said Wixy. "I don't know what it is, but I never done it. Some other +feller done it." + +"That don't bother me none," said Philo Gubb. "If you didn't do it, I +don't know who did. Just about the best thing you can do is to +account for the chicken and pay my expenses of getting you, and the +quicker you do it the better off you'll be." + +Pale as Wixy was, he turned still paler when Philo Gubb mentioned the +chicken. + +"I never killed the Chicken!" he almost shouted. "I never did it!" + +"I don't care whether you killed the chicken or not," said Philo Gubb +calmly. "The chicken is gone, and I reckon that's the end of the +chicken. But Mrs. Smith has got to be paid." + +"Did she send you?" asked Wixy, trembling. "Did Mother Smith put you +onto me?" + +"She did so," said the Correspondence School detective. "And you can +pay up or go to jail. How'd you like that?" + +Wixy studied the tall detective. + +"Look here," he said. "S'pose I give you fifty and we call it square." +He meant fifty dollars. + +"Maybe that would satisfy Mrs. Smith," said Philo Gubb, thinking of +fifty cents, "but it don't satisfy me. My time's valuable and it's got +to be paid for. Ten times fifty ain't a bit too much, and if it had +took longer to catch you I'd have asked more. If you want to give that +much, all right. And if you don't, all right too." + +Wixy studied the face of Philo Gubb carefully. There was no sign of +mercy in the bird-like face of the paper-hanger detective. Indeed, his +face was severe. It was relentless in its sternness. Five dollars was +little enough to ask for two nights of first-class Correspondence +School detective work. Rather than take less he would lead the chicken +thief to jail. And Wixy, with his third, and half of the Chicken's +third, of the proceeds of the criminal job that had led to the death +of the Chicken, knowing the relentlessness of Mother Smith, that +female Fagin of Chicago, considered that he would be doing well to +purchase his freedom for five hundred dollars. + +"All right, pal," he said suddenly. "You're on. It's a bet. Here you +are." + +He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a great roll of +money. With the muzzle of Philo Gubb's pistol hovering just out of +reach before him, he counted out five crisp one hundred dollar bills. +He held them out with a sickly grin. Philo Gubb took them and looked +at them, puzzled. + +"What's this for?" he asked, and Wixy suddenly blazed forth in anger. + +"Now, don't come any of that!" he cried. "A bargain is a bargain. +Don't you come a-pretendin' you didn't say you'd take five hundred, +and try to get more out of me! I won't give you no more--I won't! You +can jug me, if you want to. You can't prove nothin' on me, and you +know it. Have you found the body of the Chicken? Well, you got to have +the corpus what-you-call-it, ain't you? Huh? Ain't five hundred +enough? I bet the Chicken never cost Mother Smith more than a hundred +and fifty--" + +"I was only thinkin'--" began Philo Gubb. + +"Don't think, then," said Wixy. + +"Five hundred dollars seemed too--" Philo began again. + +"It's all you'll get, if I hang for it," said Wixy firmly. "You can +give Mother Smith what you want, and keep what you want. That's all +you'll get." + +Philo Gubb could not understand it. He tried to, but he could not +understand it at all. And then suddenly a great light dawned in his +brain. There was something this chicken thief knew that he and Mrs. +Smith did not know. The stolen chicken must have been of some rare and +much-sought strain. So it was all right. The thief was paying what the +chicken was worth, and not what Mrs. Smith thought it was worth in her +ignorance. He slipped the money into his pocket. + +"All right," he said. "I'm satisfied if you are. The chicken was a +fancy bird, ain't it so?" + +"The Chicken was a tough old rooster, that's what he was," said Wixy, +staggering to his feet. + +"I thought he was a hen," said Philo Gubb. "Mrs. Smith said he was a +hen." + +Wixy laughed a sickly laugh. + +"That ain't much of a joke. That's why everybody called him Chicken, +because his first name was Hen." + +Philo Gubb's mouth fell open. He was convinced now that he had to do +with an insane man. Wixy moved toward the open drying-floor. + +"Well, so 'long, pard," he said to Philo Gubb. "Give my regards to +Mother Smith. And say," he added, "if you see Sal, don't let her know +what happened to the Chicken. Don't say anybody made away with the +Chicken, see? Tell Sal the Chicken flew the coop himself, see?" + +"Who is Sal?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"You ask Mother Smith," said Wixy. "She'll tell you." And he went out +into the dark. Philo Gubb heard him shuffle across the drying-floor, +and when the sound had died away in the distance he put up his +revolver. + +"Five hundred dollars!" he said, and he routed Mrs. Smith out of bed. +He did not tell her the amount of reward he had made the chicken thief +pay. He asked her what the most expensive chicken in the world might +be worth, and she reluctantly accepted ten dollars as being far too +much. Then he asked her who Sal was. + +"Sal?" queried Mrs. Smith. + +"The chicken thief declared the statement that you would know," said +Mr. Gubb. "He said to tell her--" + +"Well, Mr. Gubb," said Mrs. Smith tartly, "I don't know any Sal, and +if I did I wouldn't carry messages to her for a chicken thief, and it +is past midnight, and the draught on my bare feet is giving me my +death of cold, and if you think this is a pink tea for me to stand +around and hold fool conversation at, I don't!" + +And she slammed the door. + + + + +THE DRAGON'S EYE + + +It was with great pleasure that Mr. Gubb carried four hundred and +ninety dollars to Mr. Medderbrook, and his intended father-in-law +received him quite graciously. + +"This is more like it, Gubb," he said. "Keep the money coming right +along and you'll find I'm a good friend and a faithful one." + +"I aim so to do to the best of my ability," said Mr. Gubb, delighted +to find Mr. Medderbrook in a good humor. "I hope to get the eleven +thousand two hundred and sixty dollars I owe you paid up--" + +"Where do you get that?" asked Mr. Medderbrook. "You owe me twelve +thousand dollars, Gubb." + +"It was eleven thousand seven hundred and fifty," said Mr. Gubb, "and +this here payment of four hundred and ninety--" + +"Ah!" said Mr. Medderbrook, "but the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine has +declared a dividend--" + +"But," ventured Mr. Gubb timidly, "I thought dividends was money that +came to the owner of the stock." + +"Often so," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I may say, not infrequently so. But +in this case it was a compound ten per cent reversible dividend, +cumulative and retroactive, payable to prior owners of the stock, on +account of the second mortgage debenture lien. In such a case," he +explained, "unless the priority is waived by the party of the first +part, you have to pay it to me." + +"Oh!" said Mr. Gubb. + +"Luckily," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I was able to prevail upon the +registrar of the company to make the dividend only ten cumulative per +cents instead of eleven retroactive geometrical per cents, or you +would now owe me thirteen thousand dollars." + +"Well, I'm sure I'm much obliged to you," said Mr. Gubb with sincere +gratitude. "I appreciate your kindness of good-will most greatly." + +He stood for a minute or two uneasily, while Mr. Medderbrook frowned +like a great financier burdened with cares. + +"I don't suppose," said Mr. Gubb, when he had screwed up his courage, +"you have had no telegraphic communications from Miss Syrilla?" + +"Why, yes, I have," said Mr. Medderbrook, taking a telegram from his +pocket, "and it will only cost you one dollar to read it. I paid two +dollars." + +Mr. Gubb was very glad to pay the small sum and he eagerly devoured +the telegram, which read:-- + + Oh be joyful! Have given up all meat diet. Have given up + beef, pork, lamb, mutton, veal, chicken, pigs' feet, bacon, + hash, corned beef, venison, bear steak, frogs' legs, + opossum, and fried snails. Weigh only nine hundred and forty + pounds. Affectionate thoughts to little Gubby. + +"I wish," said Mr. Gubb wistfully, when he had read the message, "that +Miss Syrilla could be here present this week in Riverbank whilst the +Carnival is going on." + +"She would draw a big crowd at twenty-five cents admission," said Mr. +Medderbrook. + +"I was thinking how pleasantly nice it would be for her to enjoy the +festivities of the occasion," said Mr. Gubb, but this was not quite +true. What he wished was that she could be present to see him in the +handsome disguise he had obtained for his work as Official Detective +of the Carnival, and which he was now about to don. + +This, the second day of the Third Riverbank Carnival, opened with a +sun hot enough to frizzle bacon, and the ladies in charge of the +lemonade, ice-cream and ice-cream cone booths were pleased, while the +committee from Riverbank Lodge P.& G. M., No. 788, selling broiled +frankfurters (known as "hot dogs"), groaned. It was no day for hot +food. But it was grand Carnival weather. + +The grounds opened at one-thirty and the amateur circus began at +two-thirty, but Philo Gubb, the detective, was on the grounds in full +regalia by ten o'clock in the morning. Through some awful error on the +part of the Chicago costumer, Philo Gubb's regalia had not arrived in +time for the first day of the Carnival, so he had absented himself +rather than let the crooks and thieves who were supposed to swarm the +grounds have an opportunity to become acquainted with his appearance +and thus be put on their guard against the famous Correspondence +School detective. + +When the Committee on Organization of the Third Carnival and Circus +for the benefit of the Riverbank Free Hospital held its first public +mass meeting in Willcox Hall, Philo Gubb had been there. Like all the +rest of Riverbank, he was willing to assist the good cause in any way +he could, and he had meant to donate his services as official +paper-hanger, but a grander opportunity offered. Mr. Beech, the +Chairman of the Committee on Peanuts and Police Protection, offered +Mr. Gubb the position of Official Detective. Mr. Gubb accepted +eagerly. + +During the weeks of preparation for the Carnival, a thousand plans for +getting the better of pickpockets and other crooks passed through +Philo Gubb's mind. He finally decided to disguise himself as Ali Baba. +He had a slight recollection that Ali Baba had something to do with +forty thieves. It seemed an appropriate _alias_. + +His disguise he ordered from the Supply Department of the Rising Sun +Detective Agency, where he bought all his disguises. It consisted of a +tall conical cap spangled with stars, a sort of red Mother-Hubbard +gown bespattered with black crescents, a small metal tube, and a wand. +With the metal tube came several hundred sheets of apparently blank +paper, but, when these were rolled into cylinders and inserted in the +metal tube for half a minute, characters appeared on the sheets. A +child could work the magic tube, and so could Philo Gubb. + +It was not until the second day that Mr. Beech thought of Mr. Gubb at +all. Then Mrs. Phillipetti, daughter-in-law of General Phillipetti, +who was Ambassador to Siberia in 1867, asked for Mr. Gubb. Mrs. +Phillipetti was in charge of the Hot Waffles Booth, No. 13, aided by +seventeen ladies of the highest society Riverbank could boast, and +they served hot waffles with their own fair hands to all who chose to +buy. The cooking of the waffles, being a warm task in late June, had +been turned over to three colored women, hired for the occasion, and +to complete the "ongsomble" and make things perfectly "apropos"--two +of Mrs. Phillipetti's favorite words--the three colored women had been +dressed as Turkish slaves, while Mrs. Phillipetti and her aides +dressed as Beauties of the Harem. + +To judge by Mrs. Phillipetti's costume, the Beauties of the Harem were +expensive to clothe. She had more silk, gold lace, and tinsel strung +upon her ample form than would set a theatrical costumer up in +business, but the star feature of her costume was her turban. It was a +gorgeous creation, and would have been a comfortable piece of headgear +in midwinter, although slightly heating for a hot June day, but it +came near being the talk of the Carnival, for in the center of the +front, just above her forehead, Mrs. Phillipetti had pinned the +celebrated brooch containing the Dragon's Eye--the priceless ruby +given to old General Phillipetti by the Dugosh of Zind after the old +diplomat had saved the worthless life of the old reprobate by +appealing to the Vice-Regent of Siberia in his behalf. + +The Dragon's Eye was about the size of a lemon and weighed nearly as +much as a pound of creamery butter, so it required considerable turban +to make it "apropos" and complete its "ongsomble." Pinned on her +shelf-like chest, Mrs. Phillipetti wore a small mirror somewhat +smaller than a tea saucer. By tipping the outer edge of the mirror +upward and glancing down into it, Mrs. Phillipetti had a good view of +the entire facade of her turban, reflected in the mirror, and she was +thus able to keep an eye on the Dragon's Eye. + +"Oh, Mr. Beech!" cried Mrs. Phillipetti, stopping him as he was +bustling past her booth, "_do_ you know where Mr. Gubb is?" + +"Gubb? Gubb?" said Mr. Beech. "Oh! that paper-hanger-detective fellow? +No, I don't know where he is. Why?" + +"It's gone! The Dragon's Eye is gone!" moaned Mrs. Phillipetti. + +Mr. Beech, although greatly concerned, tried to maintain his +composure. Mrs. Phillipetti explained that she had removed her turban +and placed it under a chair at the back of the booth. A little later +she had noticed that the turban, with the priceless Dragon's Eye, was +gone. + +"Now, this--now--was not wholly unexpected," Beech said. "It's +a--now--unfortunate thing, but it's the sort of thing that happens. +Now, Mrs. Phillipetti, just let me beg you not to say anything about +it to anybody, and I'll have Detective Gubb get right on the case. The +matter is in my hands. Rest easy! We will attend to it." + +"I--I hate to lose the Dragon's Eye," said Mrs. Phillipetti, wiping +her eyes, "but the worst is to have my turban stolen. Mr. Beech, I +will give one hundred dollars to whoever returns the Dragon's Eye to +me. The 'ongsomble' of my costume is ruined. I haven't anything else +'apropos' to wear on my head." + +"You look fine just as you are," said Mr. Beech. "But if you want +something to wear, you can get a Turkish hat at the Paper Hat Booth +for twenty-five cents." + +"Thank you!" said Mrs. Phillipetti scornfully. "I don't wear +twenty-five-cent hats!" + +Within twenty minutes the Boy Scouts, who were acting as Aides to the +Executive Committee, had tacked in ten prominent places ten hastily +daubed placards that read:-- + + Philo Gubb, please report at Executive Booth. + Beech, Chmn. Police Committee. + +And the members of the Board of Managers had, singly and by roundabout +routes, approached the scene of the theft and had studied it. + +[Illustration: "THE 'ONGSOMBLE' OF MY COSTUME IS RUINED"] + +To the left of Mrs. Phillipetti's booth was the Ethiopian Dip. Here, +some thirty feet back from a counter and shielded by a net, a negro +sat on an elevated perch just over a canvas tub full of water. In +front of the net was a small target, and if a patron of the game hit +the target with a baseball, the negro suddenly and unexpectedly +dropped into the tub of water. The price was three throws for five +cents. + +As Riverbank had some remarkably clever baseball throwers, the +Ethiopian was dipped quite frequently. As the water was cold and such +a bath an unusual luxury for the Riverbank Ethiopians, no one +Ethiopian cared to be dipped very often in succession. Therefore the +Committee of Seven of the Exempt Firemen's Association, which had the +Dip in charge, had arranged for a quick change of Ethiopians, and +while one sat on the perch to be dipped, three others lolled in +bathing costumes just back of Mrs. Phillipetti's booth. + +Mr. Beech questioned the colored men quietly. + +"Turbine?" said one of them. "We ain't seen no turbine. We ain't seen +nuffin'. We ain't done nuffin' but sit here an' play craps." + +"But you were here?" said Mr. Beech. + +"Yes, we was heah," said the blackest negro. "We was right heah all de +time. Dey ain't been no turbine took from nowhar whilst we was heah, +neither. Ain't been nobody back heah but us, an' we's been heah all de +time." + +"Well, perhaps you can tell how this board got pried loose, if you +were here all the time," said Mr. Beech. + +"It wa'n't pried loose," said the yellow negro. "Hit got kicked loose +f'om de hinside. I know dat much, annerways. I seen dat oc-cur. I seen +dat board bulge out an' bulge out an' bulge out twell hit bust out. +An' dey hain't no turbine come out, nuther. No, sah!" + +Mr. Beech went away. The detective business was not his business. He +specialized in coal and not in crime. But in going he passed by Mrs. +Phillipetti's booth and spoke to her. + +"It will be all right," he said reassuringly. "We are on the track." + +"Oh, thank you!" said Mrs. Phillipetti, who had completed the +"apropriety" of her "ongsomble" by wrapping a green silk handkerchief +about her head. + +"I hope to return the turban and the jewel sometime to-morrow," said +Mr. Beech, bluffing bravely. + +But Philo Gubb did not heed the notices posted to call him to the +Executive Booth. The evening passed and he did not appear, and Mr. +Beech, on his way home, stopped at the police station. It was after +midnight, but Chief of Police Wittaker was still on duty. He never +slept during the Carnival. + +Mr. Beech explained the loss of the turban and the Dragon's Eye, and +early the next morning the Chief himself took up the hunt. By three +o'clock in the afternoon he had discovered several things. He +discovered that the yellow man who had claimed to see the board pushed +out from the inside was the husband of one of the waffle cooks in Mrs. +Phillipetti's booth. He learned that the yellow man had been in jail. +He learned that for a few minutes the yellow negro had been alone +behind the waffle booth. The Chief thereupon arrested the yellow +negro. + +As he led the negro from the grounds by the back way, in order to +cause as little commotion as possible, he brushed by a strange +creature dressed as a wizard, who was standing by the rear entrance, +droning: "Tell your fortune, ten cents! Tell your fortune, ten cents!" +The wizard was tall and thin and wore a long white beard, a sort of +Mother-Hubbard gown, and a pointed cap. As the Chief passed with his +prisoner the wizard turned his eyes on the two, and then droned on. It +was Philo Gubb, the paper-hanger detective, on the job! + +Philo Gubb, having received his costume, had come to the Carnival +grounds the back way. He had wandered about the grounds, peeking and +peering, seeking malefactors unsuccessfully. He felt the whole weight +of the Carnival on his shoulders. When he suspected a youth he +followed him at a safe distance, stopping when he stopped, going on +when he went on. He was so intent on trailing and shadowing that he +did not even notice the placards calling him to the Executive Booth. +Every few minutes he had to stop and tell a fortune with the magic +tube. So far he had collected two dollars and sixty cents. + +The Chief, with his prisoner walking quietly by his side,--to avoid +unpleasant commotion in an otherwise orderly crowd,--had just passed +the wizard when he heard voices that made him look back. + +"There he is!" said one voice. "Kick him off the grounds!" + +"Here, you!" said another voice. "You've got to get out of here. And +you've got to give up the money you've taken. Quick now. We don't +allow any professionals on these grounds." + +The voices were those of Henry P. Cross, Officer of the Day for this +day of the Carnival, and Sam Green, Jr., Vice-Chairman of Police, and +they were speaking to the wizard. + +"Sh!" said the wizard, in a mysterious voice. "It's all right! Don't +make a fuss. It's all right!" + +"Let me kick him off the grounds!" said Mr. Cross. "All I want is a +chance to kick him off the grounds. The cheap professional fakir, +sneaking in to get money that ought to go to the Hospital! Let me +kick--" + +"Now, wait!" said Mr. Green irritably. "We want to make him disgorge +first, don't we? Just keep your head on, Cross. Let me handle this." + +"It's all right! Don't make a fuss," whispered the wizard. "I belong +here." + +"You belong nowhere!" shouted Mr. Cross. "You belong here, indeed! +Why, you couldn't tell that to a baby! I guess not! Telling fortunes +and putting the cash in your pocket. Don't the Ladies' Aid of the +Second Baptist Church have the exclusive fortune-telling privilege? +Didn't they put us onto you?" + +The Chief turned back. + +"What's up?" he asked. + +"Professional," said Mr. Green. "Some Chicago grafter trying to make +money out of our show." + +"I'm all right, I tell you," said Philo Gubb earnestly. "I'm no crook. +You see Beech. Ask Beech. Have Beech come here." + +Mr. Cross looked at Mr. Green. + +"You mean you fixed it with Beech so you could tell fortunes here?" +asked Mr. Cross. + +"Yes, that's what I mean," said Philo Gubb. "You get Beech." + +"Get Beech," said Mr. Green. "Beech will throw him out." + +"I'll watch him," said the Chief. "If he tries to move I'll club him." + +Mr. Cross and Mr. Green hurried away, and the Chief dangled his club +meaningly. The yellow man, who had been standing awaiting the end of +the controversy, seated himself on the grass and leaned his back +against a tree. Philo Gubb, as evidence that he did not mean to run, +also seated himself, and leaned back against the same tree. The Chief +stood a short distance away, his eyes keenly on them. + +"How about it, Chicago man?" asked the yellow man in a low tone, +bending down to pick a blade of grass. "Kin you he'p a feller out?" + +"How?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"I got in trouble," said the yellow man. "I'm gwine git hit in de neck +ef some one don't he'p me mighty quick. Ef I hand you somethin' is you +gwine take it?" + +"Sure," said Philo Gubb. + +"Grab it!" whispered the yellow man, and his hand slid the Dragon's +Eye into the hand of Philo Gubb. + +The Chief moved nearer. + +"I guess dey let me go whin dey git me to de calaboose," said the +yellow man in a louder voice. "Kaze I ain' done nuffin' nohow." + +"They'll let you go when we get that ruby," said the Chief meaningly; +"and if we can prove it on you, you go to the pen'." + +Mr. Cross and Mr. Green returned with Mr. Beech. + +"There he is," said Mr. Cross, pointing to the wizard Gubb. + +"Never saw him in my life!" said Mr. Beech. "Now, then, what is this +now? What's this story you--" + +The paper-hanger detective arose and leaned close to Mr. Beech's ear. +He whispered three words and Mr. Beech's attitude changed entirely. + +"Oh!" he said. "I wondered where--now--all right! It's all right! +It's all right, Cross. All right, Green. All right, Chief!" Then he +turned to Gubb. "We've been wanting you, detective. Put up placards +for you. Now, listen! Mrs. Phillipetti had a turban stolen from her +booth, and that infernal ton and a half or so of ruby was in it. The +Dragon's Eye, she calls it. Well, that turban was stolen--" + +"I am quite well acquainted with that fact," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, why don't you hunt for it, then?" asked Mr. Beech crossly. "I +thought you were going to be of some use. Fooling around here with +your silly ten-cent fortune-telling, having the time of your life +while all of us are worrying about that Dragon's Eye. Why don't you +hunt for it?" + +"It ain't hardly necessary to engage in deteckative exertions at the +present moment on account of that ruby," said Philo Gubb slowly, +"because when I want it, all I got to do is to consult the magic +deteckative tube." + +"You're crazy!" said Mr. Beech. "You're crazy as a loon!" + +"The usual price for consulting the oracle is ten cents," said Philo +Gubb, "but I'll make a special exception out of this time." + +He put the end of the magic tube to his ear and listened. + +"The genyi of the tube says I've got the Dragon's Eye into my pocket, +and if you ask this yellow negro black-man he'll tell you where the +turban is at." + +"Honest!" exclaimed Mr. Beech. "Gubb, you're a wonder!" + +The negro, thus trapped, told where he had hidden the turban, and in a +few minutes Mr. Beech, Mr. Cross, and Mr. Green returned with Mrs. +Phillipetti, on whose head again towered the turban with the Dragon's +Eye gleaming in it, making her "ongsomble" thoroughly "apropos." + +"Gubb," said Mr. Beech, "I want Mrs. Phillipetti to meet you. You +certainly are a wizard." + +"Yes, indeed!" said Mrs. Phillipetti. "The wizardry of your whole +ongsomble is completely apropos to your detective ability." + + + + +THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER + + +When Philo Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook the one hundred dollars he had +received for retrieving the Dragon's Eye, Mr. Medderbrook was not +extremely gracious. + +"I'll take it on account," he said grudgingly, "but it ought to be +more. It only brings what you owe me for that Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock down to eleven thousand nine hundred dollars and, at +this rate, you'll never get me paid up. I can't tell when there'll +come along another dividend of ten cumulative per cents on that stock, +that I will have to charge up against you. Unless you can do better I +have half a mind not to let you see the telegram I got from my +daughter Syrilla this morning." + +"Was the news into it good?" asked Mr. Gubb eagerly. + +"As good as gold," said Mr. Medderbrook. "As good as Utterly Hopeless +Gold-Mine stock." + +"What did Miss Syrilla convey the remark of?" asked the lovelorn +paper-hanger detective. + +"Well, now," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I went and paid two dollars and +fifty cents for that telegram. For one dollar and twenty-five cents +I'll give you the telegram, and you can read it from start to finish." + +Mr. Gubb, his heart palpitating as only a lover's heart can palpitate, +paid Mr. Medderbrook the sum he asked and eagerly read the telegram +from Syrilla. It said:-- + + Grand news! Have given up all fish diet. Have given up + codfish, weak fish, sole, flounder, shark's fins, bass, + trout, herring (dried, kippered, smoked, and fresh), finnan + haddie, perch, pike, pickerel, lobster, halibut, and stewed + eels. Gross weight now only nine hundred and thirty pounds + averdupois. Sweet thoughts to Gubby-lubby. + +"You are touched," said Mr. Medderbrook as Mr. Gubb put the dear +missive to his lips, "but unless I am mistaken you will be still more +deeply touched when you pay for--when you read Syrilla's next +telegram." + +"I so hope and trust," said Mr. Gubb, and he returned to his office in +the Opera House Block with a light heart. + + * * * * * + +With the increase of fame that came to him as a detective Mr. Gubb's +paper-hanging business had grown, and he had left Mrs. Murphy's house +and taken a room on the second floor of Opera House Block, near the +offices of ex-Judge Gilroy, attorney-at-law, and C. M. Dillman, loans +and real estate. The door now bore the sign + + PHILO GUBB + DETECKATIVE + Also Paper-hanging + +On this morning Detective Gubb had hardly reached his office when +Uncle Gabriel Hostetter, a shrewd smile on his face, opened Mr. Gubb's +door. + +Uncle Gabriel Hostetter was a round-shouldered old man with a long +white beard that came to a thin point. He wore old-fashioned +gold-rimmed spectacles, the rims forming irregular octagons, and on +his head he wore one of the grandest old silk hats that ever saw the +light of day in 1865. His principal garment was a frock coat, once +black, but now grayish green. He was the wealthiest man in town, and +it was said that when he once got his hands on a silver dollar he +squeezed it so hard that the bird of freedom on it uttered a squawk. + +He opened Philo Gubb's door hesitatingly. He expected to see an array +of mahogany desks and filing cabinets for which he would have to pay +every time the detective turned around. When he peered into the room +he saw a tall, thin man in white overalls with a bib, sitting on an +up-ended bundle of wall-paper, stirring a pail of paste with one hand +while he ate a ham sandwich by means of the other. + +"I guess I got in the wrong place," said Uncle Gabe. "Thought this was +a detective office. All right! All right!" + +"I'm him," said Philo Gubb, swallowing a hunk of sandwich with a gulp +and wiping his hand on his overalls. + +"You're who?" asked Uncle Gabe. + +"I'm the deteckative," said Philo Gubb. + +"You are, hey?" said Uncle Gabe. "All disguised up, I reckon." + +"Disguised up?" said Philo questioningly. "Oh, this here paper-hanging +and decorating stuff? No, this ain't no disguise. Even a deteckative +has got to earn a living while his practice is building up." + +"Humph!" said old Gabe. "Detecting ain't very good right now?" + +"It ain't, for a fact," said Philo. + +"Well, if that's so," said old Gabe, "maybe you and me could do +business. If you want to do a little detective work to sort of keep +your hand in, maybe we can do business." + +"I ought to git paid something," said Philo doubtfully. + +"Pay!" exclaimed old Gabe. "Pay for bein' allowed to sharpen up and +keep bright? Why, you'd ought to pay me for lettin' you have the +practice. It ain't goin' to do me no good, is it?" + +"I don't know what you want me to detect yet," said Philo. "I might +pay some if it was a case that would do me good to practice on. I +might pay a little." + +"I knew it," said old Gabe. "Now, this case of mine--What sort of a +case _would_ you pay to work on?" + +"Well," said Philo thoughtfully, "if I was to have a chance at a real +tough murder case, for instance." + +"Humph!" said old Gabe. "How much might you pay to be let work on a +case like that?" + +"Well, I dunno!" said Philo Gubb thoughtfully. "If it looked like a +mighty hard case I might pay a dollar a day--if it was a murder case." + +"This case of mine," said old Gabe, coming farther into the room, "is +just that sort of a case. And I'll let you work on it for a dollar and +a quatter a day." + +"Well, if it's that kind of a case," said Philo slowly, "I'll give you +a dollar a day, and I'll work on it hard and faithful." + +"A dollar and a quatter a day," insisted old Gabe. + +"No, sir, a dollar is all I can afford to pay," said Philo. + +"All right, I won't be mean," said old Gabe. "Make it a dollar an' +fifteen cents and we'll call it a go." + +"One dollar a day," said Philo. + +"A dollar, ten cents," urged old Gabe. + +"One dollar," said Philo. + +"Tell you what let's do," said old Gabe. "We ain't but ten cents +apart. You add on a nickel and I'll knock off a nickel, and we'll make +it a dollar five. What say? That's fair enough. You ain't come up any. +I come all the way down." + +"All right, then," said Philo. "It's a go. Now, who was murdered, and +when was he murdered, and why was he murdered? Them's the things I've +got to know first." + +"You pay me a dollar five for the first day's work, and I'll tell +you," said old Gabe. + +Philo dug into his pocket and drew out some money. "There," he said. +"There's two dollars and ten cents. That pays for two days. Now, go +ahead." + +He drew out his notebook and wet the end of a pencil and waited. + +"The reason this is such a hard case," said old Gabe slowly, and +choosing his words with care, "is because the murder ain't completed +yet. It's being did." + +"Right now?" exclaimed Philo excitedly. "Why, we oughtn't to be +sitting here like this. We ought--" + +"Now, don't be in such a hurry," said old Gabe. "If you mean we ought +to be where the victim of the murder is, we are. He's right here now. +I'm him. I'm the one that's being murdered. I'm being murdered by slow +murder. I'm liable to drop down dead any minute. But I don't want to +be murdered and not have the feller that murders me hang like he +ought. I can't be expected to. It ain't human nature." + +"No, it ain't," agreed Philo. "A man can't help feeling revengeful +against the man that murders him. If anybody murdered me I'd feel the +same way. How's he killing you? Slow poison?" + +"Gun-shot," said old Gabe. "Shootin' me to death with a gun." + +The correspondence school detective looked at old Gabe with amazement. + +"Shootin' you to death with a gun!" he exclaimed. "Ain't you told the +police?" + +"I come to you, didn't I?" asked old Gabe. "If I was to set the police +on the feller he might rouse up and shoot me to death all at once." + +"How is he shootin' you to death?" asked Philo. + +"By inches, b'gee," said old Gabe. "Yes, sir, by inches. Every once in +a while he takes a shot at me. Sometimes through the window of my +house, and sometimes when I'm walkin' on the street." + +"And he ain't ever hit you yet?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Hit me?" exclaimed old Gabe. "Why, he don't ever miss me. He hits me +every time. There ain't a day he don't shoot and hit me, and some days +he hits me two or three times. I dare say I'm almost dead now, if I +knowed it." + +Philo Gubb fondled his notebook uncertainly. + +"What--what does he shoot you with?" he asked. + +"Well, I dunno exactly," said old Gabe. "With a pea-shooter." + +Philo Gubb closed his notebook, and slipped it into his pocket. + +"If all you was after was to get that two dollars and ten cents, you +might have got it without wastin' so much of my time," he said +reproachfully. + +But old Gabe did not move. + +"What's the matter?" he asked. + +"Maybe I'm a fool," Gubb said bitterly, "but I ain't no such fool as +to think anybody is murdering nobody with a pea-shooter." + +"Was you ever shot with a cannon?" asked old Gabe calmly. + +"No, nor nobody ever tried to murder me with a pea-shooter," said +Philo Gubb. + +"If you ever _was_ shot by a thirteen-inch cannon ball," said old +Gabe, "you'd know it. When a thirteen-inch cannon ball hits you, there +ain't nothin' left of you at all. But when a one-inch cannon ball hits +you, you've got a chance to live a minute or two, maybe. That's the +difference between a thirteen-inch cannon ball shootin' you, and a +one-inch cannon ball shootin' you. And a rifle ball is different, +too." + +"I got a job of paper-hangin' as soon as I can get away from here," +said Philo Gubb meaningly. + +"You got a job of detectin' on hand now," said old Gabe. "And, as I +was sayin', a rifle ball acts different. Maybe it kills you the first +shot, and maybe you can hold three or four rifle bullets before you +die, but if they keep on shootin' at you, you get killed sooner or +later. Probably five shots is all any man could stand. I guess that's +about it. + +[Illustration: "THERE AIN'T A DAY HE DON'T SHOOT AND HIT ME"] + +"And then you come down to one of them little twenty-two caliber +revolvers. If he don't hit you in the heart, a murderer could easy +enough shoot at you twenty-five times with one of them little +twenty-two's before he killed you dead. But you'd be dead sooner or +later. It's just a matter of what a man shoots you with that makes the +difference in time. + +"Of course," he continued agreeably, "you don't expect no pea-shooter +to kill me as quick as a thirteen-inch gun would. If you expect that +you're unreasonable. But the principle is just the same. Shootin' is +shootin'. You know how that pome goes-- + + 'The constant drip of water + Wears away the hardest stone--' + +and that's just as true of murderin' a man with a pea-shooter. + +"And the beauty of it is that nobody knows you're committin' a murder. +If anybody catches you and asks you what you're doin' you just say, +'Oh, nothin'. Just shootin' peas.'" + +"Maybe that's so," agreed Philo Gubb. "It sounds reasonable. But the +thing for me to do is to wait until you're dead and then catch the +feller. It ain't a murder until you're dead." + +"It ain't, ain't it?" sneered old Gabe. "You'd wait until I am dead, I +suppose, and then start out to catch the feller. And you'd lose all +the help I can give you. It ain't often a detective can get the corpse +to help him like this." + +"No, it ain't," agreed Philo Gubb. + +"I got a suspicion who the feller is," said Gabe. + +"Who?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"You'll go ahead with the case? On the terms we settled on?" asked old +Gabe. + +Philo Gubb considered this carefully. + +"Why, yes," he said at length, "I will. Who is the feller you think is +doin' it?" + +"Farrin'ton Pierce, the cashier of the Farmers' and Citizens' Bank," +said old Gabe, his eyes shining with malice and shrewdness, as he +leaned forward and whispered the words. "My own son-in-law, he is. An' +I'll tell you why he's tryin' it. For my money. So his wife'll get it, +an' he can be president of the bank in my place." + +"You've seen him have a pea-shooter?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"No, sir!" said old Gabe. "And I never seen one of the peas. All I +ever felt was the sting of it when it hit me." + +"Maybe," said Philo Gubb eagerly, "maybe it ain't a pea-shooter. Maybe +it's a twenty-two short pistol with a silencer onto it. Maybe it's +only because he's been afraid to come nigh enough to you that he ain't +killed you yet. It don't seem to me that any man would try to murder +any one with a pea-shooter." + +"Humph!" said old Gabe. "Maybe you are right, at that. That's +something I never thought of. It sounds likely, too." + +"A deteckative has to think of all them things," said Philo simply. +"If I was you I'd be more careful." + +"I will!" said old Gabe. "See here, if he's shootin' at me like that, +it ain't no joke, is it? Tell you what I'll do. I'll let you off from +payin' me that dollar five a day. Just you hustle onto this case and +keep at it, and I'll leave you work on it for nothin'. All I want is +that you should send me word reg'lar of what you find out." + +"It is the custom of all the graduates of the Rising Sun +Correspondence School deteckatives to make reg'lar reports in +writing," said Philo Gubb. "I'll start right in shadowing and trailing +Mister Farrington Pierce, according to Lessons Three and Four, and +I'll report reg'lar every day." + +"Everything you find out," said old Gabe. "Don't leave out a thing. +And particularly at night. That's when he shoots me the most." + +"I won't leave him a minute," said Philo Gubb. "I've got a man I hire +to help me on my paper-hangin', and I'll get him to finish up this +job. I'll start trailin' and shadowin' Farry Pierce right away." + +Old Gabe shook hands with Philo and went out. When the door was closed +behind him he chuckled, and all the way home his face was creased in a +grin. He felt that he had done a good bit of business and saved +himself a good sum of money. Philo Gubb, in the meantime, having put a +false beard and a wig in his pocket, went out. + +Across the street from the bank was Grammill's Cigar Store, where the +idler men of the town loafed when they had nothing better on hand, +and Philo Gubb entered and bought a cigar and took an easy loafing +position near the front window. He commanded a view of the only +entrance to the bank, and here he waited. At fifteen minutes after +three Farry Pierce came out of the bank. + +"There's a man with an easy job," said one of the loafers. "That Farry +Pierce. Nothing to do till to-morrow." + +"Too much time on his hands, I guess," said another, who--by the +way--had more spare time than Farry Pierce. "From what I hear he'd be +better off if he had to work all day _and_ all night." + +"The widow?" asked the first speaker. + +"That's what they say," said the second. "They tell me he's blowing +all his salary and more on that widow. Must make old Gabe crazy to see +any of his kin spend money that way. Or any way. He's a close one, old +Gabe is." + +"What you hear about Farry and the widow?" asked the first. + +"Makes old Gabe crazy, they tell me. He wants his girl to get a +divorce." + +"Who told you that?" + +"My girl. My girl is workin' for his girl. Fr'm what she tells me old +Gabe is pretty well worked up about it. Said he'd get a spotter to +foller Farry and get some evidence on him if it didn't cost so blame +much. I bet the' won't be any divorces in that family if old Gabe has +to pay out any money." + +"I bet they won't. And the' ain't no detectives workin' for nothin' so +far as I hear. Not this year." + +"No, nor next year, neither," said the other; and as this was in the +nature of a joke they both laughed. + +But Philo Gubb did not join their laughter. He felt his face grow red. +His lean hands folded and unfolded as he watched Farry Pierce +disappear around the corner of the bank building. If any one felt like +murdering old Gabe with a pea-shooter at that moment, Philo Gubb did. +Shadow and trail Farry Pierce! The old skin-flint, coming with a fairy +tale and getting the only fully graduated deteckative in Riverbank to +shadow and trail a son-in-law and report daily! Divorce case evidence, +hey? Talking murderer and working a deteckative into doing scandal +sleuthing free of charge! Philo Gubb's face reddened again with new +anger as he put his hand in his pocket and touched the beard and wig +he had placed there. But for this chance conversation he would have +been following Farry Pierce now, and making a fool of himself. But for +this chance conversation he would not have lost sight of Farry Pierce +by day or by night. He went back to his office, put on his overalls, +and went to his work on a paper-hanging job. + +At six he started for home. A block down the street he met one of the +loafers he had heard speaking in Grammill's Cigar Store. + +"What do you think about it?" he asked Philo Gubb. + +"About what?" asked Philo in return. + +"Ain't you heerd?" asked the man. "Why, it's all over town by now. +Farry Pierce murdered old Gabe Hostetter not more'n twenty minutes +after we seen him comin' out of the bank. Shot him. Killed him first +shot. Yes, sir! Killed him instantly with a little mite of a pistol +with about as much carry as a pea-shooter. Must have hit him in just +the right spot." + +"Did you see the pistol?" asked Philo Gubb nervously. + +"No, I didn't," said his informant, "but that's what the feller told +me. 'Killed him instantly with one of these here little pea-shooters,' +was what he said. What you lookin' so funny about?" + +"If you insist to wish to know," said Philo Gubb, "Mr. Gabe Hostetter +wasn't murdered instantly at all. He was progressively murdered by +inches over a long considerable period of time, like little drops of +water." + +For a minute the loafer stared at Mr. Gubb. Then he laughed. + +"Crazy!" he scoffed. "Crazy as a loon!" and he walked away and left +Mr. Gubb struggling for a suitably crushing retort. + + + + +THE MISSING MR. MASTER + + +That evening Mr. Gubb received a short note from Mr. Medderbrook that +was in the form of a bill or statement. It read: "Due from P. Gubb to +J. Medderbrook, $11,900. Please remit,"--so he put on his hat and +walked to Mr. Medderbrook's elegant home. + +"I want you to hurry up with what you owe me," said Mr. Medderbrook, +when Mr. Gubb explained that he could pay nothing on the Utterly +Hopeless Gold-Mine stock at the moment, "because I know you are soft +on Syrilla, and from a telegram I got from her to-day it looks as if +it would be no time at all before she reduced her weight down to seven +hundred pounds and Mr. Dorgan of the side-show broke his contract with +her. And if you want to read the telegram you can do so by paying half +what it cost me, which was three dollars." + +Mr. Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook one dollar and a half, as any lover +would, and read the telegram from Syrilla. It said:-- + + Love is triumphing. Have given up all cereal diet. Have + given up oatmeal, rice, farina, puffed wheat, corn flakes, + hominy, shredded wheat, force, cream of wheat, grapenuts, + boiled barley, popcorn, flour paste, and rice powder. Weigh + now only nine hundred and twenty-five pounds. Soft thoughts + to dearest Gubby. + +Mr. Gubb hesitated a moment and then said:-- + +"Far be it from me to say aught or anything, Mr. Medderbrook, but I +would wish the cost of telegrams would reduce themselves down a +little. This one is marked onto its upper corner 'PAID'--" + +"Yes, the telegraph boy said that was a mistake," said Mr. Medderbrook +hastily. + +"And very likely so," said Mr. Gubb, "but for a reduction of five +pounds one dollar fifty is a highish price to pay. Thirty cents a +pound is too much." + +"Well," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I don't want to have any quarrel with +you, so I'll do this for you: I will make you a flat price of +twenty-five cents per pound." + +"Which is a fair and reasonable price for glad tidings to a fond +heart," said Mr. Gubb, and this matter having been amicably settled, +he returned to his office. + +That evening he sat on the edge of his cot bed minus his coat, vest, +and trousers, with his bare feet comfortably extended. At his back a +pillow made a back-rest, and a bundle of wall-paper served as a rather +lofty footstool. He was deeply immersed in Lesson Eleven, his +bird-like face screwed into tensity. From time to time he wiggled one +toe or another as a fly alighted on it. Sometimes, when more than one +fly alighted on his toes at once, he wiggled all ten toes +simultaneously. + +A trunk, a varnished oak washstand and a cot showed that the room was +not only a decorator's shop, but a living-place; and that this was +the office of Philo Gubb, detective, was shown by a row of hooks from +which hung various disguises used by the celebrated detective, by a +portrait of William J. Burns, cut from a magazine and pasted on the +wall, and by a placard which read, "P. Gubb, Graduate and Diploma-ist +of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of +Detecting. Detecting done by the Day or Job. Terms on Application." + +On the cot at Philo Gubb's side lay a copy of that day's morning +Chicago paper, with a two-column spread headline reading, "Wife Offers +$5000 Reward," and it was this that had driven Philo Gubb, the +paper-hanger detective, to renewed study of Lesson Eleven--"Procedure +in Abduction and Missing Men Cases." + +Mr. Custer Master, of Chicago, had mysteriously disappeared. One +paragraph in the article had caught Mr. Gubb's particular attention:-- + + Mrs. Master feels that her husband is still alive, and + insists that Mr. Master will be found in one of the Iowa + towns on the Mississippi River. The police of these towns + have been notified, and detectives have gone to investigate. + The Masters stand high in South-Side society. Mr. Master, it + is understood, recently inherited $450,000 from a maternal + uncle. At the time the will was probated considerable + interest was aroused by the fact that the legacy was to go + to Mr. Master only on condition that he carried out certain + provisions contained in a sealed envelope, to be read only + by the executors and Mr. Master. + +And so on. The paper pointed out that Mr. Master had been a sufferer +from dyspepsia for many years, but this had not had a permanently +depressing effect on his mind. His home relations were most +satisfactory. His own business--he was a dealer in laundry supplies +and laundry machinery--was doing well, and no trace of outside +troubles could be discovered. + +On the morning of his disappearance, Mr. Master had shown some signs +of mental eccentricity. A neighbor, happening to be at her window, saw +Mr. Master come hurriedly from the door of his house. An hour later a +friend passed him as he was standing on a corner six blocks from home. +Mr. Master seemed greatly distressed. + +"I can't do it! It kills me; I can't do it!" he was muttering to +himself. "I never could do it. I said so." + +The next news of Mr. Master was gained from the keeper of a bath-house +and swimming-pool known as the Imperial Natatorium. About ten o'clock, +Mr. Master entered the Natatorium hurriedly, asked the price of baths, +and chose to pay for a plunge in the big swimming-pool. He paid in +advance, removed his garments in one of the small dressing-rooms, put +on a swimming-suit and went to the edge of the big pool. Here he +grasped the rail and extended one foot until his toes touched the cold +water, when he uttered a cry, rushed to the dressing-room, and, as +soon as he had thrown on his clothes, dashed from the building. That +was the last seen of Mr. Master. + +Philo Gubb, having finished reading Lesson Eleven for the third time, +had picked up the Chicago paper when the silence of the Opera House +Building was disturbed by the sound of feet ascending the brass-clad +stairs. + +The nocturnal visitors seemed unacquainted with the building, for, +after two or three steps had been taken, one lighted a match. It was +evident to the detective that these visitors were reading the names on +the doors as they progressed along the corridor, and he was about to +extinguish his lamp and prepare for the worst, when the two men +stopped again, struck a match, and, after an instant's hesitation, +rapped sharply upon his door. + +"Come in!" called Philo Gubb, at the same time drawing his bed-sheet +over his scantily clad legs. He knotted the sheet behind, like an +apron, and arose to greet the comers. They were two. One of them Mr. +Gubb recognized at once; he was Billy Gribble, proprietor of the Gold +Star Hand Laundry, just across the way on Main Street. The other man +was a stranger. + +Under his arm, Billy Gribble carried a long, cylindrical parcel +enclosed in heavy wrapping paper. The parcel was about six feet long +and nearly as large around as Billy himself. Under his other arm, +Billy carried a second parcel. This was about three feet square. The +trained eye of Detective Gubb noted all this at a glance. Billy +Gribble dropped the two parcels on the floor. + +"Gubby, old sport!" he said in his noisy way, "this is--" + +"Now, now!" said the stranger irritably. "Now, wait! I said I would +talk to him, didn't I? What do you mean by--if you'll please let--you +are Detective Gubb, are you not?" he asked. + +Philo Gubb gazed at the man. The man was tall and thin, taller and +thinner than Mr. Gubb himself. He was clean-shaven and his face showed +deep lines about the mouth and nose. His hair was closely clipped, +making his head seem pea-like in its smallness. + +But Mr. Gubb was not gazing at these things. His bird-like eyes were +fastened on the end of the suitcase the stranger still held in his +hand. On the end of the case were painted in black the letters "C. M." +and the word "Chicago." The stranger glanced down at the suitcase and +put it on the floor with a suddenness that brought forth a thumping +sound. + +"Clue!" he said, and he kicked the suitcase. + +"I presume the honor of this call at this late hour of time," said +Philo Gubb, shifting his sheet a little, "is on a matter of business. +If it is of a social, society sort, I'll have to ask to be kindly +excused whilst I assume my pants." + +"Business call, business call entirely, Mr. Gubb," said the tall +stranger. "Don't put anything on. If--if you feel embarrassed I'll +take some off. My name is--is--" + +"Phineas Burke," said Billy Gribble, in a loud whisper. + +"Can't you keep still?" asked the stranger crossly. "Don't you think I +know my own name? Phineas--that's my name, and I know it as well as +you do. Phineas Burns." + +"Burke, not Burns," whispered Billy Gribble. + +The stranger turned red with exasperation. + +"Look here! Don't I know my own name?" he asked angrily. "My name is +Phineas Burns." + +"All right! All right!" said Billy Gribble. "Have it your own way. You +ought to know. Only--you said Burke over at my place." + +Mr. Burke-Burns glared at Billy Gribble. + +"Now! There, now!" he cried. "Just for that I'll tell you you don't +know anything about it. My name isn't Burke, and it isn't Burns. +It's--it's Charles Augustus Witzel. Mr. Gubb, my name is Charles +Augustus Witzel." + +"Glad to know your acquaintance, sir," said Philo Gubb. "Won't you be +seated upon one of them bundles of wall-paper?" + +"I'm a detective," said Mr. Charles Augustus Witzel. "Tell him about +me, Gribble." + +"Well, he--whatever his name is, but Burke was what he told me--is a +Chicago detective," said Billy Gribble. "Yes, sir, Mr. Gubb, Mr.--ah, +what is it?" + +"Witzel," said Mr. Witzel. + +"Mr. Witzel is one of the celebratedest Chicago detectives," said Mr. +Gribble, "and he's come over here to hunt up this man Master that's +disappeared. See? So when he strikes town he comes straight to me. +That's how it is, ain't it?" + +"Ex-act-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. + +"Yes, sir," said Billy Gribble. "So he comes to my laundry, and I'm in +the washroom--" + +"You ain't!" said Mr. Witzel. "You're out, and you know you're out!" + +"And I'm out," said Billy Gribble. "Maybe I was in the washroom and +went out the back way. Anyway, I'm out. Say," he said, as Mr. Witzel +squirmed, "if you don't like the way I'm telling this, tell it +yourself." + +"I entered Mr. Gribble's laundry," said Mr. Witzel. "You'll +understand, being a detective, Mr. Gubb. I entered the laundry. Here +is the counter. I walked up to the counter. I leaned over and spoke to +the girl there. 'My dear young lady,' I said, 'is Mr. Gribble in?' +'Out,' she says. Naturally, I looked down. A detective observes +everything. My toe has hit a suitcase. On the end of the suitcase are +the initials 'C. M.' and 'Chicago.' In other words, 'Custer Master, +Chicago,'--the man I'm looking for." + +"And did you get him?" asked Philo Gubb tensely. + +"Gone! Gone like a bird!" said Mr. Witzel. "I waited for Gribble. I +questioned Gribble. I asked him if Mr. Master had been there--" + +"Hold on!" said Mr. Gribble, and then, "Oh, all right!" + +"And he said, 'No,'" said Mr. Witzel, frowning. "'Very well,' I said +to Gribble, 'he'll be back. He'll come back after the suitcase.' So +Gribble hid me in his private office. I waited." + +"And he came back?" asked Detective Gubb eagerly. + +"He did not," said Mr. Witzel. + +Philo Gubb sighed with relief. "Then I've got a chance at an +opportunity to get that five thousand dollars," he said. + +"Mr. Gubb," said Mr. Witzel, "you have a chance to get twenty-five +hundred. It was to offer you the chance to get twenty-five hundred +that I came here. What did I say to you, Gribble?" + +"You go ahead and tell it, if you want it told," said Gribble. "You +don't like the way I tell things. Tell 'em yourself." + +"I said to Gribble," said Mr. Witzel slowly, "'Gribble, is this the +town where a detective by the name of Grubb lives?'" + +"Gubb is the name," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Gubb. That's what I said," said Mr. Witzel. "That made me think a +bit. 'Gribble,' I says, 'by to-morrow there will be forty Chicago +detectives in his town, all looking for Master. And I don't care a +whoop for any of them,' I says. 'I'm the leader of them all, as +anybody who has read the exploits of--of George Augustus Wechsler--.'" + +"Charles Augustus Witzel," said Gribble, correctingly. + +"I have so many _aliases_ I forget them," said Mr. Witzel to Mr. Gubb. +"You'll understand that perfectly. You are a detective, and I'm a +detective, Witzel or Wotzel or Wutzel--who cares? We understand each +other. Don't we?" + +"I presume to suppose we will do so in the course of time," said Philo +Gubb politely. + +"Pre-cise-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. "So I said to Gribble, 'I'm afraid of +Gubb! He's the man who will find Master, if I don't. But I've got an +advantage. I've got the clue.'" + +He pointed to the suitcase. + +"So Gribble says to me," said Mr. Witzel, "'Why don't you and Gubb +combine?' 'Great idea!' I says, and--here I am. How about it, Mr. +Gobb?" + +"Gubb is the name I adhere to when not deteckating," said Mr. Gubb +kindly. "And as to how about it, I wouldn't want to enter into a +combination shutting me out from using the ability taught to me in +Chapters One to Twelve inclusive, of the Correspondence course. For +the twenty-five hundred which would fall to my share, I should expect +to detect to some considerable extent." + +"Quite right! _Quite_ right!" said Mr. Witzel promptly. "That meets my +plans entirely. I make my headquarters here, I give you a free hand. +I am a--an inductive detective." + +"Yes, sir. A Sherlock Holmes deteckative," said Philo Gubb. + +"Ex-act-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. "I think things out. But you go out. You +shadow and snoop and trail. I remain here. For you see," he added, +"I'm so well known that if Master saw me he would disappear instantly. +Instantly!" + +"I'm willing to transact it as a business bargain onto them terms," +said Philo Gubb, and it was agreed. + +Mr. Gribble immediately cut the cords that bound the two bundles, and +released a canvas cot and a bundle of bedding. Then he said good-night +and withdrew, closing the door behind him. + +Mr. Gubb waited until he heard Mr. Gribble's footsteps on the +brass-clad stairs. + +"That Gribble man ain't what I'd term by name of a--of a--" He +hesitated. "He's not known as a strictly reliable citizen in any +respect," he ended. "I wouldn't trust him any more than need be +necessary." + +"Thank you," said Mr. Witzel, who was already removing his garments. +"I don't mean to. And now, if you don't mind, I'll retire. Let's see +if Mr. Master has a night-shirt in his suitcase. I think it helps the +inductive mind to sleep in the night-shirt of the man it is hunting." + +He opened the suitcase, using--oddly enough a key from his own bunch +of keys. He found a night-shirt and put it on. To his surprise it +fitted him exactly, which was odd, for Mr. Witzel was an unusually +tall and thin man. Without wasting time, he climbed into the cot and +closed his eyes. Mr. Gubb also retired. + +Philo Gubb, from his cot, watched Mr. Witzel until he was sure he was +thoroughly asleep. Then the Correspondence School detective slipped +out of bed and knelt over the suitcase. + +The suitcase contained linen all plainly marked. The name "C. Master" +was written in indelible ink on each piece. An extra suit of outer +garments was marked with Mr. Master's name. There were silver-backed +toilet articles, engraved with Mr. Master's name, and these Mr. Gubb +examined closely, but what caught and held his interest most was a +folded document, covered in light-blue paper and endorsed, "Last Will +and Testament of Orlando J. Higgins. Copy." + +The will began with the usual preamble, but the clause that caught +Philo Gubb's bird-like eye, and held it, was the next. + +"To my nephew, Custer Master," this clause said, "I give and bequeath +$450,000; but, be it understood, my said nephew, Custer Master, shall +benefit by this clause only in case he faithfully carries out the +instructions contained in the sealed envelope attached hereto, the +contents of said envelope to be read by my hereinafter named +Executors, and the said Custer Master, and not by any other persons +whatsoever; the said Executors are to be the sole judges of whether +the said Custer Master has carried out the instructions therein +contained." + +This document was worn at the corners of the folds, and slightly +soiled, as if Mr. Master had carried it in his pocket some time before +dropping it in his suitcase. + +With the same caution, and following closely Lesson Three and its +directions for "Searching Occupied Apartments, Etc.," Mr. Gubb +examined the articles of dress the Chicago detective had cast aside. +All were marked "C. Master" or "C. M." or with a monogram composed of +the letters "C. M." interwoven. + +As cautiously as he could, Philo Gubb crossed to his trunk and took +from the left-hand compartment of the tray his trusty pistol. It was a +large and deadly looking pistol, about a foot and a half long, with a +small ramrod beneath the barrel. It was a muzzle-loader of the crop of +1854, and carried a bullet the size of a well-matured cherry. It was +as heavy as a vitrified paving-brick. Its efficiency as a firearm was +unknown, as Mr. Gubb had never discharged it, but it looked dangerous. +A man, facing Philo Gubb's trusty weapon, felt that if the gun went +off he would be utterly and disastrously blown to flinders. Mr. Gubb +pointed it at the sleeping Mr. Witzel, using both hands, and sighting +along the barrel. + +"Wake up!" he exclaimed sternly. + +Mr. Witzel sat straight up on the cot. For an instant he was still +dazed with sleep and did not seem to know where he was; then a look of +joy spread over his face and he jumped from the cot and, with both +hands extended, moved toward Detective Gubb. + +"Superb!" he exclaimed. "A perfect specimen! Wonderfully preserved!" + +"Go back!" said Philo Gubb sternly. "This article is a loaded pistol +gun, prepared for momentary explosion at any time at all. Go back!" + +"Remarkable!" cried Mr. Witzel joyously. "A superb specimen. Let me +see it. Let me look at it." + +He walked up to the gun and peered into its muzzle with one eye. He +bent his head to read the engraving on the top of the barrel. + +"A real Briggs & Bolton 53-1/2 caliber, muzzle-loading, 1854!" he +exclaimed rapturously. + +Mr. Gubb pushed him away with one hand. + +"Go back there into range," he said sternly. "In shooting I aim to +kill, but not to blow into particles of pieces." + +"But, my dear sir!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "Do you know what you have +there?" + +"It's a pistol gun," said Philo Gubb. "If you don't stand back, I'll +shoot you anyway." + +"It's a Briggs & Bolton," said Mr. Witzel. "That's what it is. It is +the only well-preserved specimen of Briggs & Bolton I ever saw." + +Mr. Gubb shook off the hand that clasped his arm. + +"I don't care what it is," said Mr. Gubb. "It's a pistol gun, and it's +bung full of powder and bullet, and when I point it at you I mean that +if you make a move I'm a-going to shoot." + +"And I don't care what you mean," said Mr. Witzel. "It's a Briggs & +Bolton, and I warn you that you have that gun so full of powder that +if you pull that trigger you'll blow it to bits and ruin the only +perfect specimen of that gun I ever saw!" + +"And I tell _you_," said Philo Gubb sternly, "that I can't shoot you +whilst you're rubbing your nose right into this gun. Go back there +where I can shoot you." + +"I won't!" said Mr. Witzel angrily. + +Philo Gubb was slow to anger, but he was sorely pressed now, and his +temper failed him. + +"Look here," he said to Mr. Witzel. "If you don't go back where I can +get a shot at you, I'll--I'll smack you on the face." + +"If you shoot off that gun, and bust it," said Mr. Witzel, with equal +anger, "I'll--I'll hit you on the head." + +"Go back!" cried Philo Gubb menacingly. "One!" + +"I'll give you fifty dollars for that gun, just as she is," said Mr. +Witzel. + +"Two!" said Mr. Gubb. + +"Sixty dollars!" said Mr. Witzel. + +"Th--" said the paper-hanger detective, stepping backward to get room +to sight along the long barrel. Unfortunately the trunk was just +behind him and as he stepped back he tripped over it and fell +backward, doubling up like a jack-knife. But he kept his presence of +mind. The long barrel of the Briggs & Bolton protruded from between +the soles of Philo Gubb's feet in Mr. Witzel's direction. + +"Hands up!" he said. + +Instantly Mr. Witzel raised his hands in the air. + +"I'll give you seventy dollars," he said. + +"Make it seventy-five," said Mr. Gubb, "and as soon as I'm done with +it, you can have it." + +"It's a bargain!" said Mr. Witzel happily. "It's my pistol. Now, +what's all this nonsense about shooting me?" + +"_Nonsense_ is an insufficient word to use in relation to this here +case," said Philo Gubb grimly. "It won't be nonsense for you when you +get through with it. What did you do with the corpse?" + +"With the--with the _what_?" cried Mr. Witzel. + +"The remains," said Mr. Gubb. "What did you do with them?" + +"The remains of what?" asked Mr. Witzel. + +"Of Mister Custer Master," said Philo Gubb, easing himself a little by +shifting one waving foot. "There is no need to pretend to play +innocent. Where is the body?" + +"My dear Mr. Detective Gubb!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "I know nothing +about any body. I am George Augustus Wetzler--" + +"Maybe you are," said Philo Gubb. "Maybe so. But your clothes ain't. +Your clothes are the clothes of Mister Custer Master. The question is, +'Did you murder him alone, or did you and William Gribble murder him +together?'" + +Mr. Witzel-Wetzel-Wetzler's mouth fell open. + +"Murder him!" he exclaimed aghast. "But--but--" + +"In the name of the law," said Philo Gubb, "I take you into custody +for the murder and disappearing bodyliness of Mister Custer Master. +Turn your back and keep your hands up until I get from behind this +trunk, and I'll put handcuffs on you in proper shape and manner. +Turn!" + +Mr. Witzel turned--all but his head. He kept his face toward the +priceless (or, more properly) seventy-five-dollar Briggs & Bolton. + +"Mr. Gubb," he said, "you are making a serious mistake. I am a +detective." + +"You ain't!" said Philo Gubb. "I searched all your things and you +ain't got a silver badge nor a false mustache nowhere. I'm going to +turn you right over to the police to-morrow morning." + +"To the police!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "Don't do that! Whatever you +do, don't do that!" And suddenly, like a nervous dyspeptic suddenly +overwrought, Mr. Witzel broke down and, falling on the cot, began to +sob. Philo Gubb looked at him a moment with amazement. Then he dug a +pair of handcuffs out of his trunk and, walking to where Mr. Witzel +lay, prodded him in the back with the muzzle of the pistol. Mr. Witzel +turned quickly, rolling over like an eel. + +"Stop it! You're tickling me. I can't stand tickling!" he cried. "I--I +can't stand lots of things. I'm--I'm the most sensitive man in the +world. I--I can't stand cold water at all." + +"Well, nobody is cold-watering you," said Philo Gubb. "Handcuffs ain't +cold water." + +"But cold water is," said Mr. Witzel. "Cold water kills me! It makes +me shiver, and turn blue, and goose-fleshy, and gives me cramps in the +palms of my hands and the soles of my feet. I--listen: my doctor says +cold baths will kill me. The shock of 'em. Bad heart, you understand." + +Philo Gubb's eyes blinked. + +"I'll tell _you_," said Mr. Witzel, grasping Mr. Gubb's hand. "I can't +_stand_ cold baths. They'd kill me, you understand. It would be +suicide! So--so I knew Billy Gribble. Didn't I set him up in business +here, to get rid of him? Don't he owe me a good turn?" + +"Does he?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Hasn't he two bathrooms in connection with his laundry. 'Hot and Cold +Baths, All hours. Ladies Tuesdays and Wednesdays Only?'" asked Mr. +Witzel. "Mr. Gubb, I will be frank. I am Custer Master!" + +[Illustration: THE MISSING MR. MASTER] + +"The reward for who--for who the reward," said Philo Gubb, seeking a +grammatical form that would sound right, "for information as to +which five thousand dollars reward is offered!" + +"Exactly!" said Mr. Master. "And I will make it six thousand if you do +not give information. I admit I am Master. I am Custer Master. Here, +read this!" + +He reached for his vest and from the pocket took a slip of paper. It +was typewritten and headed "Secret Stipulation Regarding Custer Master +Clause of Orlando J. Higgins Will. Copy":-- + + Being a firm believer in the efficacy of cold baths for the + cure of dyspepsia and having been laughed at for same by my + nephew, Custer Master, and feeling that a course of ice-cold + baths would cure him, I make it a part of my will and + testament that the sum or sums bequeathed to him shall be + given to him only after he has faithfully, and upon the + sworn testimony of an eye-witness, bathed for twelve + minutes, every morning for one month of thirty days, in + ice-cold water. + +"Cleanliness may be next to godliness," said Mr. Master, "but +ice-water baths are my shortest road to a future state, and I'm not +ready for that yet. Still, I did not like to give up $450,000. To +Billy Gribble," he added, with a meaning smile, "all baths are cold +baths. I hold a mortgage on his laundry machinery." + +"And so you came up here to my office to hide whilst bathing in +so-called ice-water at Mister Gribble's?" said Philo Gubb. + +"Exactly!" said Mr. Master. + +"If you ain't got six thousand and seventy-five dollars by you," said +Philo Gubb simply, "you can give me a check for the whole amount in +the morning, but if you go to take the bullet out of this pistol +you'll have to get an auger. I made the bullet myself and it was too +big, and I had to pound it into the gun with a hammer and +screw-driver. It's in good and safe." + +"And you would have dared to pull the trigger?" asked Mr. Master. + +"I would have dared so to do," said Mr. Gubb. + +"It would have blown the pistol to atoms!" exclaimed Mr. Master. + +"It would so have done," said Mr. Gubb, "except for the time I loaded +it being the first beginning time I ever loaded a pistol. In loading a +Briggs & Bolton, I have since subsequently learned, the powder ought +to go into it first, and the bullet second. I put the bullet in +first." + +"Well, bless my stars!" exclaimed Mr. Master. "Bless my stars! If that +is the case--if that is the case, I'm going to bed again. I have to +get up before daylight to take a bath." + + + + +WAFFLES AND MUSTARD + + +It would not be true to say that Mr. Gubb had become suspicious of Mr. +Medderbrook's honesty. The fact that the cashier of the Riverbank +National Bank told him the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock was not +worth the paper it was printed on did pain him, however. + +It pained Mr. Gubb to think his father-in-law-to-be might be guilty of +even unconscious duplicity, and when Mr. Master paid him the six +thousand and seventy-five dollars Mr. Gubb decided that only three +thousand dollars of it should pass immediately into Mr. Medderbrook's +hands. Mr. Gubb put two thousand dollars in the bank and invested the +balance in furniture for his office and in articles and instruments +that were needed for his detective career. The three thousand dollars +he took to Mr. Medderbrook and paid it to him, leaving only eight +thousand nine hundred dollars unpaid. + +Mr. Medderbrook was greatly pleased with this and told Mr. Gubb so. + +"This is a bully payment on account," he said, "and if you keep on +this way you'll soon be all paid up, but you don't want to let that +worry you, for I'm having a brand-new lot of stock in a brand-new mine +printed, and I'll sell you a whole lot of it as soon as we are +square. I'm going to call it the Little Syrilla Gold-Mine--" + +"I don't think I'll buy any more gold-mine stock after the present lot +is paid up completely full," said Mr. Gubb. + +"That's all right," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I haven't given the printer +final orders yet and if you prefer something else I'll make it +Oil-Well stock. It is all the same to me. The property will produce +just as much oil as it will gold. Every bit!" + +"Have you heard from Miss Syrilla recently of late?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Yes, I have," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I have heard two dollars and a +half's worth." + +The telegram, which Mr. Medderbrook permitted Mr. Gubb to read after +he had paid the cash in hand, said:-- + + Heaven smiles on us. Have given up all vegetable diet. Have + given up potatoes, beets, artichokes, fried parsnips, Swiss + chard, turnips, squash, kohl-rabi, boiled radishes, sugar + beets, corn on the cob, cow pumpkin, mushrooms, string + beans, asparagus, spinach, and canned and fresh tomatoes. + Have lost ten pounds more. Weight now only nine hundred and + fifteen pounds. Dorgan worried. I dream of Gubby and love. + +Mr. Gubb sighed happily. "I suppose," he said blissfully, "that by the +present moment of time Miss Syrilla has only got left a remainder of +six double chins out of seven, dear little one!" And he went back to +his office feeling that it would not be long now before the apple of +his eye was released from her side-show contract. + +The next day Mr. Gubb had begun his labors on a new and interesting +case when the door opened. + +"Gubb, come across the hall here!" + +Gubb looked up from the labor in which he was engaged and blinked at +Lawyer Higgins. + +"At the present time I am momently engaged upon a case," said Mr. +Gubb. "As soon as I am disengaged away from what I am at, I expect to +be engaged at the next thing I have to do. I shouldn't wish to assume +to be rude, Mr. Higgins, but when a deteckative is working up a case, +and has a sign on his door 'Out--Back at Midnight,' he generally means +he ain't receiving callers on no account." + +"That's all right," said Higgins briskly, "but this is business. I've +got a real job for you." + +"I am engaged upon a real job now," said Philo Gubb. + +"This is a detective job," said Mr. Higgins. "We want you to find a +man, and if you find him, there's two hundred dollars in it for you. +What sort of a job is it you have on hand?" + +"I am searching out the whereabouts of a lost party," said Gubb +earnestly. "I'm investigating clues at the present time and moment." + +Higgins stepped inside the door. He walked to where Philo Gubb sat at +an elaborate mahogany desk, and looked at the apparatus Mr. Gubb was +using. + +"What the dickens?" he asked. + +On the slide of the desk were grouped a number of small articles, and +a large and powerful microscope. Through the lens of the microscope +Mr. Gubb was inspecting something that looked like frayed yellow-brown +wool yarn. + +"You don't expect to find your missing party in that wad of wool, do +you, Gubb?" asked Mr. Higgins jestingly. + +"Maybe I do, and maybe the operations of the deteckative mind are none +of your particular affair when conducted in the private seclusion of +my laboratory," said Gubb. + +"Now, don't get mad," said Higgins. "It just struck me as funny. Looks +as if you were hunting for fleas in a wisp of dog hair." + +Philo Gubb looked up quickly. As a matter of fact, he had but a +moment before found a flea in the wool he was examining, and the +wool was indeed a wisp of dog hair. The party Mr. Gubb had been +engaged to find was a dog, and Mr. Gubb was--by the inductive method +of detecting--trying to reason out the location of the dog. By the aid +of the microscope, Mr. Gubb was searching for the slight indications +that mean so much to detectives. Unfortunately, however, Mr. Gubb had +not yet found anything from which he could deduce anything whatever, +unless the flea in the wool might lead to the conclusion that the dog +now, or once, had fleas. + +"Tell you what I want," said Mr. Higgins: "I want you to find +Mustard." + +Detective Gubb swung suddenly in his chair and faced Mr. Higgins. + +"I don't want nothing more to do with that will!" he said. + +"I'm with you there!" said Higgins, laughing. "When O'Hara made his +will so that my client couldn't get her rights at once he did a mean +trick, and I dare say Mrs. Doblin will think so when she gets my bill. +But, just the same, Gubb, you're in the detective business more or +less, and it strikes me you ought to take a job when it's offered to +you. You signed the will as a witness, and this man Bilton, commonly +known as Mustard on account of his yellow complexion and hair, was the +other witness, wasn't he? Now, if you can't give us the information we +want, and Mustard can, it looks to me as if it was your duty, as a +fellow witness, to hunt him up. But we don't ask that. We're willing +to pay you if you find him." + +"Are you prepared to contract to say you'll pay me just for hunting +for him?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"We'll give you two hundred dollars if you can produce Mustard here in +Riverbank," said Higgins. + +"The job I've took on to hunt up another missing party will occupy me +for quite a while, I guess," said Gubb, "but maybe I might put in what +extra time I can spare looking for your party." + +"Do it!" said Higgins. "I don't say you're the best detective in the +world, Gubb, but you do have luck. You must have a magic talisman." + +"The operation of the deteckative mind is always like magic to the +common folks," said Gubb gravely. + +"All right, then," said Higgins. "Two hundred if you find him. And +now, will you just come across the hall for one minute?" + +Gubb left his microscope reluctantly. He was sick and tired of the +O'Hara will, but he followed Mr. Higgins. + +The second floor of the Opera House Block was laid out in small +offices arranged on two sides of a corridor. One of these offices had +been for many years the office of Haddon O'Hara, who specialized in +commercial law, collections, and jokes, and he had accumulated a snug +little fortune. It was said he could draw a contract no one could +break except himself. + +On the streets and in his home and at his office--except when at work +on some especially difficult case--his face always wore a quizzical +smile. O'Hara seemed to enjoy himself every moment. Walking along the +street he would suddenly stop some citizen, enunciate a dozen or +twenty cryptic words, laugh, and proceed on his way, leaving the +citizen to puzzle over the affair, lose interest in it and forget it. +A week, a month, or a year later O'Hara would stop the same citizen +and utter ten more words, the key to the cryptic joke. Then, +chuckling, he would hurry away. He had a lot of fun. His keen brain +felt equal to making fun of the whole town and not letting the town +know it. Money came to him easily; he had no wife; his pleasure was in +his books--and he was probably a happy man. But he died. He died and +left a will. + +For some years O'Hara lived with his niece, an orphan. She was +eighteen, and there might have been some gossip, but O'Hara +forestalled it by hiring old Mrs. Mullarky. + +O'Hara bought his niece a pup and had a dog-house built and put in the +yard. He christened the pup himself, naming it Waffles, because, he +said, the minute he saw the pup it reminded him of Dolly. The pup was +just the color of the waffles Dolly baked--"baked" is O'Hara's word. +So he bought Waffles and brought him home to Dolly, and the girl loved +the dog from the first minute. Then, just as the dog had outgrown +puppyhood, O'Hara died. + +His will was found in the safe in his office. Old Judge Mackinnon, who +shared the office with O'Hara, found the will the day after O'Hara +died. It was in a white legal envelope endorsed, "My Will, Haddon +O'Hara." The Judge opened the envelope--it was not sealed--and took +out the will. The will was not filled in on a printed form--it was a +holograph will, written in O'Hara's own hand. It began in the usual +formal manner and there were two bequests. The first read: "To my +niece, Dorothy O'Hara, since she is so extremely fond of her dog +Waffles, I give and bequeath the dog-house now on my property at 342 +Locust Street, Riverbank, Iowa." The second read: "Secondly, to my +cousin Ardelia Doblin I bequeath the entire remainder and residue of +my estate," etc. + +Judge Mackinnon frowned as he read these two bequests. He knew Ardelia +Doblin as a spiteful, scandal-mongering woman. To cut off Dolly O'Hara +with a dog-house and give his entire estate to Ardelia Doblin might be +O'Hara's idea of a joke, but the Judge did not like it. He read the +final clause, appointing him sole executor without bond. O'Hara's +signature was correctly appended. The will was dated July 1, 1913. It +was witnessed by Philo Gubb and Max Bilton. The Judge knew both +witnesses. Gubb was the eccentric paper-hanger who thought he was a +detective because he had taken a correspondence course, and Bilton was +a jaundiced loafer, commonly called Mustard. The good old man sighed +and was about to put the will back in the envelope when he noticed +three letters at the bottom of the sheet. They were "P.T.O." Now +"P.T.O." is an English abbreviation that means "Please Turn Over." The +Judge turned the paper over. + +Suddenly he smiled. Then he looked grave again. And then he grinned. +After which he shook his head. + +The reverse of the sheet contained a will exactly like that on the +obverse. Word for word it was the same. Line for line, punctuation +mark for punctuation mark, the two wills on the opposite sides of the +sheet were identical except for two words. In the will the Judge was +now reading, the name Sarah P. Kinsey was substituted for the name +Ardelia Doblin. The date was the same. The witnesses were the same. +There were two wills, one written on one side of the sheet and the +other written on the other side of the sheet, of the same date, with +the same signature, and with the same witnesses. O'Hara had joked to +the last. + +"This is a dickens of a joke!" exclaimed Judge Mackinnon. "O'Hara +should not have done this!" + +He saw the property of Haddon O'Hara being dissipated in lawsuits over +this remarkable will. He knew Sarah P. Kinsey as well as he knew +Ardelia Doblin, and she was just such another mean cantankerous +individual. + +"A joke's a joke, but you shouldn't have done this, O'Hara!" said the +Judge. + +There was nothing to do but notify the parties concerned. He went to +see Dolly O'Hara first and told her, as gently as he could, about the +will. She cried a little, softly, at first, and then she smiled +bravely. + +"You mustn't worry about it, Judge Mackinnon," she said. "I--of course +I never thought what Uncle Haddon would do with his money. And--and we +used to joke about the dog-house. He always said he would leave it to +me in his will. Uncle Haddon loved to joke, Judge Mackinnon." + +"He was a joking jackanapes!" said Judge Mackinnon angrily. + +Ardelia Doblin and Sarah P. Kinsey took the matter in quite a +different spirit. Mrs. Doblin could hardly wait until Judge Mackinnon +was out of the house before she hurried down to see Lawyer Higgins, +and Mrs. Kinsey did not wait until the Judge was ready to go, but put +on her hat in his presence, so eager was she to hurry down to see +Lawyer Burch. + +Ten hours later the O'Hara will was the one matter talked about in +Riverbank. Evidently there must be some clue leading to the solution +of the mystery--some well-hidden, cleverly planned key such as Haddon +O'Hara would undoubtedly have left in perpetrating such a joke. Common +sense was sufficient to tell any one that O'Hara could not have +written both wills simultaneously, that he had written one will on one +side of the paper, after which he had turned the paper over and had +written the other will on the other side of the paper. The difficulty +was to tell which side he had written last. + +Lawyer Higgins, Lawyer Burch, and Judge Mackinnon went over both sides +of the paper with a microscope. The same ink had been used on both +sides. O'Hara's writing was the same on both sides. Often, in writing +as many words as occupied both sides of the paper in question, a man's +hand grows involuntarily weary. There was nothing of this sort. There +seemed to be absolutely nothing on which the greatest penmanship +expert could base a plea that either side was, in fact, the _last_ +will of Haddon O'Hara. Either might be the last. + +Nothing was left untested by Higgins and Burch. The two sides of the +paper on which the wills were written were subjected to the minutest +scrutiny. + +Each will was witnessed by the same pair of witnesses, and these were +Philo Gubb and Max Bilton. It was no trouble to get Philo Gubb to tell +about signing the will. Judge Mackinnon crossed the hall and brought +Philo Gubb to the office. + +"Yes, sir," said Mr. Gubb. "I signed my signature onto that document +two times as requested so to do by the late deceased. He come over to +my official deteckative headquarters and asked me to step across and +do him the pleasure of a small favor and I done so. Yes, sir, that's +my signed signature. And that's my signed signature also likewise." + +"Did he say anything, Mr. Gubb?" asked the Judge. + +"He says, 'Gubb, this is my last will and testament, and I wish you to +sign your signature onto it as a witness.' So he put the paper in +front of me. 'Where'll I sign it?' I says. 'Sign it right here under +Mr. Bilton's name,' he says. So I signed my signature like he told +me." + +"Yes," said the Judge, "and Mr. O'Hara blotted it with a piece of +blotting-paper, did he not?" + +"He so done," said Mr. Gubb. + +"And then what?" + +"Then he turned the paper over," said Mr. Gubb, "and he says, 'Now, +please sign this one.' So I signed it." + +"Under Mr. Bilton's name again?" said the Judge. + +"Why, no," said the paper-hanger detective. "Not under it, because it +wasn't located nowhere to have an under to it. Mr. Bilton hadn't +signed on that side yet." + +There was an instant sensation. + +"Bilton hadn't signed that side?" said Mr. Higgins. "Which side hadn't +he signed?" + +"The other side from the side he had signed," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Did you notice which side he had not signed?" insisted Mr. Higgins. +"Was it this side that mentions Mrs. Doblin, or this side that +mentions Mrs. Kinsey? Which was it?" + +Mr. Gubb took the paper and examined it carefully. He turned it over +and over. + +"Couldn't say," he said briefly. + +"In other words," said Mr. Burch, "you signed one side before Mr. +Bilton signed and one side after he signed, but you don't know which?" + +"Yes, sir, I don't," said Mr. Gubb. + +"So," said Judge Mackinnon, with a smile, "you can swear you signed +both these wills as witness, but you have no idea which you signed +last, Mr. Gubb." + +"E-zactly so!" said Mr. Gubb with emphasis. + +"Now, just a minute," said Mr. Burch. "One of these Bilton signatures +is 'M. Bilton' and the other is 'Max Bilton.' You don't recall which +was on the paper when you signed, do you?" + +"Mr. Burch," said Mr. Gubb, "I wasn't taking no extra time to find out +if a no-account feller like Mustard Bilton signed his name M. or Max +or Methuselah. No, sir." + +"Do you know where Mustard Bilton is now?" asked Judge Mackinnon. + +"Don't know," said Mr. Gubb. + +The three lawyers consulted for a minute or two. Then the Judge turned +to Gubb again. + +"And did Mr. O'Hara say anything more on the occasion when you signed +the will?" asked the Judge. + +"He said, 'Thank you,'" said Mr. Gubb. "He said, 'Thank you, Sherlock +Holmes.'" + +Higgins and Burch laughed, and even the Judge smiled, and they told +Mr. Gubb he could go. + +An hour or three quarters of an hour after he had been called to +identify his signature to the wills, a gentle tap at Mr. Gubb's door +caused him to look up from the pamphlet--Lesson Four, Rising Sun +Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting--he was reading. + +"Come on right in," he called, and in answer the door opened and a +young woman entered. She was a sweet-faced, modest-appearing girl, and +when she pushed back her veil, Mr. Gubb saw she had been weeping, for +her eyes were red. Mr. Gubb hastily pulled out his desk chair. + +"Take a seat and set down, ma'am," he said politely. "Is there +anything in my lines I can be doing for you to-day?" + +"Are you Mr. Philo Gubb?" she asked, seating herself. + +"Yes'm, paper-hanging and deteckating done," he said. + +"It's about a dog, my dog," said the young woman. "He's lost, or +stolen, and--" + +Emotion choked her words. + +"I know it sounds foolish to ask a detective to look for a dog," she +said with a poor attempt at a smile, "but--" + +"In the deteckative line nothing sounds foolish," said Mr. Gubb with +politeness. + +"But Uncle Haddon told me once that if ever I needed a--a detective I +should come to you," the young woman continued. "You knew Uncle +Haddon, Mr. Gubb?" + +"I had the pleasure of being known to and knowing of him," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"My name is Dolly O'Hara! I am his niece." + +"Glad to make your acquaintance, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, and he shook +hands gravely. + +"He gave me my dog," said Miss O'Hara. "He gave him to me when the dog +was just a puppy, and he called him Waffles. He used to joke about my +loving the dog more than I loved him. He used to say--" + +Miss O'Hara wiped her eyes. For a moment she could not speak. + +"He used to say," she continued in a moment, "that I'd never break my +heart over a lost uncle, but that if I lost Waffles I'd die of grief. +It wasn't so, of course. But I'm heart-broken to have Waffles gone. He +is all I'll have to remember Uncle Haddon by. And then--to have +him--go!" + +"I should take it a pleasure to be employed upon a case to fetch him +back," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Oh, would you?" cried Miss O'Hara. "I'm so glad! I was afraid a--a +real detective might not want to bother with a dog. Of course I'll +pay--" + +"The remuneration will be minimum on account of the smallness of the +crime under the statutes made and provided," said Mr. Gubb. + +"But you must let me pay!" urged Miss O'Hara. "One of the things Uncle +Haddon said was, 'If you ever lose that dog, Dolly, hire Detective +Gubb. Understand? He's a wonderful detective. He'll leave no stone +unturned. He'll find your dog. He'll pry the roof off the dog-house to +find a flea, and when he's found the flea he'll hunt up a blond dog to +match it. Remember,' he said, 'if you lose the dog, get Gubb.'" + +"I consider the compliment the highest form of flattery," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"So I want you to try to find Waffles, please, if it isn't beneath you +to hunt a dog," said Miss O'Hara. "How much will you charge to find +Waffles, Mr. Gubb?" + +"I'd ought to have five dollars--" Mr. Gubb began doubtfully. + +"Of course!" exclaimed Miss O'Hara. "Why, I expected to pay far more." + +"Well and good," said Mr. Gubb. "And now, how aged was the dog when he +was purloined away from you?" + +Philo Gubb secured a complete history of the dog. Miss O'Hara had +brought, also, two photographs of Waffles in pleasing poses, and when +she left, Mr. Gubb accompanied her to the late home of Waffles. It was +there he gathered the clues over which he was poring with his +microscope when Mr. Higgins came to ask him to step across the hall +and to offer him two hundred dollars if he could produce Mustard +Bilton. Mr. Gubb went across the hall. + +"Gubb," said Judge Mackinnon, when he had introduced the detective to +Mrs. Kinsey and Mrs. Doblin, "was Mustard Bilton in this office when +you signed your name to these wills?" + +"No, sir, he was not present in person," said Mr. Gubb. "He was +elsewhere." + +"Well, ladies," said the Judge, "it seems to me that until we can find +Mustard we cannot proceed. Mr. O'Hara's last will--whichever it +is--must be probated. If I took this will to the courthouse, whichever +side happened to be uppermost would be probated first and the other +side would naturally appear on the record as the latest will. It is a +responsibility I do not care to undertake. If you will not agree to +compromise and divide the estate--" + +"Never!" said both ladies. + +"We must find Mustard!" said the Judge. + +Mr. Gubb went into the hall, but Lawyer Burch followed him. + +"Gubb," he said, "just a word! Find Mustard for me. Now, don't +talk--find him. Bring Mustard to Judge Mackinnon's office and I'll put +two hundred dollars in your hand! That's all!" + +Detective Gubb returned to his office and resumed his work on his lost +dog clues. One by one he submitted the clues to inspection under the +microscope. He tried the five processes of the Sherlock Holmes +inductive method on them. By some strange quirk, quite out of keeping +with the usual detective-story logic, he could make nothing of them. +Even the flea in the bit of dog hair did not point direct to the +location of the dog. They were blind clues. Mr. Gubb swept them into +an empty envelope, sealed the envelope, put on his hat and went out. + +On the stair he met Judge Mackinnon. + +"Well, if O'Hara meant to have a little joke--and he did--he's had +it," said the Judge with a chuckle. "You should have been in that room +just now. Cat fights? Those two women all but jumped on each other +with claws and teeth. I don't know why O'Hara wanted to worry them, +but he has paid them back well for whatever they ever did to him." + +"And the dog has disappeared away, too," said Mr. Gubb. "I am +proceeding on my way at the present time to help discover where the +dog is." + +"Hope you find the poor child's pet," said the Judge as he turned off +in the opposite direction. + +Mr. Gubb proceeded to the late home of Haddon O'Hara. He followed the +brick walk to the back of the house. He was already familiar with the +premises. + +The dog-house--the only recently painted structure in the +neighborhood--stood opposite the kitchen door. It was perhaps three +feet in height and four feet long, with a pointed roof. As a door it +had an open arch, and at one side of this was a staple to which a +chain could be attached. The grass in front of the dog-house was worn +away, leaving the soil packed hard. The detective, arriving at the +dog-house, walked around it, gazing at it closely. + +The inductive method had failed--as it always failed for Mr. Gubb--and +he meant now to try following a clue in person, if he could find a +clue to follow. Mr. Gubb dropped to his hands and knees and crept +around the dog-house, seeking a clue hidden in the grass. When he +reached the front of the dog-house he paused. + +"Ye look that like a dog I was thinkin' ye'd howl for a bone," said +Mrs. Mullarky suddenly from the kitchen door. + +Mr. Gubb turned and eyed her with disapproval. + +"The operations of deteckating are strange to the lay mind," he said +haughtily. "Those not understanding them should be seen and not +heard." + +"An' hear the man!" cried Mrs. Mullarky. "Does a dog-house drive all +of ye crazy? T' see a human bein' crawlin' around on his four legs an' +callin' it detectin' where a dog is that ain't there! Go awn, if ye +wish! Crawl inside of ut!" + +"I'm going to do so," said Mr. Gubb, and he did. + +Inside, or as far inside as he could get, Mr. Gubb struck a match and +examined the floor of the house. There was straw on it, but nothing +even remotely suggesting a clue. No dog thief had left a glove there. +Mr. Gubb began to back out, and as he backed his head touched +something softer than a pine board. He craned his long neck and looked +upward. Tacked to the inside of the roof of the house was a long +envelope. Mr. Gubb put up his hand and pulled it loose. Then he backed +into the daylight. He sat on the bare spot before the dog-house and +examined the envelope. + +The envelope was sealed, but on the face of it was written:-- + + To be delivered to Judge Mackinnon, after Waffles has been + returned to his house and home. Waffles will be found in the + old cattle-shed on the Illinois side of the river, north + from the turnpike at the far end of the bridge. H. O'H. + +It was a clue! Without stopping to silence the scornful laughter of +Mrs. Mullarky, Philo Gubb jumped to his feet and made for the Illinois +side of the long bridge as rapidly as his long legs could carry him. +He reached the old cattle-shed and there he found Mustard Bilton +seated at the door, smoking a cob pipe in lazy comfort. + +"Come for the dog?" asked Mustard carelessly. "Sort of thought you'd +come for him about now. Been expectin' you the last couple o' days." + +"Expecting me?" said Philo Gubb. "I've been doing deteckative work on +this case--" + +"Yes, Had' O'Hara reckoned you'd detect around awhile before you got +track of me," said Mustard without emotion. "He says, when I'd signed +that there will for him, 'Day or so after I kick the bucket, Mustard, +you go up and steal Waffles,' he says, 'and fetch him over to the +cattle-shed on the Illinoy side,' he says, 'and keep him there until +Gubb comes for him. Take a day or so, maybe,' he says, 'for Dolly to +remember I told her to get Gubb, and take Gubb a day or two to scrooge +round before he hits on the clue I've fixed up to point him to you, +but he'll come. He's a wonder, Gubb is,' says O'Hara, 'and no mistake. +If a feller was to steal the sardines out of a can,' he says, 'bet you +Gubb would want to see what was inside the empty can before he'd start +out to find the feller. You just sit quiet an' wait till Gubb snoops +round enough,' he says, 'and he'll come.'" + +"You have possession of the Waffles dog at the present time?" asked +Detective Gubb. + +"In yonder," said Mustard, pointing over his shoulder. "Say, what's +the joke O'Hara was cookin' up, anyway?" + +"You accompany yourself with me to the office of Judge Mackinnon," +said Mr. Gubb, "and you'll discover it out for yourself and I'll +remunerate you to twenty dollars also. Fetch the dog." + +Mr. Gubb, quite properly, left Mustard and Waffles in his own office +while he visited Mr. Higgins and Mr. Burch, collecting two hundred +dollars from each. Then he turned Mr. Mustard Bilton over to them. + +"You signed those wills of O'Hara's," said Mr. Burch when all had +gathered in Judge Mackinnon's office. "Do you know which you signed +last?" + +"Sure, I do," said Mustard. + +Mr. Burch handed him the double will. + +"Which did you sign last?" asked Mr. Burch energetically. + +Mustard took the document and looked at it. The Kinsey side was toward +him. + +"It wasn't this one," he said positively. + +"Ah, ha!" cried Lawyer Higgins, turning the paper over. "Then it was +this one you signed last!" + +"No," said Mustard, glancing at the Doblin side of the paper. "I +signed this'n the same time as I signed the other side of it. I signed +both these the first day of the month. The one I signed last I signed +on the second of the month." + +"Ah, yes!" said Judge Mackinnon, looking at a document he had taken +from the envelope Philo Gubb had handed him. "You mean this one:-- + + Last will and testament--and all else with which I may die + possessed--to my niece Dorothy O'Hara--and hope she can take + a joke--Haddon O'Hara. + +You mean this one, Mr. Bilton?" + +"Yep," said Mustard, looking at the document that gave to Dolly O'Hara +every jot and tittle of Haddon O'Hara's property. "That's the one. +That's the one I signed last. Me and old Sam Fliggis signed her--same +day O'Hara hired me to steal the dog. Well, I guess I'll be takin' the +dog back home. So 'long, gents. Old Had' was bound to have his joke, +wasn't he?" + +"Mr. Gubb," said Judge Mackinnon suddenly, "would you be betraying a +professional secret if you told us how you found this document?" + +"In the pursuit of following my deteckative profession," said +Detective Gubb, "according to Lesson Six, Page Thirty-two." + + + + +THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE + + +Any one reading a history of the detective work of Philo Gubb, the +paper-hanger detective, might imagine that crime stalked abroad +endlessly in Riverbank and that criminals crowded the streets, but +this would be mere imagination. For weeks before he took on the case +of the Anonymous Wiggle, he had been obliged to revert to his +side-line of paper-hanging and decorating. + +Four hundred of the dollars he had earned by solving the mystery of +the missing Mustard and Waffles he had paid to Mr. Medderbrook, +together with five dollars for a telegram Mr. Medderbrook had received +from Syrilla. This telegram was a great satisfaction to Mr. Gubb. It +brought the day when she might be his nearer, and showed that the fair +creature was fighting nobly to reduce. It had read:-- + + None but the brave deserve the thin. Have given up all + liquids. Have given up water, milk, coca-cola, beer, + chocolate, champagne, buttermilk, cider, soda-water, root + beer, tea, koumyss, coffee, ginger ale, bevo, Bronx + cocktails, grape juice, and absinthe frappe. Weigh eight + hundred ninety-five net. Love to Gubby from little Syrilla. + +Crime is not rampant in Riverbank. P. Gubb therefore welcomed gladly +Miss Petunia Scroggs when she came to his office in the Opera House +Block and said: "Mr. Gubb? Mr. Philo Gubb, the detective? Well, my +name is Miss Petunia Scroggs, and I want to talk to you about +detecting something for me." + +"I'm pleased to," said Mr. Gubb, placing a chair for the lady. +"Anything in the deteckative line which I can do for you will be so +done gladly and in good shape. At the present moment of time, I'm +engaged upon a job of kitchen paper for Mrs. Horton up on Eleventh +Street, but the same will not occupy long, as she wants it hung over +what is already on the wall, to minimize the cost of the expense." + +"Different people, different ways," said Miss Scroggs, smiling +sweetly. "Scrape it off and be clean, is my idea." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, I didn't come here to talk about Mrs. Horton's notion of how a +kitchen ought to be papered," said Miss Scroggs. "How do you detect, +by the day or by the job?" + +"My terms in such matters is various and sundry, to suit the taste," +said Mr. Gubb. + +"Then I'll hire you by the job," said Miss Scroggs, "if your rates +ain't too high. Now, first off, I ain't ever been married; I'm a +maiden lady." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, jotting this down on a sheet of paper. + +"Not but what I could have been a wedded wife many's the time," said +Miss Scroggs hastily, "but I says to myself, 'Peace of mind, Petunia, +peace of mind!'" + +"Yes'm," said Philo Gubb. "I'm a unmarried bachelor man myself." + +"Well, I'm surprised to hear you say it in a boasting tone," said Miss +Petunia gently. "You ought to be ashamed of it." + +"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, "but you was conversationally speaking +of some deteckative work--" + +"And I'm leading right up to it all the time," said Miss Scroggs. +"Peace of mind is why I have remained single up to now, and peace of +mind I have had, but I won't have it much longer if this Anonymous +Wiggle keeps on writing me letters." + +"Somebody named with that cognomen is writing letters to you like a +Black Hand would?" asked Mr. Gubb eagerly. + +"Cognomen or not," said Miss Scroggs, "that's what I call him or her +or whoever it is. Snake would be a better name," she added, "but I +must say the thing looks more like a fish-worm. Now, here," she said, +opening her black hand-bag, "is letter Number One. Read it." + +Mr. Gubb took the envelope and looked at the address. It was written +in a hand evidently disguised by slanting the letters backward, and +had been mailed at the Riverbank post-office. + +"Hum!" said Mr. Gubb. "Lesson Nine of the Rising Sun Deteckative +Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating gives the full rules +and regulations for to elucidate the mystery of threatening letters, +scurrilous letters, et cetery. Now, is this a threatening letter or a +scurrilous letter?" + +"Well, it may be threatening, and it may not be threatening," said +Miss Scroggs. "If it is a threat, I must say I never heard of a threat +just like it. And if it is scurrilous, I must say I never heard of +anything that scurriled in the words used. Read it." + +Philo Gubb pulled the letter from the envelope and read it. It ran +thus:-- + + PETUNIA:-- + + Open any book at page fourteen and read the first complete + sentence at the top of the page. Go thou and do likewise. + +For signature there was nothing but a waved line, drawn with a pen. In +some respects it did resemble an angle-worm. + +Philo Gubb frowned. "The advice of the inditer that wrote this letter +seemingly appears to be sort of unexact," he said. "'Most every book +is apt to have a different lot of words at the top of page fourteen." + +"Just so!" said Miss Scroggs. "You may well say that. And say it to +myself I did until I started to open a book. I went to the book-case +and I took down my Bible and I turned to page fourteen." + +"As the writer beyond no doubt thought you would," said P. Gubb. + +"I don't know what he thought," said Miss Scroggs, "but when I opened +my Bible and turned to page fourteen there wasn't any page fourteen in +it. Page fourteen is part of the 'Brief Foreword from the Translators +to the Reader,' so I thought maybe it had got lost and never been +missed. So I took up another book. I took up Emerson's Essays, Volume +Two." + +"And what did you read?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Nothing," said Miss Scroggs, "because I couldn't. Page fourteen was +tore out of the book. So I went through all my books, and every page +fourteen was tore out of every book. There was only one book in the +house that had a page fourteen left in it." + +"And what did that say?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"It said," said Miss Petunia, "'To one quart of flour add a cup of +water, beat well, and add the beaten whites of two eggs.'" + +"Did you do all that?" inquired Mr. Gubb. + +"Well," said Miss Petunia, "I didn't see any harm in trying it, just +to see what happened, so I did it." + +"And what happened?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Nothing," said Miss Petunia. "In a couple of days the water dried up +and the dough got pasty and moulded, and I threw it out." + +"Just so!" said Philo Gubb. "You'd sort of expect it to get mouldy, +but you wouldn't call it threatening at the first look." + +"No," said Miss Petunia. "And then I got this letter Number Two." + +She handed the second letter to Mr. Gubb. It ran thus:-- + + P. SCROGGS:-- + + A complete study of the history and antiquities of Diocese + of Ossory fails to reveal the presence of a single + individual bearing the name of Scroggs from the year 1085 to + date. + +Like the first letter this was signed with a waved line. Mr. Gubb +studied it carefully. + +"I don't see no sign of a threat in that," he said. + +"Not unless you should say it was belittling me to tell me to my face +that no Scroggs ever lived wherever that says they didn't live," said +Miss Petunia. "Now, here's the next letter." + +Mr. Gubb read it. It ran thus:-- + + MISS PETUNIA:-- + + For to-morrow: Rising temperature accompanied by falling + barometer, followed by heavy showers. Lower temperature will + follow in the North Central States and Northern Missouri. + +"I shouldn't call that exactly scurrilous, neither," said Mr. Gubb. + +"It ain't," said Miss Petunia, "and unless you can call a mention of +threatening weather a threat, I wouldn't call it a threatening letter. +And then I got this letter." + +She handed Mr. Gubb the fourth letter, and he read it. It ran:-- + + PETUNIA SCROGGS:-- + + Trout are rising freely in the Maine waters. The Parmacheene + Belle is one of the best flies to use. + +Mr. Gubb, having read this letter, shook his head and placed the +letter on top of those he had previously read. It was signed with the +wiggle like the others. + +"Speaking as a deteckative," he said, "I don't see anything into these +letters yet that would fetch the writer into the grasp of the law. Are +they all like this?" + +"If you mean do they say they are going to murder me, or do they call +me names," said Miss Scroggs, "they don't. Here, take them!" + +Mr. Gubb took the remaining letters and read them. There were about a +dozen of them. While peculiar epistles to write to a maiden lady of +forty-five years, they were not what one might call violent. They +were, in part, as follows:-- + + PETUNIA:-- + + Although a cat with a fit is a lively object, it has seldom + been known to attack human beings. Cause of fits--too rich + food. Cure of fits--less rich food. + + MISS SCROGGS:-- + + If soil is inclined to be sour, a liberal sprinkling of + lime, well ploughed in, has a good effect. Marble dust, + where easily obtainable, serves as well. + + MISS PETUNIA:-- + + Swedish iron is largely used in the manufacture of + upholstery tacks because of its peculiar ductile qualities. + +"I don't see nothing much into them," said Mr. Gubb, when he had read +them all. "I don't see much of a deteckative case into them. If I was +to get letters like these I wouldn't worry much about them. I'd let +them come." + +"You may say that," said Miss Petunia, "because you are a man, and big +and strong and brave-like. But when a person is a woman, and lives +alone, and has some money laid by that some folks would be glad enough +to get, letters coming right along from she don't know who, scare her. +Every time I get another of those Anonymous Wiggle letters I get more +and more nervous. If they said, 'Give me five thousand dollars or I +will kill you,' I would know what to do, but when a letter comes that +says, like that one does, 'Swedish iron is largely used in the +manufacture of upholstery tacks,' I don't know what to think or what +to do." + +"I can see to understand that it might worry you some," said Mr. Gubb +sympathetically. "What do you want I should do?" + +"I want you should find out who wrote the letters," said Miss Scroggs. + +Mr. Gubb looked at the pile of letters. + +"It's going to be a hard job," he said. "I've got to try to guess out +a cryptogram in these letters. I ought to have a hundred dollars." + +"It's a good deal, but I'll pay it," said Miss Petunia. "I ain't rich, +but I've got quite a little money in the bank, and I own the house I +live in and a farm I rent. Pa left me money and property worth about +ten thousand dollars, and I haven't wasted it. So go ahead." + +[Illustration: "YOU ARE A MAN, AND BIG AND STRONG AND BRAVE-LIKE"] + +"I'll so do," said Philo Gubb; "and first off I'll ask you who your +neighbors are." + +"My neighbors!" exclaimed Miss Petunia. + +"On both sides," said Mr. Gubb, "and who comes to your house most?" + +"Well, I declare!" said Miss Petunia. "I don't know what you are +getting at, but on one side I have no neighbors at all, and on the +other side is Mrs. Canterby. I guess she comes to my house oftener +than anybody else." + +"I am acquainted with Mrs. Canterby," said Mr. Gubb. "I did a job of +paper-hanging there only last week." + +"Did you, indeed?" said Miss Scroggs politely. "She's a real nice +lady." + +"I don't give opinions on deteckative matters until I'm sure," said +Mr. Gubb. "She seems nice enough to the naked eye. I don't want to get +you to suspicion her or nobody, Miss Scroggs, but about the only clue +I can grab hold of is that first letter you got. It said to look on +page fourteen, and all the pages by that number was torn out of your +books--" + +"Except my cook-book," said Miss Petunia. + +"And a person naturally wouldn't go to think of a cook-book as a real +book," said Mr. Gubb. "If you stop to think, you'll see that whoever +wrote that letter must have beforehand tore out all the page fourteens +from the books into your house, for some reason." + +"Why, yes!" exclaimed Miss Scroggs, clapping her hands together. "How +wise you are!" + +"Deteckative work fetches deteckative wisdom," said Mr. Gubb modestly. +"I don't want to throw suspicion at Mrs. Canterby, but Letter Number +One points at her first of all." + +"O--h, yes! O--h my! And I never even thought of that!" cried Miss +Petunia admiringly. + +"Us deteckatives have to think of things," said Philo Gubb. "And so we +will say, just for cod, like, that Mrs. Canterby got at your books and +ripped out the pages. She'd think: 'What will Miss Petunia do when she +finds she hasn't any page fourteens to look at? She'll rush out to +borrow a book to look at.' Now, where would you rush out to borrow a +book if you wanted to borrow one in a hurry?" + +"To Mrs. Canterby's house!" exclaimed Miss Petunia. + +"Just so!" said Mr. Gubb. "You'd rush over and you'd say, 'Mrs. +Canterby, lend me a book!' And she would hand you a book, and when you +looked at page fourteen, and read the first full sentence on the page, +what would you read?" + +"What would I read?" asked Miss Scroggs breathlessly. + +"You would read what she meant you to read," said Mr. Gubb +triumphantly. "So, then what? If I was in her place and I had written +a letter to you, meaning to give you a threat in a roundabout way, and +it went dead, I'd write some foolish letters to you to make you think +the whole thing was just foolishness. I'd write you letters about +weather and tacks and cats and lime and trout, and such things, to +throw you off the scent. Maybe," said Mr. Gubb, with a smile, "I'd +just copy bits out of a newspaper." + +"How wonderfully wonderful!" exclaimed Miss Petunia. + +"That is what us deteckatives spend the midnight oil learning the +Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School lessons for," +said Mr. Gubb. "So, if my theory is right, what you want to do when +you get back home is to rush over to Mrs. Canterby's and ask to borrow +a book, and look on page fourteen." + +"And then come back and tell you what it says?" asked Miss Petunia. + +"Just so!" said Philo Gubb. + +Miss Petunia arose with a simper, and Mr. Gubb arose to open the door +for her. He felt particularly gracious. Never in his career had he +been able to apply the inductive system before, and he was well +pleased with himself. His somewhat melancholy eyes almost beamed on +Miss Petunia, and he felt a warm glow in his heart for the poor little +thing who had come to him in her trouble. As he stood waiting for Miss +Scroggs to gather up her feather boa and her parasol and her black +hand-bag, he felt the dangerous pity of the strong for the weak. + +Miss Petunia held out her hand with a pretty gesture. She was fully +forty-five, but she was kittenish for her age. There was something +almost girlish in her manner, and the long, dancing brown curls that +hung below her very youthful hat added to the effect. When she had +shaken Mr. Gubb's hand she half-skipped, half-minced out of his +office. + +"An admirable creature," said Mr. Gubb to himself, and he turned to +his microscope and began to study the ink of the letters under that +instrument. His next work must be to find the identical ink and the +identical writing-paper. He had no doubt he would find them in Mrs. +Canterby's home. The ink was a pale blue in places, deepening to a +strong blue in other places, with grainy blue specks. He decided, +rightly, that this "ink" had been made of laundry blue. The paper was +plain note-paper, glossy of surface and with blue lines, and, in the +upper left corner, the maker's impress. This was composed of three +feathers with the word "Excellent" beneath. The envelopes were of the +proper size to receive the letters. They bore an unmistakable odor of +toilet soap and chewing-gum. + +"Dusenberry!" said Mr. Gubb, and smiled. + +Hod Dusenberry kept a small store near the home of Mrs. Canterby. +There seemed no doubt that the coils of the investigation were +tightening around Mrs. Canterby, and Mr. Gubb put on his hat and went +out. He went to Hod Dusenberry's store. Mr. Dusenberry sat behind the +counter. + +"I came in," said Mr. Gubb, "to purchase a bottle of ink off of you." + +"There, now!" said Mr. Dusenberry self-accusingly. "That's the third +call for ink I've had in less'n two months. I been meanin' to lay in +more ink right along and it allus slips my mind. I told Miss Scroggs +when she asked for ink--" + +"And what did you tell Mrs. Canterby when she asked for ink?" asked +Mr. Gubb. + +"Mrs. Canterby?" said Hod Dusenberry. "Maybe I ought to see the joke, +but I'm feelin' stupid to-day, I reckon. What's the laugh part?" + +"It wasn't my intentional aim to furnish laughable amusement," said +Detective Gubb seriously. "What did Mrs. Canterby say when she asked +for ink and you didn't have none?" + +"She didn't say nothin'," said Mr. Dusenberry, "because she never +asked me for no ink, never! She don't trade here. That's all about +Mrs. Canterby." + +The Correspondence School detective had been leaning on the show-case, +and with the shrewdness of his kind had let his eyes search its +contents. In the show-case was writing-paper of the very sort the +Anonymous Wiggle letters had been written on--also envelopes strangely +similar to those that had held the letters. + +Mr. Gubb smiled pleasantly at Mr. Dusenberry. + +"I'd make a guess that Mrs. Canterby don't buy her writing-paper off +you neither?" he hazarded. + +"You guess mighty right she don't," said Mr. Dusenberry. + +"And maybe you don't recall who ever bought writing-paper like this +into the case here?" said Mr. Gubb. + +"I guess maybe I do, just the same," said Mr. Dusenberry promptly. +"And it ain't hard to recall, either, because nobody buys it but Miss +'Tunie Scroggs. 'Tunie is the all-firedest female I ever did see. +Crazy after a husband, 'Tunie is." He chuckled. "If I wasn't married +already I dare say 'Tunie would have worried me into matrimony before +now. 'Tunie's trouble is that everybody knows her too well--men all +keep out of her way. But she's a dandy, 'Tunie is. They tell me that +when Hinterman, the plumber, hired a new man up to Derlingport and +'Tunie found out he was a single feller, she went to work and had new +plumbing put in her house, just so's the feller would have to come +within her reach. But he got away." + +"He did?" said Mr. Gubb nervously. + +"Oh, yes," said Mr. Dusenberry. "He stood 'Tunie as long as he could, +and then he threw up his job and went back to Derlingport. They tell +me she don't do nothin' much now but set around the house and think up +new ways to git acquainted with men that ain't heard enough of her to +stay shy of her. Sorry I ain't got no ink, Mr. Gubb." + +"It's a matter of no consequential importance, thank you," said Mr. +Gubb, and he went out. He was distinctly troubled. He recalled now +that Miss Scroggs had smiled in a winning way when she spoke to him, +and that she had quite warmly pressed his hand when she departed. With +a timid bachelor's extreme fear of designing women, Mr. Gubb dreaded +another meeting with Miss Scroggs. Only his faithfulness to his +Correspondence School diploma had power to keep him at work on the +Anonymous Wiggle case, and he walked thoughtfully toward the home of +Mrs. Canterby. He went to the back door and knocked gently. Mrs. +Canterby came to the door. + +"Good-afternoon," said Mr. Gubb. "I been a little nervous about that +paper I hung onto your walls. If I could take a look at it--" + +"Well, now, Mr. Gubb, that's real kind of you," said Mrs. Canterby. +"You can look and welcome. If you just wait until I excuse myself to +Miss Scroggs--" + +"Is she here?" asked Mr. Gubb with a hasty glance toward his avenues +of escape. + +"She just run in to borrow a book to read," said Mrs. Canterby, "and +she's having some trouble finding one to suit her taste. She's in my +lib'ry sort of glancing through some books." + +"Does--does she glance through to about near to page fourteen?" asked +Mr. Gubb nervously. + +"Now that you call it to mind," said Mrs. Canterby, "that's about how +far she is glancing through them. She's glanced through about sixteen, +and she's still glancing. She thinks maybe she'll take 'Myra's Lover, +or The Hidden Secret,' but she ain't sure. She come over to borrow +'Weldon Shirmer,' but I had lent that to a friend. She was real +disappointed I didn't have it." + +Mr. Gubb wiped the perspiration from his face. He too would have liked +at that moment to have seen a copy of "Weldon Shirmer," and to have +read what stood at the top of page fourteen. + +"If it ain't too much trouble, Mrs. Canterby," he said, "I wish you +would sort of fetch that Myra book out here without Miss Scroggs's +knowing you done so. I got a special reason for it, in my deteckative +capacity. And I wish you wouldn't mention to Miss Scroggs about my +being here." + +"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Canterby. "What's up now? Miss Scroggs she's +right interested in you, too. She made inquiries of me about you when +you was working here. She says she thinks you are a real handsome +gentleman." + +Mrs. Canterby laughed coyly and went out, and Mr. Gubb dropped into a +chair and wiped his face again nervously. His eye, falling on the +kitchen table, noted a sheet of writing-paper. It was the same style +of paper as that on which the Anonymous Wiggle letters had been +written. He bent forward and glanced at it. In blue ink evidently made +of indigo dissolved in water, was written on the sheet a recipe. The +writing, although undisguised and slanting properly, was beyond doubt +the same as that of the Wiggle letters. When Mrs. Canterby returned +to the kitchen with "Myra's Lover" hidden in the folds of her skirt, +the perplexed Mr. Gubb held the recipe in his hand. + +"By any chance of doubt," he said, "do you happen to be aware of whom +wrote this?" + +"Petunia wrote it," said Mrs. Canterby promptly, "and whatever are you +being so mysterious for? There's no mystery about that, for it's her +mince-meat recipe." + +"There is often mystery hidden into mince-meat recipes when least +expected," said Mr. Gubb. "I see you got the book." + +He took it and turned to page fourteen. At the top of the page were +the words, completing a sentence, "--without turning a hair of his +head." Then followed the first complete sentence. It ran: "'A woman +like you,' said Lord Cyril, 'should be loved, cherished, and obeyed.'" + +"Goodness!" exclaimed Mr. Gubb, and handed the book back to Mrs. +Canterby. + +"Why did you say that?" asked Mrs. Canterby. + +"I was just judging by the book that Miss Scroggs is fond of love and +affection in fiction tales," he said. + +"Fond of!" exclaimed Mrs. Canterby. "Far be it from me to say anything +about a neighbor lady, but if Petunia Scroggs ain't crazy over love +and marriage I don't know what. She'd do anything in the world to get +a husband. I recall about Tim Wentworth--Furnaces Put In and +Repaired--and how hungry Petunia used to look after him when he went +by in his wagon, but she couldn't get after him because she hasn't a +furnace in her house, but the minute he hung up the sign 'Chimneys +Cleaned,' she was down to his shop and had him up to the place, and I +know it for a fact, for I took some of the soot out of her eye myself, +that she courted him so hard when he got to her house that even when +he went to the roof to clean the chimney she stuck her head in the +fireplace and talked up the flue at him." + +"Goodness!" said Mr. Gubb again. "I guess I'll go on my way and look +at your wall-paper some other day." + +Mrs. Canterby laughed. + +"Just as you wish," she said, "but if Petunia has set out after you, +you won't get away from her that easy." + +But Mr. Gubb was already moving to the door. He heard Miss Petunia's +voice calling Mrs. Canterby, and coming nearer and nearer, and he +fled. + +At Higgins's book-store he stopped and asked to see a copy of "Weldon +Shirmer," and turned to page fourteen. "'Fate,'" ran the first full +sentence, "'has decreed that you wed a solver of mysteries.'" Mr. Gubb +shivered. This was the mysterious passage Miss Scroggs had meant to +bring to his eyes in an impressive manner. He was sure of one thing: +whatever Fate had decreed in the case of the heroine of "Weldon +Shirmer," Philo Gubb had no intention of allowing Fate to decree that +one particular Correspondence School solver of mysteries should marry +Miss Petunia Scroggs. He hurried to his office. + +At the office door he paused to take his key from his pocket, but when +he tried it in the lock he found the door had been left unlocked and +he opened the door hastily and hurried inside. Miss Petunia Scroggs +was sitting in his desk-chair, a winning smile on her lips and "Myra's +Lover, or The Hidden Secret," in her lap. + +"Dear, wonderful Mr. Gubb!" she said sweetly. "It was just as you said +it would be. Here is the book Mrs. Canterby loaned me." + +For a moment Mr. Gubb stood like a flamingo fascinated by a serpent. + +"You detectives are such wonderful men!" cooed Miss Petunia. "You live +such thrilling lives! Ah, me!" she sighed. "When I think of how noble +and how strong and how protective such as you are--" + +Mr. Gubb kept his bird-like eyes fixed on Miss Petunia's face, but he +pawed behind himself for the door. He felt his hand touch the knob. + +"And when I think of how helpless and alone I am," said Miss Petunia, +rising from her chair, "although I have ample money in the bank--" + +_Bang!_ slammed the door behind Mr. Gubb. _Click!_ went the lock as he +turned the key. His feet hurried to the stairs and down to the nearest +street almost falling over Silas Washington, seated on the lowest +step. The little negro looked up in surprise. + +"Do you want to earn half a dollar?" asked Mr. Gubb hastily. + +"'Co'se Ah do," said Silas Washington. "What you want Ah shu'd do fo' +it?" + +"Wait a portion of time where you are," said Mr. Gubb, "and when you +hear a sound of noise upstairs, go up and unlock Mister Philo Gubb, +Deteckative, his door, and let out the lady." + +"Yassah!" said Silas. + +"And when you let her exit out of the room," said Mr. Gubb, "say to +her: 'Mister Gubb gives up the case.' Understand?" + +"Yassah!" + +"Yes," said Mr. Gubb, and he glanced up and down the street. "And say +'--because it don't make no particle bit of difference who the lady +is, Mister Gubb wouldn't marry nobody at no time of his life.'" + +"Yassah!" said the little negro. + + + + +THE HALF OF A THOUSAND + + +Philo Gubb sat in his office in the Opera House Block with a large +green volume open on his knees, reading a paragraph of some ten lines. +He had read this paragraph twenty times before, but he never tired of +reading it. It began began-- + + _Gubb, Philo._ Detective and decorator, _b._ Higginsville, + Ia., June 26, 1868. Educated Higginsville, Ia., primary + schools. Entered decorating profession, 1888. Graduated with + honors, Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School + of Detecting, 1910. + +He hoped that some day this short record of his life might be +lengthened by at least one line, which would say that he had "_m_. +Syrilla Medderbrook," and since his escape from Petunia Scroggs and +her wiles, and the latest telegram from Syrilla, he had reason for the +hope. As Mr. Gubb had not tried to collect the one hundred dollars due +him from Miss Scroggs, he had nothing with which to pay Mr. +Medderbrook more on account of the Utterly Hopeless mining stock, but +under his agreement with Mr. Medderbrook he had paid that gentleman +thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents for the last telegram from +Syrilla. This had read:-- + + Joy and rapture! Have given up all forms of food. Have given + up spaghetti, fried rabbit, truffles, brown betty, prunes, + goulash, welsh rabbit, hoecake, sauerkraut, Philadelphia + scrapple, haggis, chop suey, and mush. Have lost one hundred + and fifty pounds more. Weigh seven hundred forty-five. Going + down every hour. Kiss Gubby for me. + +Mr. Gubb, therefore, mused pleasantly as he read the book that +contained the short but interesting reference to himself. + +The book with the green cover was "Iowa's Prominent Citizens," sixth +edition, and was a sort of local, or state, "Who's Who." In its pages, +for the first time, Philo Gubb appeared, and he took great delight in +reading there how great he was. We all do. We are never so sure we are +great as when we read it in print. + +It is always comforting to a great man to be reassured that he was +"_b._ Dobbinsville, Ia., 1869," that he "_m._ Jane, dau. of Oscar and +Siluria Botts, 1897," and that he is not yet "_d._" There are some of +us who are never sure we are not "_d._" except when we see our names +in the current volume of "Who's Who," "Who's It," or "Iowa's Prominent +Citizens." + +Outside Philo Gubb's door a man was standing, studying that part of +"Iowa's Prominent Citizens" devoted to the town of Riverbank. The man +was not as young as he appeared to be. His garments were of a youthful +cut and cloth, being of the sort generally known as "College Youth +Style," but they were themselves no longer youthful. In fact, the man +looked seedy. + +Notwithstanding this he had an air--a something--that attracted and +held the attention. A cane gave some of it. The extreme good style of +his Panama hat gave some of it. His carriage and the gold-rimmed +eyeglasses with the black silk neck-ribbon gave still more. When, +however, he removed his hat, one saw that he was partly bald and that +his reddish hair was combed carefully to cover the bald spot. + +The book in his hand was a small memorandum book, and in this he had +pasted the various notices cut from "Iowa's Prominent Citizens" and +one--only--cut from "Who's Who," relating to citizens of Riverbank. He +had done this for convenience as well as for safety, for thus he had +all the Riverbank prominents in compact form, and avoided the +necessity of carrying "Iowa's Prominent Citizens" and "Who's Who" +about with him. That would have been more or less dangerous. +Particularly so, since he had been exposed by the New York "Sun" as +The Bald Impostor. + +The Bald Impostor, to explain him briefly, was a professional +relative. He was the greatest son-cousin-nephew in the United States, +and always he was the son, cousin, or nephew of one of the great, of +one of the great mentioned in "Who's Who." He was as variable as a +chameleon. Sometimes he was a son, cousin, or nephew of some one +beginning with _A_, and sometimes of some one beginning with _Z_, but +usually of some one with about twelve to fourteen lines in "Who's +Who." + +The great theory he had established and which was the basis of all his +operations was this: "Every Who's Who is proud of every other Who's +Who," and "No Who's Who can refuse the son, cousin, or nephew of any +other Who's Who five dollars when asked for one dollar and eighty +cents." + +The Bald Impostor's operation was simple in the extreme. He went to +Riverbank. He found, let us say, the name of Judge Orley Morvis in +"Who's Who." Then he looked up Chief Justice Bassio Bates in the +latest "Who's Who," gathered a few facts regarding him from that +useful volume, and called on Judge Orley Morvis. Having a judge to +impose upon he began by introducing himself as the favorite nephew of +Chief Justice Bassio Bates. + +"Being in town," he would say, when the Judge was mellowed by the +thought that a nephew of Bassio Bates was before him, "I remembered +that you were located here. My uncle has often spoken to me of your +admirable decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer calf case." + +The Higgins-Hoopmeyer case is mentioned in "Who's Who." The Judge +can't help being pleased to learn that Chief Justice Bassio Bates +approved of his decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer case. + +"My uncle has often regretted that you have never met," says the Bald +Impostor. "If he had known I was to be in Riverbank he would have sent +his copy of your work, 'Liens and Torts,' to be autographed." + +"Liens and Torts" is the one volume written by Judge Orley Morvis +mentioned in "Who's Who." The Judge becomes mellower than ever. + +"Ah, yes!" says the Judge, tickled, "and how is your uncle, may I +ask?" + +"In excellent health considering his age. You know he is +ninety-seven," says the Bald Impostor, having got the "_b._ June 23, +1817" from "Who's Who." "But his toe still bothers him. A man of his +age, you know. Such things heal slowly." + +"No! I didn't hear of that," says the Judge, intensely interested. He +is going to get some intimate details. + +"Oh, it was quite dreadful!" says the Bald Impostor. "He dropped a +volume of Coke on Littleton on it last March--no, it was April, +because it was April he spent at my mother's." + +All this is pure invention, and that is where the Bald Impostor leads +all others. Even as he invents details of the sore toe, you see, he +introduces his mother. + +"She was taken sick early in April," he says, and presently he has Dr. +Somebody-Big out of "Who's Who" attending to the Chief Justice's sore +toe and advising the mother to try the Denver climate. And the next +thing the Judge knows the Bald Impostor is telling that he is now on +his way back from Denver to Chicago. + +So then it comes out. The Bald Impostor sits on the edge of his chair +and becomes nervous and perspires. Perspiring is a sure sign a man is +unaccustomed to asking a loan, and the Bald Impostor is entitled to +start the first School of Free Perspiring in America. He can perspire +in December, when the furnace is out and the windows are open. All his +head pores have self-sprinklers or something of the sort. He is as +free with beads of perspiration as the early Indian traders were with +beads of glass. He mops them with a white silk handkerchief. + +So he perspires, and out comes the cruel admission. He needs just one +dollar and eighty cents! As a matter of fact, he has stopped at +Riverbank because his uncle had so often spoken of Judge Orley +Morvis--and really, one dollar and eighty cents would see him through +nicely. + +"But, my dear boy!" says the Judge kindly. "The fare is six dollars. +And your meals?" + +"A dollar-eighty is enough," insists the Bald Impostor. "I have enough +to make up the fare, with one-eighty added. And I couldn't ask you to +pay for my meals. I'll--I have a few cents and can buy a sandwich." + +"My dear boy!" says Judge Orley Morvis, of Riverbank (and it is what +he did say), "I couldn't think of the nephew of a Chief Justice of the +United States existing for that length of time on a sandwich. Here! +Here are twenty dollars! Take them--I insist! I must insist!" + +Some give him more than that. We usually give him five dollars. + +[Illustration: HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION] + +I admit that when the Bald Impostor visited me and asked for one +dollar and eighty cents I gave him five dollars and an autographed +copy of one of my books. He was to send the five back by money-order +the next day. Unfortunately he seems to have no idea of the flight of +time. For him to-morrow never seems to arrive. For me it is the five +that does not arrive. The great body of us consider those who give him +more than five to be purse-proud plutocrats. But then we sometimes +give him autographed copies of our books or other touching souvenirs. +And write in them, "_In memory of a pleasant visit_." I _do_ wonder +what he did with my book! + +Judge Orley Morvis was the only Who's Whoer in Riverbank, but the town +was well represented in "Iowa's Prominent Citizens," and after +collecting twenty dollars from the Judge the Bald Impostor proceeded +to Mr. Gubb's office. + +"Detective and decorator," he said to himself. "I wonder if William J. +Burns has a son? Better not! A crank detective might know all about +Burns. I'm his cousin. Let me see--I'm Jared Burns. Of Chicago. And +mother has been to Denver for the air." He took out the memorandum +book again. "The Waffles-Mustard case. The Waffles-Mustard case. +Waffles! Mustard! I must remember that." He knocked on the door. + +"Mr. Gubb?" he asked, as Philo Gubb opened the door. "Mr. Philo Gubb?" + +"I am him, yes, sir," said the paper-hanger detective. "Will you step +inside into the room?" + +"Thank you, yes," said the Bald Impostor, as he entered. + +Philo Gubb drew a chair to his desk, and the Bald Impostor took it. He +leaned forward, ready to begin with the words, "Mr. Gubb, my name is +Jared Burns. Mr. William J. Burns is my cousin--" when there came +another rap at the door. Mr. Gubb's visitor moved uneasily in his +chair, and Mr. Gubb went to the door, dropping an open letter +carelessly on the desk-slide before the Bald Impostor. The new visitor +was an Italian selling oranges, and as Mr. Gubb had fairly to push the +Italian out of the door, the Bald Impostor had time to read the letter +and, quite a little ahead of time, began wiping perspiration from his +forehead. + +The letter was from the Headquarters of the Rising Sun Detective +Agency, and was brutally frank in denouncing the Bald Impostor as an +impostor, and painfully plain in describing him as bald. It described +in the simplest terms his mode of getting money and it warned Mr. Gubb +to be on the outlook for him "as he is supposed to be working in your +district at present." The Bald Impostor gasped. "A number of victims +have organized," continued the letter, "what they call the Easy Marks' +Association of America and have posted a reward of fifty dollars for +the arrest of the fraud." + +The Bald Impostor glanced toward Philo Gubb and hastily turned the +letter upside down. When Mr. Gubb returned, the Bald Impostor was +rubbing the palms of his hands together and smiling. + +"My name, Mr. Gubb," he said, "is Allwood Burns. I am a detective. I +have heard of your wonderful work in the so-called Muffins-Mustard +case." + +"Waffles-Mustard," said Mr. Gubb. + +"I should say Waffles," said the Bald Impostor hastily. "I consider it +one of the most remarkable cases of detective acumen on record. We in +the Rising Sun Detective Agency were delighted. It was a proof that +the methods of our Correspondence School of Detecting were not short +of the best." + +Philo Gubb stared at his visitor with unconcealed admiration. + +"Are you out from the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency yourself?" he +asked. + +The Bald Impostor smiled. + +"I wrote you a letter yesterday," he said. "If you have not received +it yet you will soon, but I can give you the contents here and now. A +certain impostor is going about the country--" + +Philo Gubb picked up the letter and glanced at the signature. It was +indeed signed "Allwood Burns." Mr. Gubb extended his hand again and +once more shook the hand of his visitor--this time far more heartily. + +"Most glad, indeed, to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Burns," said Philo +Gubb heartily. "It is a pleasure to meet anybody from the offices of +the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency. And if you ever see the man that +wrote the 'Complete Correspondence Course of Deteckating,' I wish--" + +The false Mr. Burns smiled. + +"I wrote it," he said modestly. + +"I am _most_ very glad to meet you, sir!" exclaimed Philo Gubb, and +again he shook his visitor's hand. "Because--" + +"Ah, yes, because--" queried the Bald Impostor pleasantly. + +"Because," said Philo Gubb, "there's a question I want to ask. I refer +to Lesson Seven, 'Petty Thievery, Detecting Same, Charges Therefor.' I +have had some trouble with 'Charges Therefor.'" + +"Indeed? Let me see the lesson, please," said the Bald Impostor. + +"'The charges for such services,'" Philo Gubb read, pointing to the +paragraph with his long forefinger, "'should be not less than ten +dollars per diem.' That's what it says, ain't it?" + +"It does," said the Bald Impostor. + +"Well, Mr. Burns," said Philo Gubb, "I took on a job of chicken-thief +detecting, and I had to detect for two diems to do it, and that would +be twenty dollars, wouldn't it?" + +"It would," said the Bald Impostor. + +"Which is fair and proper," said Philo Gubb, "but the old gent +wouldn't pay it. So I ask you if you'd be kindly willing to go to him +along with me in company and tell him I charged right and according to +rates as low as possible?" + +"Of course I will go," said the Bald Impostor. + +"All right!" said Philo Gubb, rising. "And the old gent is a man +you'll be glad to meet. He's a prominent citizen gentleman of the +town. His name is Judge Orley Morvis." + +The Bald Impostor gasped. Every free-acting pore on his head worked +immediately. + +"And, so he won't suspicion that I'm running in some outsider on him," +said Philo Gubb, "I'll fetch along this letter you wrote me, to +certify your identical identity." + +He picked up the warning letter from the Rising Sun Agency, and stood +waiting for the Bald Impostor to arise. But the Bald Impostor did not +arise. For once at least he was flabbergasted. He opened and shut his +mouth, like a fish out of water. His head seemed to exude millions of +moist beads. He saw a smile of triumph on Philo Gubb's face. Mr. Gubb +was smiling triumphantly because he was able now to show Judge Orley +Morvis a thing or two, but the Bald Impostor was sure Philo Gubb knew +he was the Bald Impostor. He was caught and he knew it. So he +surrendered. + +"All right!" he said nervously. "You've got me. I won't give you any +trouble." + +"It's me that's being a troubling nuisance to you, Mr. Burns," said +Philo Gubb. + +The paper-hanger detective stopped short. A look of shame passed +across his face. + +"I hope you will humbly pardon me, Mr. Burns," he said contritely. "I +am ashamed of myself. To think of me starting to get you to attend to +my business when prob'ly you have business much more important that +fetched you to Riverbank." + +A sudden light seemed to break upon Philo Gubb. + +"Of a certain course!" he exclaimed. "What you come about was +this--this"--he looked at the letter in his hand--"this Bald Impostor, +wasn't it?" + +Philo Gubb's visitor, who had begun to breathe normally again, gasped +like a fish once more. He saw Philo Gubb finish reading the +description of the Bald Impostor, and then Philo Gubb looked up and +looked the Bald Impostor full in the face. He looked the Bald Impostor +over, from bald spot to shoes, and looked back again at the +description. Item by item he compared the description in the letter +with the appearance of the man before him, while the Impostor +continued to wipe the palms of his hands with the balled handkerchief. +At last Philo Gubb nodded his head. + +"Exactly similar to the most nominal respects," he said. "Quite +identical in every shape and manner." + +"Oh, I admit it! I admit it!" said the Bald Impostor hopelessly. + +"Yes, sir!" said Philo Gubb. "And I admit it the whilst I admire it. +It is the most perfect disguise of an imitation I ever looked at." + +"What?" asked the Bald Impostor. + +"The disguise you've got onto yourself," said Philo Gubb. "It is most +marvelously similar in likeness to the description in the letter. If +you will take the complimentary flattery of a student, Mr. Burns, I +will say I never seen no better disguise got up in the world. You are +a real deteckative artist." + +The Bald Impostor could not speak. He could only gasp. + +"If I didn't know who you were of your own self," said Philo Gubb in +the most complimentary tones, "I'd have thought you were this here +descriptioned Bald Impostor himself." + +His visitor moistened his lips to speak, but Mr. Gubb did not give him +an opportunity. + +"I presume," said Mr. Gubb, "you have so done because you are working +upon this Bald Impostor yourself." + +"Yes. Oh, yes!" said the Bald Impostor hoarsely. "Exactly." + +"In that case," said Mr. Gubb, "I consider it a high compliment for +you to call upon me. Us deteckatives don't usually visit around in +disguises." + +The visitor moistened his lips again. + +"I wanted to see," he said, but the words were so hoarse they could +hardly be heard,--"I wanted to see--" + +"Well, now," said Philo Gubb contritely, "you mustn't feel bad that I +didn't take you for that fraud feller right away off. I hadn't read +the letter through down to the description quite. If I had I would +have mistook you for him at once. The resemblance is most remarkably +unique." + +"Thank you!" said the Bald Impostor, regaining more of his usual +confidence. "And it was a hard disguise for me to assume. I'm not +naturally reddish like this. My hair is long. And black. And--and my +taste in clothes is quiet--mostly blacks or dark blues. Now the reason +I am in this disguise--" + +He was interrupted by a loud and strenuous knock on the door. + +Mr. Gubb went to the door, but before he reached it his visitor had +made one leap and was hidden behind the office desk, for a voice had +called, impatiently, "Gubb!" and it was the voice of Judge Orley +Morvis. When Detective Gubb had greeted his new visitor he turned to +introduce the Judge--and a look of blank surprise swept his features. +Detective Burns was gone! + +For a moment only, Detective Gubb was puzzled. There was but one place +in the room capable of concealing a full-grown human being, and that +was the space behind the desk. He placed a chair for the Judge exactly +in front of the desk and himself stood in a negligent attitude with +one elbow on the top of the desk. In this position he was able to turn +his head and, by craning his neck a little, look down upon the false +Mr. Burns. Mr. Burns made violent gestures, urging secrecy. Mr. Gubb +allayed his fears. + +"I'm glad you come just now, Judge," he said, "because we can say a +few or more words together, there being nobody here but you and me. I +presume you come to talk about the per diem charge I charged to you, +didn't you?" + +"Yes, I did," said the Judge. + +"Well, I'll be able to prove quite presently or sooner that the price +is correctly O.K.," said Mr. Gubb, "because the leading head of the +Rising Sun Deteckative Agency is right in town to-day, and as soon as +he gets done with a job he has on hand he's going up to see you. Maybe +you've heard of Allwood Burns. He wrote the 'Twelve Correspondence +Lessons in Deteckating' by which I graduated out of the Deteckative +Correspondence School." + +"Never heard of him in my life," said the Judge. + +"This here," said Mr. Gubb, not without pride, "is a personal letter I +got from him this A.M. just now," and he handed the Judge the letter. + +Judge Orley Morvis took the letter with an air of disdain and began to +read it with a certain irritating superciliousness. Almost immediately +he began to turn red behind the ears. Then his ears turned red. Then +his whole face turned red. He breathed hard. His hand shook with rage. + +"Well, of all the infernal--" he began and stopped. + +"Has the aforesaid impostor been to see _you_?" asked Philo Gubb +eagerly. + +"Me? Nonsense!" exclaimed the Judge violently. "Do you think I would +be taken in by a child's trick like this? Nonsense, Mr. Gubb, +nonsense!" + +"I didn't hardly think it was possible," said Detective Gubb. + +"Possible?" cried the Judge with anger. "Do you think a common faker +like that could hoodwink _me_? Me give an impostor twenty dollars! +Nonsense, sir!" + +He arose. He was in a great rage about it. He stamped to the door. + +"And don't let me hear you retailing any such lie about me around this +town, sir!" he exclaimed. + +He slammed the door, and then the Bald Impostor slowly raised his head +above the desk. + +"What did you hide for?" asked Philo Gubb. + +The Bald Impostor wiped his bedewed brow. + +"Hide?" he said questioningly. "Oh, yes, I did hide, didn't I? Yes. +Yes, I hid. You see--you see the Judge came in." + +"If you hadn't hid," said Philo Gubb, "I could have got that business +of the per diem charge per day fixed up right here. I was going to +introduce him to you." + +"Yes--going to introduce him to me," said the Bald Impostor. "That was +it. That was why I hid. You were going to introduce him to me, don't +you see?" + +"I don't quite comprehend the meaning of the reason," said Philo Gubb. + +"Why, you see," said the Bald Impostor glibly,--"you see--if you +introduced me to him--why--why, he'd know me." + +"He'd know you?" said Philo Gubb. + +"He'd know me," repeated the false Mr. Burns. "I'll tell you why. The +Bald Impostor _did_ call on him." + +"Honest?" + +"I was there," said the Bald Impostor. "The Judge gave him twenty +dollars and a copy of some book or other he had written, and he wrote +his autograph in the book. Remember that. The Judge wrote his +autograph in a book--and gave it to the fellow. I'm telling you this +so you can tell the Judge. Tell him I told you. Tell him the fellow's +mother is much better now. Tell him Judge Bassio Bates's toe is quite +well. And then ask him for the twenty dollars he owes you. You'll get +it." + +"And you was there?" asked Philo Gubb, amazed. + +"Out of sight, but there," said the false Mr. Burns glibly. "Just +ready to put my hand on the fellow--but I couldn't. I hadn't the heart +to do it. I thought of the ridicule it would bring down on the poor +old Judge. You know he's an uncle of mine. I'm his nephew." + +"He said," said Philo Gubb hesitatingly, "he'd never heard of you." + +"He never did," said the Bald Impostor promptly. "I was his third +sister's adopted child--I am an adopted nephew. And of course you +know he would never have anything to do with his sister after she +married--ah--General Winston Wells. Not a thing! It was what killed my +poor foster mother. Grief!" + +He wiped his eyes with his silk handkerchief. + +"Grief. Yes, grief. And I hadn't the heart to bring shame to the old +man by arresting the Impostor in his house--by showing that the good +old man was such a silly old fellow as to be done by a simple trick. +And what did it matter? I can pick up the Bald Impostor in +Derlingport." + +"In Derlingport?" queried Philo Gubb. + +"In Derlingport," said the Bald Impostor nervously, "for that is where +he went. I'll get him there. But half of the thousand dollars is +rightfully yours, and you shall have it." + +"Thousand dollars?" queried Philo Gubb in amazement. + +"The reward has been increased," said the false Mr. Burns. "The--the +publishers of 'Who's Who' increased it to a thousand because the Bald +Impostor works on the names in their book. They thought they ought to. +But you shall have your half of the thousand. I can pick him up in +Derlingport this afternoon if--if I can get there in time. And of +course I _should_ have arrested him here in Riverbank where you are +our correspondent and thus entitled to half the reward earned by any +one in the head office. You knew that, didn't you?" + +"No!" said Philo Gubb. "Am I?" + +"Didn't you get circular No. 786?" asked the Bald Impostor. + +"I didn't ever get the receipt of it at all," said Mr. Gubb. + +"An oversight," said the Bald Impostor. "I'll send you one the minute +I get back to Chicago. I'll pick up the Bald Impostor at Derlingport +this afternoon--if--Mr. Gubb, I am ashamed to make an admission to +you. I--" + +The Bald Impostor sat on the edge of his chair and pearls of +perspiration came upon his brow. He took out his silk handkerchief and +wiped his forehead. + +"Go right on ahead and say whatever you've got upon your mind to say," +said Mr. Gubb. + +"Well, the fact is," said the false Mr. Burns nervously, "I'm short of +cash. I need just one dollar and eighty cents to get to Derlingport!" + +"Why, of course!" said Philo Gubb heartily. "All of us get into +similar or like predicaments at various often times, Mr. Burns. It is +a pleasure to be able to help out a feller deteckative in such a time +and manner. Only--" + +"Yes?" said the Bald Impostor nervously. + +"Only I couldn't think of giving you only the bare mere sum to get to +Derlingport," said the graduate of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's +Correspondence School of Detecting, generously. "I couldn't think of +letting you start off away with anything less than a ten-dollar bill." + + + + +DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN + + +Philo Gubb sat on an upturned bundle of rolls of wall-paper in the +dining-room of Mrs. Pilker's famous Pilker mansion, in Riverbank, +biting into a thick ham sandwich. It was noon. + +Mr. Gubb ate methodically, taking a large bite of sandwich, chewing +the bite long and well, and then swallowing it with a wonderful up and +down gliding of his knobby Adam's apple. From time to time he turned +his head and looked at the walls of the dining-room. The time was +Saturday noon, and but one wall was covered with the new wall-paper, a +natural forest tapestry paper, with lifelike representations of leafy +trees. He had promised to have the Pilker dining-room completed by +Saturday night. It seemed quite impossible to Philo Gubb that he could +finish the Pilker dining-room before dark, and it worried him. + +Other matters, even closer to his heart, worried Mr. Gubb. He had had +a great quarrel with Mr. Medderbrook, the father of the fair Fat Lady +of the World's Greatest Combined Shows. Judge Orley Morvis had paid +Mr. Gubb twenty dollars for certain detective work, but Mr. Gubb had +not turned all this over to Mr. Medderbrook, and Mr. Medderbrook had +resented this. He told Mr. Gubb he was a cheap, tank-town sport. + +"I worked hard," said Mr. Medderbrook, "to sell you that Utterly +Hopeless Gold-Mine stock and now you hold out on me. That's not the +way I expect a jay-town easy-mark--" + +"I beg your pardon, but what was that term of phrase you called me?" +asked Mr. Gubb. + +"I called you," said Mr. Medderbrook, changing his tone to one of +politeness, "an easy-mark. In high financial circles the term is short +for 'easy-market-investor,' meaning one who never buys stocks unless +he is sure they are of the highest class and at the lowest price." + +"Well, I should hereafter prefer not to be so called," said Mr. Gubb. + +Almost as soon as he had said the cruel words he regretted them, but +the next day Mr. Medderbrook's colored butler came to Mr. Gubb's +office with a telegram for which he demanded thirty-six dollars and +fifty cents. + +Mr. Gubb trembled with emotion as he paid, for it meant that Syrilla +was still losing flesh and that Mr. Dorgan must surely cancel his +contract with her soon. The telegram read:-- + + Happy days! Still shrinking. Have lost one hundred and + forty-five pounds since last wire. Contract sure to be + canceled as soon as Dorgan gets back from hurried trip to + Siam. Weather very hot. Can feel myself shrink. Fond + thoughts to my Gubby. + +The very next day the colored butler brought Mr. Gubb another +telegram. + +"Fifty dollars, please, sah," he said. + +"What!" cried Mr. Gubb. + +"Yes, sah," said the negro. "That's the amount Mistah Meddahbrook done +say." + +Mr. Gubb could hardly believe it, but he wrote his check for the fifty +dollars and then read the telegram. It ran:-- + + Excelsior! Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire. Now + weigh only four hundred pounds. Every one guys me when I am + ballyhooed as Fat Lady. Affection to Gubby. + +Mr. Gubb was greatly pleased by this, but when, the next day, the +colored butler again appeared and asked for fifty dollars Mr. Gubb was +worried. The telegram this time read:-- + + Frightened. Have lost two hundred pounds since last wire, + now weigh only two hundred. If lose two hundred more will + weigh nothing. Have resumed potatoes and water. Love to + Gubby. + +[Illustration: A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED] + +That same afternoon the negro brought Mr. Gubb another telegram, on +which he collected seven dollars and fifty cents. This telegram +contained these words:-- + + Am indeed frightened. Have resumed bread diet, soup, fish, + meat, and cereals, but have lost fifty pounds more. Weigh + only one hundred and fifty. Taking tonic. Hope for the best. + Tell Gubby I think of him as much as when I weighed half a + ton. + +Mr. Gubb was much distressed. He had no doubt that his Syrilla would +rapidly recover a part of her lost weight, but he felt as if at the +moment he had lost Syrilla. He could not picture her as a sylph of one +hundred and fifty pounds. He was worried, indeed, as he sat eating his +lunch in Mrs. Pilker's mansion. It was then he heard a voice:-- + +"Say, are you the feller they call Bugg?" + +Mr. Gubb looked up. In the dining-room door stood a man who looked +like Napoleon Bonaparte gone to seed. + +"If the party you are looking for to seek," said Mr. Gubb with +somewhat offended pride, "is Mister P. Gubb, him and me are one and +the same party. My name is P. Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger." + +"Well, youse is the party I'm looking for," said the stranger. "I got +a hunch from Horton, the wall-paper-store feller, that youse was up +here and that youse wanted a helper. Does youse?" + +"If you know paper-hanging as a trade and profession and can go to +work immediately at once, I could use you," said Mr. Gubb. "I've got +more jobs than I can handle alone by myself." + +"Say, me a paper-hanger?" said the stranger scornfully. "Why, sport, +I've hung more wall-paper than youse ever saw, see? Honest, when I +butted in here and saw that there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John on the +wall--" + +"That what?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"That there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John, on the wall there," explained +the stranger. "Don't youse even know the right name of that +wall-paper there, that's been a Six Best Seller for the last three +years?" + +"It is a forest tapestry," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Sure, Mike!" said the stranger. "And one of the finest youse ever +seen. Looks like youse could walk right into it and pick hickory nuts +off them oak trees, don't it? It's one of me old friends." + +Philo Gubb took another bite of sandwich and masticated it slowly. + +"Let me teach youse something," said the stranger, and he took a roll +of the tapestry paper in his hand and unrolled a few feet. He pointed +to the margin of the printed side of the paper with his oily +forefinger. "Do youse see them printings?" he asked. "Says 7462 B J, +don't it?" + +"It does," mumbled Philo Gubb. + +"Well, say! This here wall-paper feller Dietz--he makes this here +paper, don't he? And that there 7462 is the number of this here forest +tap. pattern, see? And B J--that's Bessie John--that tells youse what +the coloring is, see? Bessie John is the regular nature coloring, see? +They got one with pink trees and yeller sky, for bood-u-wars and +bedrooms. That's M S--Mary Sam." + +"It is a very ingenious way to proceed to do," said Philo Gubb, "and +if regular union wages is all right you can take that straight-edge +and trim all them Bessie John letters off this bundle of 7462 Bessie +John I'm sitting onto." + +This was satisfactory to the stranger. He removed his greasy coat, +threw his greasy cap into a corner, wiped his greasy hands on a wad of +trimmings and set to work. When Mr. Gubb had completed his modest +luncheon he asked his name. + +"Youse might as well call me Greasy," said the new employee. "I'm +greasier than anything. Got it off'n my motor-boat." + +During the afternoon Philo Gubb learned something of his assistant's +immediate past. "Greasy" had saved some money, working at St. Paul, +and had bought a motor-boat--"Some boat!" he said; "Streak o' +Lightnin' was what I named her, and she was"--and he had come down the +Mississippi. "She can beat anything on the Dad," he said. + +The "Dad" was his disrespectful paraphrase of "The Father of Waters," +the title of the giant Mississippi. He told of his adventures until he +mentioned the Silver Sides. Then he swore in a manner that suited his +piratical countenance exactly. + +He had been floating peacefully down the river with the current, his +power shut off and himself asleep in the bottom of the boat, doing no +harm to any one, when along came the Silver Sides, and without giving +him a warning signal, ran him down. + +"Done it a-purpose, too," he said angrily. + +He had managed to keep the boat afloat until he reached Riverbank, but +to fix her up would take more money than he had. So he had hunted a +job in his own line, and found Philo Gubb. + +The Silver Sides, Captain Brooks, owner, was a small packet plying +between Derlingport and Bardenton, stopping at Riverbank, which was +midway between the two. No one knowing Captain Brooks would have +suspected him of running down anything whatever. He was a kind, stout, +gray-haired old gentleman. He had a nice, motherly old wife and eight +children, mainly girls, and they made their home on the Silver Sides. +Mrs. Brooks and the girls cooked for the crew and kept the boat as +neat as a new pin. Captain Brooks occupied the pilot-house; Tom Brooks +served as first mate, and Bill Brooks acted as purser. Altogether they +were a delightfully good-natured and well-meaning family. It was hard +to believe they would run down a helpless motor-boat in mid-river, but +Greasy swore to it, and about it. + +During the next few weeks Greasy and the detective worked side by +side. Greasy had every night and all Sunday for his own purposes. Once +Mr. Gubb met Greasy carrying a large bundle of canvas, and Mr. Gubb +imagined Greasy was fitting a mast and sail to the motor-boat. + +On July 15 the Independent Horde of Kalmucks gave a moonlight +excursion on the Mississippi, chartering the Silver Sides for the +purpose. The Kalmucks were the leading lodge of the town, and leaders +also in social affairs. They gave frequent dramatic entertainments--in +their hall in winter, and outdoors in the big yard back of Kalmuck +Temple in the summer. In the entire history of the lodge there had +never been so much as an untoward incident, but at eleven o'clock on +the night of July 15 something frightful did occur. It spread it +across the top of the first page of the "Daily Eagle" in the one +shocking word--PIRATES! + +The Silver Star had started on the return trip and had reached a point +about two miles below Towhead Island when a rifle or revolver bullet +crashed through the glass window on the western side of the +pilot-house. Uncle Jerry--as most people called Captain Brooks--turned +his head, stared out at the moonlit waters of the river, and saw +bearing down upon him from the northwest a long, low craft. Four men +stood in the forward part of the boat, and a fifth sat beside the +motor. In the bright moonlight, Captain Brooks could see that all the +men wore black masks. He also saw that all were armed, and that from +the staff at the stern of the boat floated a jet-black flag on which +was painted in white the skull and cross-bones that have always been +the insignia of pirates. Even as he looked one of the men in the +motor-boat raised his arm: Uncle Jerry saw a flash of fire, and +another pane of glass at his side jingled to the floor. + +The low black craft swept rapidly across the bows of the Silver Sides; +the sputtering of its motor ceased; and the next moment the pirates +were aboard the barge, lining up the dancers at the points of their +pistols, and preparing to take away their ice-cream money. + +And they did take it. They began at the bow of the barge and walked +to the stern, making one after another of the excursionists deliver +his valuables, and then slipped quietly over the stern of the barge; +the pirate craft began to spit and sputter furiously; and the next +moment it was tearing through the water like a streak of lightning. + +To chase a speed-boat in an elderly river packet would have been +nonsense. Uncle Jerry signaled full speed ahead and kept to the +channel, where his boat belonged. Presently Mrs. Brooks, panting, +climbed to the pilot-house. + +"Well, Pa," she said, "pirates has been and robbed us." + +"Don't I know it?" said Uncle Jerry testily. "No need of comin' to +tell me." + +"They got all the ice-cream money," said Mrs. Brooks. + +"Well, 'twa'n't ourn, was it?" snapped Uncle Jerry. + +"Why, Pa, what a way to talk!" exclaimed Mrs. Brooks. "It's like you +thought it wa'n't nothin', to be pirated right here in the forepart of +the twentieth century in the middle of the Mississippi River in broad +daylight--" + +"'Tain't daylight," said Uncle Jerry shortly. "It's midnight, and +it's goin' to be long past midnight before we git ashore. A man can't +get even part of a night's rest no more. Everybody pirootin' round, +stoppin' boats an' stealin' ice-cream money! Makes me 'tarnel mad, it +do." + +"Pa," said Mrs. Brooks. + +"Well, what is it now?" asked Uncle Jerry testily. + +"Philo Gubb, the detective-man, is on board," said his wife. "I come +up because I thought maybe you'd want to hire him right off to find +out who was them pirates, and if--" + +"Me? Hire a fool detective?" snapped Mr. Brooks. "Why'n't you come up +and ask me to throw my money into the river?" + +Philo Gubb, although not a dancer, had been on the barge when it was +attacked, because he was a lover of ice-cream. He too had been lined +up and robbed. He had been robbed not only of forty perfectly good +cents, but his pirate had seen his opal scarf-pin and had rudely taken +it from Mr. Gubb's tie. The pirate was, Mr. Gubb noticed, a short, +heavy man with greasy hands. As the motor-boat dashed away, Mr. Gubb +pressed to the rear of the barge and looked after it. + +As the boat regained her speed, Philomela Brooks approached him. + +"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she exclaimed, "I'm so tremulous." + +"If you will kindly not interrupt me at the present moment of time," +said Mr. Gubb, "I will be much obliged. I am making an endeavor to try +to do some deteckative work onto this case." + +"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" Miss Philomela cried. "And _do_ you think you'll do +any good?" + +"In the deteckative business," said Mr. Gubb sternly, "we try to do +all the good we can do, whether we can do it or not." And he turned +away and sought a more secluded spot. + +The affair of the pirate craft caused a tremendous sensation in +Riverbank. Before eight o'clock the next morning every one in +Riverbank seemed to have heard of the affair, and when, at eight +o'clock, Philo Gubb entered the vacant Himmeldinger house, which he +was decorating, he started with surprise to see Greasy already there. +He had not expected to see him at all. But there he was, trimming the +edge of a roll of Dietz's 7462 Bessie John, and as he turned to greet +Mr. Gubb, the detective saw in Greasy's greasy tie what seemed to be +his own opal scarf-pin. + +"That there," said Mr. Gubb sternly, "is a nice scarf-pin you've got +into your tie." + +"Ain't it?" said Greasy proudly. "Me new lady-friend give it to me +last night." + +To Greasy, Detective Gubb said nothing. He was not yet ready to act. +But to himself he muttered:-- + +"Scarf-pin--scarf-pin. That there is a clue I had ought to look into." + +In the town excitement was high all day. There was some time wasted +while the Chief of Police and the County Sheriff tried to discover +which was compelled by law to fight pirates, but the Chief of Police +finally put the job on the Sheriff's hands, and the old Fourth of July +cannon was loaded with powder and nails and put on the bow of the +good ferry-boat Haddon P. Rogers, a posse of about three hundred men +with shotguns and army muskets was crowded aboard, and the +pirate-catcher got under way. + +This was, of course, Monday, and Monday the Silver Sides made her +usual down-river trip to Bardenton, leaving in the morning and +returning late at night. It was usually two o'clock at night when she +tied up at the Riverbank levee, but this time two o'clock came without +the Silver Sides. There was a good reason. As the packet neared Hog +Island, about two miles below the Towhead, on her return trip, Uncle +Jerry heard the sputter of a gas engine and saw dart out from below +Hog Island the same low black craft that had carried the pirates +before. Even before the craft was within range, the revolvers began to +spit at the Silver Sides. + +"Well, dang them pirates to the dickens!" exclaimed Uncle Jerry. "If +they be goin' to keep up this nonsense I'm goin' to get down-right mad +at 'em." But he signaled the engine-room to slow down, as if it was +getting to be a habit with him. One of the upper panes, just above his +line of vision, clattered down as he pulled the bell-rope. + +At the first volley, Ma Brooks and her daughters dashed into the +galley and slammed the door. The remainder of the male Brookses made +two jumps to the coal bins and began burrowing into the coal, and the +three non-Brooks members of the crew dived into openings between the +small piles of cargo stuff and tried to become invisible. When the +pirates clambered aboard the Silver Star they seemed to be boarding a +deserted vessel. They worked quickly and thoroughly. Piece by piece +they threw the cargo of the Silver Sides into the motor-boat until +they uncovered the three members of the crew, who leaped from their +hiding-place like startled rabbits and loped wildly to places of +greater safety. Half a dozen revolver shots followed them. The pirates +then leisurely reembarked, fired a parting salute, and glided away. + +The next morning Greasy appeared at work with his pocket full of +Sultana raisins, and offered some to Mr. Gubb. + +"Thank you," said Mr. Gubb; "raisins are one of my foremost +fondnesses. Nice ones like these are hard to find obtainable." + +"You're right they are," said Greasy. "Me lady-friend give me these +last night. She's the girl that knows good raisins, ain't she?" + +Evidently she was, but Philo Gubb had taken occasion to discover, +before he went to work that morning, whether the Silver Sides had been +pirated again, and he had learned that a half-dozen boxes of Sultana +raisins had formed part of the cargo of the Silver Sides. He looked at +Greasy severely. + +"Your lady-friend is considerably generous in giving things, ain't +she?" he said, trying to hide the guile of his questions in an +indifferent tone. "You ain't cared to mention her name to me as yet +to this time." + +"Ain't I?" said Greasy carelessly. "Well, I ain't ashamed of her. Her +name is Maggie Tiffkins. She's some girl!" + +"You spend most of your evenings with or about her, I presume to +suppose?" asked Mr. Gubb carelessly. + +"You bet!" said Greasy. "Me and her is going to get married before +long, we are. Yep. And I'll be right glad to have a home to sleep in, +instead of a barn." + +"A barn?" queried Philo Gubb. + +"I been sleepin' in a barn," said Greasy. "I thought youse knowed it. +I been doin' a piece or two of scene paintin' for them Kalmucks, and I +sort of hired a barn to do it in, and so long as I had to have the +barn I just slept in it. Keeps me up late," he said, yawning, "seein' +my lady-friend till midnight and then paintin' scenery till I don't +know when." + +"I presume you ain't spent much time on your motor-boat of late +times," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Ain't had no time," said Greasy briefly. + +Detective Gubb, as he pasted paper on the walls of the Himmeldinger +house, turned various matters over and over in his mind. His clues +pointed as clearly to Greasy as the Great Dipper points to the North +Star. He had decided to join the posse on the Haddon P. Rogers when +she set out on her next voyage of vengeance, but now he changed his +mind. + +A barn, large and vacant, would be an excellent place in which to hide +the proceeds of a pirate raid. Lest--possibly--the barn should +recognize him and hide itself, Mr. Gubb first went to his office in +the Opera House Building, disguised himself as a hostler, with cowhide +boots, a cob pipe, a battered straw hat, and blue jean trousers. Lest +his face be recognized by the barn he wore a set of red under-chin +whiskers, which would have been more natural had they been a paler +shade of scarlet. Thus disguised, he crept softly down the Opera House +Building stairs and ran full into Billy Getz, Riverbank's best example +of the spoiled only-son species, and the town's inveterate jester. Mr. +Getz put a hand on Mr. Gubb's arm. + +"Sh-h!" he said mysteriously. "Not a word. Only by chance did I +recognize you, Mr. Gubb. Now, about this pirate business--it has to +stop." + +"I am proceeding to the deteckative work preliminary to so doing," +said Mr. Gubb. + +"Good!" said Billy Getz. "Because I can't have such things happening +on my Mississippi River. I hate to see the dear old river get a bad +name, Mr. Gubb. I'm just organizing the Dear Old River Anti-Pirate +League--to suppress pirates, you know. And we want you as our official +detective. In the meantime--Greasy! That's all I say--just Greasy! +Tough-looking character. Lives in a barn." + +[Illustration: HE WORE A SET OF RED UNDER-CHIN WHISKERS] + +"I am just proceeding to locate the whereabouts of the barn," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"That's easy," said Billy Getz. "Hampton's barn--Eighth Street alley. +I know, because I've been there. He's doing our scenery for the +Kalmuck summer show. You go straight up this street--or no, _you'd_ go +in the opposite direction, and three miles into the country, and back +across the cemetery, as advised in Lesson Thirteen, wouldn't you?" + +"There are only twelve lessons," said Mr. Gubb haughtily and stalked +away. He went, however, to Hampton's barn, climbed in through the +alley window, and searched the place. + +The barn contained nothing of interest. A cot stood at one end of the +hay-loft; and stretched across the wall at the other end was a canvas +on which was a partly completed scene of a ruined castle, with +mountains in the distance. On the floor were pails and brushes, +bundles of dry colors, glue, and the various articles needed by a +scene-painter. Mr. Gubb looked behind the canvas. No loot was +concealed there. He returned to his office, discarded his disguise, +and went back to the Himmeldinger house. Seated on the front steps, +quite neglecting his work, was Greasy, and beside him sat a girl. + +"This," said Greasy, "is Maggie Tiffkins. Youse ought to know her. +Mag, consider this a proper knockdown to P. Gubb, my boss." + +That night the Silver Sides was attacked by the pirates on her return +from Derlingport. The next morning Mr. Gubb awaited Greasy's coming +impatiently, hoping for a new clue, but Greasy had none. He was glum. +He had had a quarrel with Maggie, and he was cross. + +"Last job of work I'll ever do for Billy Getz and them Kalmucks of +his'n," he said crossly. "He's gettin' worse and worse. Them first two +scenes I painted he kicked enough about: said the forest scene looked +like a roast-beef sandwich, and asked me if the parlor scene was a +bar-room or a cow-pasture, but when I do a first-class old bum castle +and he wants to know if it's a lib'ry interior, I get hot. And so +would youse." + + * * * * * + +For three nights the Silver Sides, now protected by the presence of +part of the armed posse, was not disturbed, but on the fourth night +the low, black pirate craft boldly attacked the steamer, carrying on a +running fight. The pirates did not venture to board her, but the +piratical business was getting to be an unbearable nuisance to Uncle +Jerry Brooks. A dozen small craft were armed and patrolled the river. +On the fourteenth night, when the Silver Sides was up-river on her +Derlingport trip, the Jane P., the opposition steamer making the same +ports, was boldly attacked by the pirates and lost the most precious +part of her cargo. It was then determined to exterminate the pirates +at any cost. + +Once only had a steamer been attacked above the town, and this seemed +to indicate that the pirates had their nest below Riverbank, and this +was the more likely as the river below town gave far greater +opportunities for hiding the pirate boat during the day. There were +several sloughs or bayous and many indentations of the shore-line, +while above the town there was none. Above the town the shores sloped +back from the river's edge, and even a skiff on the shore could be +seen from across the river. The search for the pirate vessel was +therefore conducted below the town, but most unsuccessfully. + +Mr. Gubb, in the three weeks during which the search went on, +exhausted all his disguises and every page of the twelve lessons of +the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting. +He was in a condition bordering on despair. Each day he donned a +disguise and visited the barn, and saw nothing but scenery and more +scenery. He had reached a point where detective skill seemed to fail, +and where he feared he might have to go openly to Greasy and ask him +whether he was the pirate, or at least go to Maggie and ask her where +she had obtained the scarf-pin and the raisins. And that would not +have been detecting. Nothing like it was mentioned in the twelve +lessons. + +A reward of One Hundred Dollars (rewards are always in capital +letters) had been offered by the Business Men's Association for the +capture of the pirate craft, but no one seemed likely to earn the +reward. + +"Say, honest!" said Greasy, "if my boat was workin' I'd go out alone +in her and cop off them hundred dollars. Youse is a detective, Gubb; +why don't youse get to work and grab them dollars?" + +"Your boat is not into a workable condition?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"She's all but that," said Greasy. "She's hauled up on the levee, +rottin' like a tomato. I tried to sell her to Muller, the grocery +feller where Mag gets them raisins you liked, and I tried to trade her +for a ring to Calloway, the jewelry man what Mag got my opal scarf-pin +of, but I can't get rid of her nohow. If I had her workin' I'd find +them pirates or I'd know why." + +"I have remembered the thought of something; I've got to go downtown," +said Mr. Gubb, and he left Greasy and went to question Mr. Muller and +Mr. Calloway. The one admitted selling Mag the raisins, and the other +the pin, and thus two perfectly good clues went bad. Mr. Gubb turned +toward Fifth Street, when Billy Getz caught him by the arm. + +"Come on and hunt pirates," he said. "The good cruiser Haddon P. +Rogers is going to hit a new trail--up-river this time. Come on +along." + +Billy Getz escorted him aboard the Haddon P. Rogers and led him +straight to the Sheriff on the upper deck. + +"Sheriff," he said, "we've got 'em now! This time we've got 'em sure. +Here's Gubb, the famous P. Gubb, detective, and after many +solicitations he has consented to accompany us. We will have the +pirate craft ere we return. P. Gubb never fails." + +The Sheriff smiled good-naturedly. + +"Always kidding, ain't you, Billy," he said. + +The boat started. She steamed slowly up the river, the members of the +posse on the upper deck on either side, scanning the shores carefully. +Occasionally the ferry-boat backed and ran closer to shore to permit a +nearer inspection of some skiff or to view some log left on the shore +by the last flood. Billy Getz, standing beside the Sheriff and P. +Gubb, called their attention to every shadow and lump on the shore. +The boat proceeded on her slow course and reached the channel between +an island and the Illinois shore. The wooded bank of the island rose +directly from the water, some of the water-elms dipping their roots +into the river. There was no place where a boat could be hidden, and +the ferry steamed slowly along. Billy Getz poked solemn-faced fun at +Mr. Gubb in the most serious manner, and Mr. Gubb was sternly haughty, +knowing he was being made sport of. His eyes rested with bird-like +intensity on the wooded shore of the island. + +"Now, this combination of paper-hanging and detecting has its +advantages," said Billy Getz, with a wink at the Sheriff. "When a +man--" + +Philo Gubb was not hearing him. + +"The remarkableness of the similarity of nature to art is quite often +remarkable to observe," he said to the Sheriff, "and is seeming to +grow more so now and then from time to time. That piece of section of +woods right there is so naturally grown you might say it was torn +right off a roll of Dietz's 7462 Bessie John." + +He stopped short. + +"What's the matter?" asked Billy Getz nervously. + +"Run the boat in there," said Philo Gubb excitedly. "Those verdures +ain't _like_ 7462 Bessie John; they _are_ 7462 Bessie John." + +The Sheriff stared keenly at the spot indicated by Detective Gubb's +extended hand and, turning suddenly, said a word to the pilot in the +house at his side. The ferry veered and ran in toward the island. Not +until the boat was nearer the shore than a front row of the orchestra +seats to the back drop of a theater did the others on the boat +understand. Then the trick was seen and understood. The trees of the +shore were not all trees. One group was a painted canvas, copied +carefully by Greasy from Dietz's 7462 Bessie John at the behest of +Billy Getz. Stretched across a small indentation of the shore it made +a safe screen, unrecognizable a few rods from the shore, and behind +this bit of painted forest they found the long, low, black pirate +craft--Billy Getz's motor-boat. + +When the Sheriff had torn down the canvas and his men had hoisted and +heaved the pirate craft to the broad deck of the ferry, Billy Getz was +gone. Riverbank never saw him again, and a half-dozen of his +roistering companions also disappeared completely. + +"Sometimes occasionally," said Philo Gubb, as the ferry turned toward +town, "the combination of paper-hanging and deteckative work is +detrimental to one or both, as the case may be, but at other +occasional times they are worth one hundred dollars." + +"That's right!" said the Sheriff suddenly. "You get that reward, don't +you?" + +"Most certainly sure," said Philo Gubb. + + + + +HENRY + + +Philo Gubb entered his office and placed on his cutting-table the +express package he had found leaning against his door. With his +trimming-knife he cut the cord that bound the package. It contained, +he knew, the new disguise for which he had sent twenty-five dollars to +the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Supply Bureau, and he was eager to +examine his purchase, which, in the catalogue, was known as "No. 34. +French Count, with beard and wig complete. List, $40.00. Special price +to our graduates, $25.00, express paid." + +Mr. Gubb wore a face more solemn than usual, for he had just had bad +news. He had hidden his distrust of Mr. Medderbrook, the father of his +beloved Syrilla, and had carried that gentleman the one hundred +dollars he had earned by aiding in the capture of the river pirates, +but he had found Mr. Medderbrook close to tears. + +"Read this, Gubb," Mr. Medderbrook said; and that he was deeply +affected was shown by the fact that he did not ask Mr. Gubb to pay any +part of the cost of the telegram from Syrilla which had, this time, +come "Collect." The telegram read:-- + + Scared crazy. Resumed vegetables and all kinds of food, + eating steadily all day and night, but have lost twenty-five + pounds more. Now weigh only one hundred and twenty-five and + going down rapidly. If worse goes to worst, love to Gubby. + +It is not surprising that Mr. Gubb sighed as he lifted the +exaggeratedly thin-waisted frock coat from the package, but there came +a tap on the door and he hastily covered the coat with the wrapping +paper and turned to the door. + +"Enter in," he said. And the door opened cautiously and a short, +ruddy-faced man entered, peering into the room first and then closing +the door behind him as cautiously as he had opened it. + +"Are you this here detective feller?" he asked bluntly. + +"I am Mister P. Gubb, deteckating and paper-hanging done, to command +at your service," admitted Mr. Gubb. "Won't you take a seat onto a +chair?" + +"Depends," said Mr. Gubb's visitor, keeping his hand on the doorknob. +"I'll put it to you like this: Say some guy stole something from me, +and I was willing to pay you for finding out who stole it and for +getting it back--you'd take a job like that and say nothing about it +to anybody, wouldn't you?" + +"Most certainly sure," agreed Mr. Gubb. + +"That's the idee! You'd keep it dark. It wouldn't be nobody's business +but yours and mine, would it? It would be a quiet little deal between +you and me, and nobody would know anything about it. Hey?" + +"Exactly sure," said Philo Gubb. "The deteckative business is +conducted onto an absolutely quiet Q.T. basis." + +"Correct!" said his visitor. "I see you and me can do business. Now, +my name is Gus P. Smith, and I've had one of the rawest deals handed +me a man ever had handed him. I was coming along down one of these +alleys between streets this morning and--" + +He stopped short and turned to the door. Some one had tapped on the +panels. Mr. Smith opened the door the merest crack and peered out. He +closed it again instantly. + +"Somebody to see you," he whispered. "What I've got to say I want kept +private. I'll be back." + +He opened the door and slipped out, and as he went a second visitor +entered. The newcomer was somewhat tall and thin, and his hair was +long, so long it fell upon his shoulders in greasy curls. He wore a +rather ancient frock coat and a black slouch hat, and a touch of style +was added by his gray kid gloves, although the weather was average +summer weather. His face was thin and adorned by a silky brown beard, +divided at the chin and falling in two carefully arranged points. He +closed the door carefully, first looking into the hall to see that Mr. +Gus P. Smith had disappeared. + +"Mr. P. Gubb, the detective?" he asked. + +"Most absolutely sure," said Mr. P. Gubb. + +"My name," said Mr. Gubb's visitor, "is one you are doubtless familiar +with. I am Alibaba Singh." + +"Pleased to meet your acquaintance," said Mr. Gubb. "What can I aim to +do for you?" + +Mr. Alibaba Singh brought a chair close to Mr. Gubb's desk and seated +himself. He leaned close to Mr. Gubb--so close that Mr. Gubb scented +the rank odor of cheap hair-oil--and whispered. + +"Everything is to be strictly confidential--most strictly +confidential. That's understood?" + +"Most absolutely sure." + +"Of course! Now, you must have heard of me--I've made quite a stir +here in Riverbank since I came. Theosophical lectures--first lessons +in Nirvana--Buddhistic philosophy--mysteries of Vedaism--et cetery." + +"I read your advertisement notices into the newspapers," admitted Mr. +Gubb. + +"Just so. I have done well here. Many sought the mysteries. I have +been unusually successful in Riverbank." He stopped short and looked +at Philo Gubb suspiciously. "You don't believe in transmigration, do +you?" he asked. + +"Not without I do without knowing it," said Mr. Gubb. "What is it?" + +"Transmigration," repeated Alibaba Singh. "It--Hindoos believe in it. +At death the souls of the good enter higher forms of life; the souls +of the bad enter lower forms of life. If you were a bad man and died +you would become a--a dog, or a horse, or--or something. You don't +believe that, do you?" + +"Most certainly not at all!" said Mr. Gubb. + +"I--I teach it," said Alibaba Singh uneasily. "It is part of my +teaching." + +"You don't aim to believe nothing of that sort, do you?" asked Mr. +Gubb as if he could not imagine any man so foolish. + +"Now, that's it!" said Alibaba Singh. "That's why I came to you. All +this is strictly confidential, of course? Thanks. I can speak right +out, Mr. Gubb? I have in the past taught some things I did not +absolutely believe." + +"Quite likely true," admitted Philo Gubb. + +"We--we occulists get carried on by our eloquence," said Alibaba +Singh. "We--we go too far sometimes. Far too far! I admit it. I admit +that frankly. When our clients reach out to us for more and more, +we--we sometimes go too far. I won't say we string them along. I +wouldn't say that. But we--we lead them farther than we have gone +ourselves, perhaps. You understand?" + +"Almost absolutely," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Just so! Mr. Gubb, one of my clients was greatly interested in +transmigration of souls--greatly interested. She was interested in all +things mystical--in reincarnation; in the return of the spirits of the +dead; in everything like that. I--really, Mr. Gubb, it was hard for me +to keep up with her." + +"And you proceeded to go ahead and teach her about this transmigration +of souls that you don't believe into yourself," said Mr. Gubb +helpfully. + +"And when she found out you was a faker she set out to sue you for her +money back." + +"No. Not that!" said Alibaba Singh energetically. "That's not it. She +doesn't want her money back. She--she's _almost_ satisfied. She's +willing to accept what had happened philosophically. She's almost +content. Mr. Gubb, the reason I came to you was that I did not want +her to land in--" + +Alibaba Singh looked carefully around. + +"I don't want her to land in jail," he whispered. "It would make +trouble for me. The lady, Mr. Gubb, is Mrs. Henry K. Lippett." + +"Well?" queried Mr. Gubb. + +"What I don't know," said Alibaba Singh, wiping his brow nervously, +"is whether I _did_ reincarnate her late husband or whether she's +liable to be arrested for stealing a--" + +Alibaba Singh stopped short and arose hastily. Some one had knocked on +Mr. Gubb's door. Alibaba Singh moved toward the door. + +"I don't want to talk about this with anybody around," he said +nervously. "I'll come back later. Not a word about it!" + +He brushed past Mr. Gubb's new visitor as he went out, and Mr. Gubb +arose to greet the newcomer. + +This third visitor was a large, red-faced man with an extremely loud +vest. He wore a high hat of gray beaver, and a large but questionable +diamond sparkled on his finger. He walked directly up to Mr. Gubb and +shook hands. + +"Sit down," he commanded. "Now, you're Gubb, the detective, ain't you? +Good enough! My name is Stephen Watts, but they mostly call me Steve +for short--Three-Finger Steve," he added, holding up his right hand to +show that one finger was missing. "I'm in the show business. Ever hear +of John, the Educated Horse? Ever hear of Hogo, the Human Trilobite? +Ever hear of Henry, the Educated Pig? Well, them are me! That's my +show. Did you ever hear of a sheriff?" + +"Frequently often," said Mr. Gubb with a smile. + +"Well, up to Derlingport this here Human Trilobite of mine got loose +from my side-show tent, and when they found him he had eat about half +of the marble cornerstone out from under the Dawkins Building. He's +crazy after white marble. It's like candy to him. So Dawkins attaches +my show and sends the Sheriff with an execution to grab the whole +business unless I pay for a new cornerstone. Said it would cost two +hundred and fifty dollars. I didn't have the money." + +"So he took the show," said Philo Gubb. + +"_Ex_-act-ly!" said Mr. Three-Finger Steve. "He grabbed the whole +caboodle. _Ex_-cept Henry, the Educated Pig. That's why I'm here. That +Sheriff's attachment is out against that pig; it was a felony to +remove that pig from Derling County while that attachment was out +against it. _And_ the pig was removed." + +"You removed it away from there?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Listen," said Three-Finger Steve. "I didn't remove that pig from +Derling County. It was stole from me. Greasy Gus stole it. Augustus P. +Smith, my bally-hoo man, stole Henry, the Educated Pig, and made a +get-away with him. See? See what I want?" + +"Not positively exact," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, it's a little bit delicate," said Three-Finger Steve, "and +that's why I come to you instead of to the police. I want that pig. +But if I go to the police and they find the pig they'll send it back +to the Sheriff in Derling County. See?" + +"Do you want I should arrest Greasy Augustus P. Smith?" asked Philo +Gubb. + +"Not on your life!" said Three-Finger vigorously. "No arrests! You +just get the pig." + +"How big is the size of the pig?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"It's a big pig," said Mr. Watts. "Henry has been getting almost too +fat, and that's a fact. I've been thinking right along I'd have to +diet Henry, but I never got to it. He's one of these big, +double-chinned pinkish-white pigs--looks like a prize pig in a county +fair. And, listen! He's in this town!" + +"Really, indeed?" said Mr. Gubb. + +"I know it!" said Three-Finger Steve. "I seen Greasy Gus load that pig +into a farm wagon at Derlingport, and I thought Gus was trying to +salvage the pig for me, like one feller will help out another in time +of trouble. So I come down to Riverbank on the train, expecting Gus +would show up at the hotel and tell me where the pig was hid. All +right! Gus shows up. 'Gus,' I says, 'where's Henry?' Gus lets on to be +worried. 'Stolen!' he says. 'Some guy lifted him when I wasn't +looking.' Of course I knew that was a lie, and I told him so. 'Now,' +he says, 'you'll never get Henry back. I meant to give him back to +you, but after you have talked to me like that I'll never give him +back. I'll keep him,' he says, 'if I can find him.' So there you are, +Mr. Gubb. Henry is in Riverbank, and I want Henry. This story about +Henry being stolen is a lie. Henry is hid, and Gus Smith knows where." + +Mr. Gubb looked at Mr. Watts thoughtfully. + +"Now, if you're one of these fellers with a conscience," said +Three-Finger, "you can send Henry back to the Sheriff. But I won't +have Greasy Gus putting a trick like this over on me! No, sir!" + +He shook hands with Mr. Gubb again and went out. It was fully fifteen +minutes before Mr. Gus P. Smith, who must have been waiting across the +street, came in. He closed the door and locked it. + +"I saw old Three-Finger come out of this building," he said. "What did +he want?" + +"He came upon confidential business which can't be mentioned," said +Mr. Gubb. + +"Just so!" said Mr. Smith. "He wanted you to find Henry, the Educated +Pig. Now, listen to me. I skipped out with that pig to do +Three-Finger a favor and save part of his show for him, and that's the +truth, but he don't believe it--not him! He called me a thief and +worse, he did. He had the nerve to say I wanted that pig myself, to +start in business with, and that's a lie. No man can insult me like +that, Mr. Gubb. Look at this--" + +He took from his pocket a couple of feet of whipcord and handed it to +Philo Gubb. + +"What is this?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"That's all that's left of Henry," said Greasy Gus. "That's his total +remains up to date. That's the rope I led Henry with after I quit the +wagon of a farmer that rode us out of Derlingport. That cord was tied +to Henry's left hind foot. Look at the end without the knot--was that +cut or wasn't it?" + +"I most generally reserve my opinion until later than right at first," +said Philo Gubb. + +"All right, reserve it!" said Greasy Gus. "Looks to me like it was +cut. No matter. The main thing I want is for you to find Henry. How's +that?" + +"Under them certain specifications," said Philo Gubb, "I can take up +the case and get right to work onto it." + +"All right, then," said Greasy Gus. "Now, here's what I know about it. +I got out of Derlingport with Henry, and when the farmer dumped us +from his wagon I hitched this whipcord to Henry's leg and drove him +along the road. After while I hit this town of Riverbank. I thought +maybe the police would be looking for Henry. So I took to an alley +instead of a regular street, and along we came. We came down the +alley, and of a sudden I began to wonder what I'd do with Henry now +I'd got him into town. It would look kind of suspicious for me and +Henry to go to a hotel. 'I know what I'll do,' I says to myself: 'What +I want to do is to go alone and rent a barn and say I'm thinking of +buying a pig if I can get a place to keep him.' So that's what I did." + +"You left the pig alone in the alley by itself?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Yes, sir!" said Mr. Smith. "I found an alley fence that had a staple +in it, and I tied one end of the whipcord to the staple and went down +the alley to find a barn I could put Henry in. About the fifth barn I +tried I found a place for Henry and then I went back to get him, and +he was gone!" + +"And no clue?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"This tag end of the rope," said Greasy Gus. "And that's all I know +about where Henry went, but my idee is somebody come along and seen +him there and just thought he'd have a pig cheap." + +"It's a pretty hard case to work onto," said Mr. Gubb doubtfully. +"Somebody might have come along with a wagon and loaded him in." + +"Sure!" said Mr. Smith. "No telling at all. That's why I come to you. +If he was where I could fall over him, I wouldn't need a detective, +would I? And if you find Henry I'll just give you these four +five-dollar bills. I'm no millionaire, but I'll blow that much for +the satisfaction of getting back at Three-Finger Watts. Is it a go?" + +"Under them certain specifications," said Mr. Gubb, using the exact +words he had used before, "I can take up the case and get right to +work onto it." + +Mr. Smith shook hands to bind the bargain and departed. + +He had hardly disappeared before Mr. Alibaba Singh opened the door +cautiously, put his head inside and then entered. + +"I thought that man would stay forever," he said with annoyance. "He +isn't in any way interested in my affairs or in the affairs of Mrs. +Henry K. Lippett, is he?" + +"Nobody has been here that is interested into anything you are +interested into in the slightest form or manner," Mr. Gubb assured +him, and Alibaba Singh sighed with relief. + +"You never knew Henry K. Lippett, did you?" he asked. + +"Never at all," said Mr. Gubb. + +"He broke his neck," said Alibaba Singh, "and it killed him." + +He hesitated and seemed lost in thought. He drew himself together +sharply. + +"It isn't _possible_!" he exclaimed with irritation and with no +connection with what he had just said. "I _don't_ believe it! I--I--" + +His distress was great. He wrung one hand inside the other. He almost +wept. + +"Mr. Gubb," he said, "since I was here I have been up to Mrs. +Lippett's house again, and it is worse than ever. It can't be +possible! I haven't the power. I know I haven't the power." + +"You'd ought to try to explain yourself more plain to your +deteckative," said Mr. Gubb. + +"I'll tell you everything!" said Alibaba Singh in a sudden burst of +confidence. "Mr. Gubb, I am an impostor. I am a fraud. I am not a +Hindoo. My name is Guffins, James Guffins. I did sleight-of-hand stuff +in a Bowery show. I took up this mystic, yogi, Hindoo stuff because I +thought it would pay and it was easy to fool the dames. They fell for +it fast enough, and I made good money. But I'm no yogi. I'm no miracle +man. I couldn't bring a man back to life in his own form or any other +form, could I?" + +"Undoubtedly hardly so," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Glad to hear you say it," said Mr. Guffins with relief. "A man gets +so interested in his work--and there is a lot you can learn in books +about this Hindoo mumbo-jumbo business--but of course I couldn't bring +Mr. Lippett back. I'm no spiritualistic medium. I couldn't materialize +the spirit of a pig." + +As he said the word, Mr. Guffins shuddered. It had come out +unintentionally, but it seemed to jar him to the depth of his being. +He had evidently not meant to say _pig_. + +"Mr. Gubb, I will be frank with you. I need your help," he continued. +"Mrs. Lippett attended my lecture, and she became interested. She +formed a class to study yogi philosophy. We went deep into it. I had +to read up one week what I taught them the next. The lights turned low +and my Hindoo costume helped, of course. Air of mystery, strange +perfumes, and all that. You said you never knew Henry K. Lippett?" + +"Never at all," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Fat man," said Mr. Guffins. "He must have been a very fat man. And a +hearty eater. Rather--rather an over-hearty eater. He must have lived +to eat." + +Mr. Guffins sighed again. + +"Of course there was remuneration," Mr. Guffins went on. "For me, I +mean. To pay for my time. Mrs. Lippett was most generous. I _told_ +her," he said angrily, "I couldn't guarantee to materialize her dead +husband. I said to her: 'Mrs. Lippett, we had better not try it. My +power may be too weak. And think of the risk. He _may_ be pure spirit, +floating in Nirvana, and come to us as a pure spirit, but what if his +life was not all it should have been on earth? What if his spirit has +passed into a lower form as a punishment for misdeeds? You will pardon +me for speaking so of him, but men are weak,' I said, 'and he may now +be a--a bird of the air. It would be a shock,' I said, 'to see him +changed into a bird of the air.'" + +Mr. Guffins paused and groaned. + +"But she would have it," he went on. "She would have me make the +attempt. So--" + +Mr. Guffins looked at Mr. Gubb appealingly. + +"You _don't_ believe I could do it, do you?" he pleaded. + +"Not in any manner of means," said Mr. Gubb. + +"That's what I want you to prove to her," said Mr. Guffins. "That's +why I came to you. Everybody knows you are a detective. I want you +to--to get on my trail." + +"You want me to arrest you!" cried Mr. Gubb with surprise. + +"I want you to be looking for me as if you wanted to arrest me," said +poor Mr. Guffins; "as if you had received word that I was a fraud, and +that you had traced me to Mrs. Lippett's. You can go there and say: +'Gone! I am too late! He has escaped.' And then you can tell her it +couldn't be." + +"That what couldn't be?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"The room was darkish," said Mr. Guffins. "The lights were dim. I +stood in the light of the red globe, and it gave me a weird look. I +held the crystal globe in one hand and the jade talisman in the other. +The incense arose from the incense-burner. As if out of the empty air, +a sweet-toned bell rang three times. I bowed low three times as the +bell rang and muttered the magic words. I made them up as I said them, +but they sounded mystic. Mrs. Lippett was sitting on the edge of her +chair, breathless with emotion. The curtains were drawn across the +door at the back of the room. You could have heard a pin drop. We were +alone, just we two. I felt creepy myself. I turned toward the +curtains. I said, 'Henry, appear!'" + +"Yes?" queried Philo Gubb. + +Mr. Guffins threw out both hands with a gesture of utter despair. + +"A pig came under the curtains," he groaned. "A pig--a great, fat, +double-chinned, pinky-white pig, the kind you see at county +fairs--came under the curtains and grunted twice. It stood there and +raised its head and grunted twice." + +Mr. Guffins wrung his hands nervously. + +"It--it surprised me," he said,--"but only for a minute. I said, 'Get +out, you beast!' and was going to kick it, but Mrs. Lippett rose +slowly from her chair. She half-tottered for an instant, and then she +covered her face with her hands. She began to weep. 'I knew it!' she +sobbed; 'I knew it! Oh, Henry, I knew you ate too much. I told you and +_told_ you again and again you were making a pig of yourself. Oh, +Henry, if you had only been less of a pig when you were alive before!' +And what do you think that pig did?" + +"What did it do?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"It sat up on its hind legs and begged," said Mr. Guffins, "begged for +food. It was awful! Mrs. Lippett couldn't stand it. She wept. 'He was +always so hungry in his other life,' she said. 'I can't begin to be +stern with him now. To-morrow, but not when he has just come back to +me. Come, Henry!' + +"She went into the dining-room," continued Mr. Guffins, "and Henry--or +the pig, for it _couldn't_ have been Henry--followed her. And what do +you think it did?" + +"What?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"It went right to the dining-room table and climbed into a chair. Pigs +don't do that, do they? But you don't believe it could have been +Henry, do you? It got up in the chair and _sat_ in it, and put its +front feet on the table and grunted. And Mrs. Lippett hurried about +saying, 'Oh, Henry! Oh, poor, dear Henry!' and brought a plate of +fried hominy and sliced apple and set it before him. And he wouldn't +touch it! He wouldn't eat. So Mrs. Lippett wept harder and got a +napkin and tied it around the pig's neck. Then the pig ate. He almost +climbed into the plate, and gobbled the food down. And then he grunted +for more. And Mrs. Lippett wept and said: 'It's Henry! He always did +tie a napkin around his neck--he spilled his soup so. It's Henry! It +acts just like Henry. He never did anything at the table but eat and +grunt.' And so," said Mr. Guffins sadly, "she thinks it's Henry. She's +fixed up the guest bedroom for him." + +"The idea of such a notion!" said Mr. Gubb. + +[Illustration: "SHE THINKS IT'S HENRY. SHE'S FIXED UP THE GUEST +BEDROOM FOR HIM"] + +"Well, that's it," said Mr. Guffins sadly. "I ain't sure but it _is_ +Henry. Do you know, that pig walks on its hind feet like a man? She +says it walks like Henry.... Oh!" + +"What is it?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"I told you Henry--" + +"Yes?" + +"I told you Henry broke his neck. He fell down and broke his neck, in +his store. He was coming down the back stairs in the dark, and his +foot caught in a piece of rope and he fell. And--this pig came into +the parlor with a piece of string on its leg! Here's the string." + +Mr. Gubb took it. From his desk he took the string Mr. Greasy Gus had +left. The two ends joined perfectly. + +"I'll get you out of this fix, and fix it so Mrs. Lippett won't have +that pig onto her hands," he said. "I'll go tell her what a fraud of a +faker you are, and it won't cost you but twenty-five dollars." + +"Willingly paid," said Mr. Guffins, reaching into his pocket. + +"And don't you worry about that pig being Henry K. Lippett," said Mr. +Gubb. "That pig was a stranger into Riverbank. And," he went on, as if +reading the words from the end of the whipcord, "it was tied to the +alley fence. Tied to an iron staple," he said, "by a short, stoutish +man with a ruddish face." He took up the other piece of cord and +looked at it closely. "And the pig jerked the cord in two and went +into the yard and in at the open door and into the room. And what is +moreover also, the pig is an educated show-pig, and its name is +Henry, and--" + +"And what?" asked Mr. Guffins eagerly. + +"If you want to get rid of the pig out of Mrs. Lippett's house, all +you have to do is to write to the Sheriff of Derling County, +Derlingport, Iowa, and you needn't trouble yourself into it no +further." + +"Great Scott!" cried Mr. Guffins. "And you can tell all that from that +piece of cord!" + +Mr. Gubb assumed a look of wisdom. + +"Us gents that is into the deteckative business," he said carelessly, +"has to learn twelve correspondence lessons before we get our +diplomas. The deteckative mind is educated up to such things." + + + + +BURIED BONES + + +When Mr. Gubb went to the house of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook to pay him +the money he had received for solving the mystery of Henry, the +Educated Pig, he found the house closed, locked and deserted, and on +the door was pinned a card that said simply, and in a neat +handwriting:-- + + Gone to Patagonia. Will be back in one hundred years. Please + wait. + +This was signed "Jonas Medderbrook," but not until the next day did +Mr. Gubb learn from the "Riverbank Eagle" that Mr. Medderbrook had +decamped after selling his friends and neighbors an immense amount of +stock in the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine, of which Mr. Gubb had a very +large and entirely worthless quantity. + +The departure of Mr. Medderbrook was a great shock to Mr. Gubb, as it +seemed to indicate that serious complications in his wooing of Syrilla +might result from it, especially as he had only heard from Syrilla +through Mr. Medderbrook, but, disturbed as he was by this fear, he was +even more upset by a telegram that came to him direct that afternoon. +It was from Syrilla herself-- + + Alas! [it read], the worst has happened. Weighed myself this + morning and weighed only one hundred pounds. Later + discovered scales were one hundred and five pounds out of + balance, registering one hundred and five pounds too much. I + cannot marry you, now or ever, Gubby dear, as cannot permit + your faithful heart to wed one who weighs five pounds less + than nothing. Good-bye forever. SYRILLA. + +The blow was a severe one to Mr. Gubb, as it would have been to any +lover who loved a half-ton of beauty only to have her shrink to five +pounds less than nothing. For several days he remained locked in his +office, hardly touching food, and then, with a sad heart he resumed +his customary occupations. He would never have learned the truth about +Syrilla had it not been for a tramp called Chi Foxy. + +Chi Foxy made the long walk from Derlingport, and night found him on +the outskirts of Riverbank. He begged a hand-out from one of the small +houses and hunted a place to spend the night. He found it underneath a +tool-house alongside the railway tracks, and that it had been used as +sleeping-quarters by other tramps was shown by the heap of crushed +straw, the bread-crusts, and the remnants of a small fire. + +Chi Foxy crawled in and stretched himself out for a comfortable night. +He lighted his pipe, loosened the laces of his shoes, and settled back +for a comfortable smoke. + +Just outside the rear of his sleeping quarters ran the wire +right-of-way fence, which was also the back fence of a small piece of +property on which stood a rickety old house. The house was devoid of +paint, but it was a cheerful sight from where Chi Foxy reclined. He +had a clear view of the kitchen window, from which the light came in a +yellow glow, and he could see a woman cooking something in a +frying-pan on a kitchen stove. A man sat beside the stove, his elbows +on his knees, waiting for supper. + +Chi Foxy almost decided to climb the fence and knock at the door of +the kitchen at the moment the woman took the frying-pan off the stove, +but he was feeling well filled and comfortable, and he decided to wait +and to use the house as his breakfasting-place. This required no +little strength of character, for the perfume of fried veal chops was +wafted to his nostrils, but he held himself in hand, and when he had +burned his pipeful of tobacco he curled down and went to sleep. + +He was awakened by the sound of voices near at hand, and peered out +between the ties. The night was not dark. The voices had come from a +man and a woman, and as Chi Foxy watched them the man began digging in +the sandy soil with a spade. He made quite a hole in the soil and +turned to the woman. + +"Hand me the bag," he said. + +The woman dragged a heavy gunny-sack to the edge of the hole. The man +untwisted the neck of the bag and up-ended it over the hole. There +followed the rattle of bones, one striking against the other, and the +man handed the bag back to the woman. Chi Foxy peered eagerly at the +hole. He saw bones. He looked up at the stars and saw it must be well +after midnight. He saw the man hastily spade the soft soil over the +bones, saw him scatter loose dry top-sand over the completed job, and +saw the man and woman hurry back to the dark house. + +The next morning Chi Foxy left his resting-place and climbed over the +wire fence. He looked curiously at the spot where the weird burial had +taken place, and went on toward the house. He knocked on the door, and +it was opened by the man--a tall, lanky, coarse-bearded specimen. + +"Say, friend, how about givin' a feller some breakfast?" asked Chi +Foxy. + +"How 'bout it, ma?" asked the man, turning his head. "Got some +breakfast for this feller?" + +The woman looked toward the tramp. She evidently decided in his favor. + +"Let him set on the step and I kin hand him out some coffee and some +meat, if that'll do him," she said, and Chi Foxy seated himself. The +breakfast she brought him on a chipped plate was all he could have +desired. There was a half of a veal cutlet, browned to a nicety, a +portion of fried potatoes, a thick slice of bread without butter, and +a cup of coffee. Chi Foxy ate and drank. + +"Thanks, folks," he said. "I won't forgit you." And he continued on +his way toward Riverbank. + +"So you're here," said the first policeman he met. "Right on time with +the first frosty breeze, ain't you? Well, my friend, you can blow out +of town on the breeze, just like you blew in. No more free board and +gentle stone-pile massage in this town. Drift along, bo!" + +He turned up the first cross-street. He went from house to house +begging a hand-out, but the residents were colder than the weather. At +the twelfth house he knocked on the back door, but he was beginning to +feel hopeless. A thin streamer of smoke was issuing from the kitchen +chimney, and where there is smoke there is food; but here, instead of +a hard-faced woman coming to the door, a man put his face to the +kitchen window and looked out. It was the face of a tall, thin man +with a long neck and prominent Adam's-apple, and as the man peered out +of the window he looked something like a flamingo. He opened the door. + +"Come right into the inside," said Philo Gubb pleasantly, "and heat +yourself up warm. The temperature is full of cold weather to-day." + +Chi Foxy entered. He looked around the kitchen. There was a brisk fire +in the stove, but no sign of food. + +"Say, pard," he said, "how about giving me a bite? I haven't had a +bite this morning. I ain't too late, am I?" + +His host looked at him. + +"You are not too late," he answered, "because it may be some days of +time before there is any eats here, for what's burning into that stove +is the unvalueless trimmings off of wall-paper. I'm not the regular +resider at this house by no means." + +Chi Foxy looked at his host again. + +"You're a paper-hanger, ain't you?" he said. + +"Paper-hanger and deteckative," said his host proudly. "My name is +Mister P. Gubb, graduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's +Correspondence School of Deteckating in twelve lessons. And +paper-hanging done in a neat manner." + +Chi Foxy held out his hand eagerly. + +"Shake, pard!" he asked. "That's my line, too." + +"Paper-hanging?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Detecting," said Chi Foxy promptly. "I'm one of the most famousest +gum-shoe fellers in the world. Me and this here great detective +feller--what's his name, now?--used to work team-work together." + +"Burns?" suggested Philo Gubb. + +"Holmes," said Chi Foxy, "Shermlock Holmes. Me and him pulled off all +them big jobs you maybe have read about in the papers." + +He pronounced the name of the celebrated detective of fiction +"Shermlock Hol-lums." + +"Oh, yes," said the tramp, "me and Shermlock is great chums. And me +and the kid!" + +"To what kid do you refer to?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"Why, my old side partner's little son, Shermlock Hollums the Twoth," +said Chi Foxy without a blink. "And a cunnin' little feller he +was--took after his father like a cat after fish, he did. Me and old +Shermlock we used to hide things--candy and--and oranges--and let +little Shermlock go and detect where they was. He was a great little +codger, he was." + +He noticed that Mr. Gubb was looking at him sharply. He looked down at +his ragged garments. + +"Disguise," he said briefly. "Nobody'd know a swell dresser like I am +in this rig, would he? Say, pard, how about giving me a half-dollar to +get breakfast? Us detectives ought to have es-_spirit dee corpse_, +hey? We ought to stick by each other, hey?" + +The celebrated paper-hanger detective considered Chi Foxy. It was +evident that P. Gubb doubted the authenticity of the tramp-detective. + +"In times of necessary need," he said slowly, "I often assume onto me +the disguise of a tramp, but I don't assume it onto me so complete +that I go asking for money to buy breakfast." + +"You don't, hey?" said Chi Foxy scornfully. "Well, you must be a swell +detective, you must. When I get into a tramp disguise I'm a tramp all +through." + +"Most certainly," said P. Gubb. "And so am I. But there's a difference +into the way you are doing it now. You ain't deteckating now. You are +coming at me as one deteckative unto another." + +Chi Foxy laughed. + +"Say," he said, "I'd like to see this here Correspondence School you +graduated out of, I would. I'd like to see the lessons they learn you, +I would. Why, the first thing my old pard Shermlock Hollums told me +was _never_ to be anything but what I was disguised to be as long as I +was disguised to be it. That's right. Maybe I'd be disguised as a +tramp and I'd meet our old friend and college chum, the Dook of Sluff. +He'd want to take me into some swell place and blow me off to a swell +dinner. Would I let on? No, sir! I'd sort of whine at him and say, +'Mister, won't you give a poor feller a penny for to hire a bed?' +That's how me and Shermlock stuck to a disguise. And Shermlock! Me and +him was like twins, we was, and yet when I was in this tramp disguise +and went up to his room to report, I'd knock at the door and say, +'Mister, give a poor cove a hand-out, won't you?' and Shermlock would +turn and say, 'Watson, throw this tramp downstairs.' And Watson would +do it. Yes, sir! I've been so sore and bruised from being thrown +downstairs when I went to report to Shermlock that sometimes I'd have +to go to the hospital to get plastered up. That's detecting!" + +Chi Foxy looked at P. Gubb, but P. Gubb did not seem to have melted. + +"That's livin' up to your disguise," continued Chi Foxy. "Me and +Shermlock, when we had on tramp disguises we _were_ tramps. Why, I +used to go home and my valet would throw me downstairs. I was so +thoroughly disguised, and I kept actin' so trampish while I had the +disguise on, that he used to come at me with a golluf stick and whack +me on the head. And when I got into my own room I kept right on being +a tramp. Took off my clothes--still a tramp. Took off my false +whiskers--still a tramp. I'd be there stark naked and I'd still be a +tramp. Yes, sir. That's the kind of detective disguising I did. And +then I'd take a bath. Then I was myself again. Yes, sir. When I'd +scrubbed myself in the bathtub I figured I'd got rid of the tramp +disguise right down into the skin, and I'd be myself again--and not +until then." + +He looked at P. Gubb out of the corner of his eye. + +"Why, I remember one time," he said briskly, "I was asked to the +Dook's palace to a swell party. Me and Shermlock was both asked, +because they knew one of us wouldn't go unless the other did. Well, +sir, I had been out detecting in a tramp disguise that day--findin' +stolen jools and murderers and that sort of business--and I went and +took my bath and rigged all up in swell clothes, and called my +limmy-seen automobile, and when the feller I hired to drive the +limmy-seen come to open the door of the car at the Dook's palace I +dodged. Yes, sir, I dodged like I thought he was going to hit me +because I hadn't no business in my own limmy-seen automobile. That was +funny, wasn't it? So I went up the steps into the Dook's palace, and +the gentleman he had to open the door opened the door, and he called +out my name and up come the Dookess--Mrs. Dook of Sluff, as they call +her, but I always called her Maggie, like she called me Mike. So she +says to me, 'Mike, I'm mighty glad to see you here. We're going to have +a swell party.' And I started to say back something pleasant, but what +I said was, 'Please, missus, won't you give a poor cove a hand-out?'" + +"What seemed to be the reason you said that?" asked Philo Gubb with +interest. + +"That's what worried me," said Chi Foxy. "I didn't mean to say it. I +just said it against my will, as you might say. But I guess she +thought I was tryin' to be smart, for she just says, 'Naughty, +naughty, Mike,' and whistled to the Dook to come and blow me off to +the feeds. So the Dook come and led me into the dining-room, and +stacked me up against the table for a stand-up feed. Swell feed, bo! +Samwiches till you couldn't rest--ham samwiches and chicken samwiches +and tongue samwiches and club samwiches and--and all kinds of +samwiches. And what did I do? I grabbed half a dozen of them samwiches +and rammed them into my pants pocket, just like a tramp would do it. +The Dook looked surprised, but he begun to haw-haw, and he slapped me +on the back and said, 'Good joke, ol' chap, good joke!' So that passed +off all right. Then I went into the jool room, because the Dook had +told me his son, the Dookette, or what you might call the little +Dookerino, was in there. So in I went, and the first thing I knew I +was hiding one of the Dook's gold crowns inside my vest. In a minute +in come the Dook to pick out a crown to wear at dinner--" + +"I thought you said they had a stand-up dinner at the table," said +Philo Gubb. + +"Pshaw, that was nothing but the appetizer," said Chi Foxy. "Well, in +he come and began lookin' through his crowns for the one he wanted, +and all at once he saw how my vest bulged out, and he knew by the +rough edges of the bulge it wasn't samwiches because them dookal +samwiches is all boneless. So he puts his hand on my shoulder and he +says, 'Mike, ain't you carryin' the joke a bit too far?' That's what +he says, and I wish you could have heard how sad his voice was. He +says, 'You know me, Mike, and you know that anything I've got is +yours--_except_ that crown you've got inside your vest.' + +"For a minute I didn't know what to do. I wasn't in tramp disguise and +I thought he would think I was a thief in real life, so I says, 'Dook, +search me!' 'I don't have to search you,' he says, 'for I can see my +favorite crown bulging out your vest.' 'I don't mean that, Dook, old +chap,' I says; 'I mean take me up to your bood-u-war or the bathroom +and give me the twice-over. Something's wrong with me, and I don't +know what, but some of my tramp disguise must be sticking to me +somewhere.' So we went up to the bathroom and he went over me with +this one-eyed monocule he always wore, and then he went over me with a +reading-glass, and then he went over me with a microscope, but he +couldn't see a speck of tramp disguise on me. Not a speck. 'Keep +lookin'!' I says. 'It must be there somewhere, Dook,' I says, 'or I +wouldn't act so pernicious.' So he begun again, and all at once I hear +him chuckle. He was lookin' in my ear with the microscope." + +"What was it?" asked Philo Gubb eagerly. + +"A hair," said Chi Foxy. "Just one hair. It was a hair out of my tramp +whiskers that had got in my ear, and the minute he pulled it out I was +all right again and no more tramp than he was. So you see that's the +way I keep acting tramp as long as I have even one hair of tramp +disguise about me. Come on, be a good feller and let me have half a +dollar to get some feeds with." + +P. Gubb put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it again. "I much +admire to like the way you act right up to the disguise," he said, +"and it does you proud, but of course when you ask for fifty cents +it's nothing but part of the disguise, ain't it?" + +"Now, see here, bo!" said Chi Foxy earnestly. "Don't you go and +misunderstand me. I didn't mean to be mistook that way. I _do_ want +fifty cents. I'm hungry, I am." + +P. Gubb smiled approvingly. "Most excellent trampish disguise work," +he said. "Nobody couldn't do it better. A real tramp couldn't do it +better." + +Chi Foxy frowned. "Say," he said, "cut that out, won't you, cully? +Your head ain't solid ivory, is it? I'm starvin'. Gimme fifty cents, +mister. Gimme a quarter if you won't give me fifty. Come on, now, be a +good feller." + +"A deteckative like you are oughtn't to need twenty-five cents so bad +as that," said P. Gubb. "A deteckative acquainted with the knowing of +a Dook and of Sherlock Holmes don't have to beg." + +Chi Foxy actually gritted his teeth. He was angry with himself. He had +talked too well. He had proved so thoroughly that he was a detective +that P. Gubb would not believe he was hungry. + +"See here, bo," he said suddenly, "is this straight about you being a +detective, or is that a bluff, too?" + +Philo Gubb showed Chi Foxy the badge he had received upon completion +of his correspondence course of twelve lessons. + +"I'm the most celebrated and only deteckative in the town of +Riverbank, Iowa," he said seriously, "and you can ask the Sheriff or +the Chief of Police if you don't believe me. I'm working right now +onto a case of quite some importance, into which a calf was stolen, +but up to now the clues ain't what they should be. If you don't think +I'm a deteckative you can ask Farmer Hopper. He hired me for to get +the capture of the guilty calf-stealer aforesaid." + +Chi Foxy studied P. Gubb's simple face. + +"And you can arrest a feller and lodge him in jail?" he asked. + +"I've arrested many and lodged them into jail," P. Gubb assured him. + +"Well, bo," said Chi Foxy frankly, "I'm the man you're looking for. +Arrest me." + +The tramp knew enough about arrests to know that even a suspect, when +lodged in jail, would be fed, and he was hungry and getting hungrier +every moment. P. Gubb looked at him with surprise. + +"I thought you said you was a deteckative," he said. + +"I am," said Chi Foxy. "Or I wouldn't know I was a criminal. I +detected it myself, because nobody else could. Even my old friend +Shermlock Hollums couldn't detect it, but I did. I'm a--a murderer, I +am. There's a thousand-dollar reward offered for me." + +"Then why don't you arrest yourself and get the reward?" asked P. +Gubb. + +"Say," said Chi Foxy with disgust. "It can't be done. I know, for I've +tried. I'm a fugitive, that's what I am, and right behind me, no +matter where I flee to, comes myself ready to grab me and arrest me. +I've chased myself all over Europe, Asia and Africa, and I can't get +away from myself, and I can't grab myself. It's--it's just awful." + +Chi Foxy wiped an imaginary tear from his eye. + +"And I can't keep away from the scene of my crime," he said. "I come +back here time after time--" + +"Did you do the murder here?" asked P. Gubb with increased interest. + +[Illustration: "A DETECKATIVE LIKE YOU ARE OUGHTN'T TO NEED +TWENTY-FIVE CENTS SO BAD AS THAT"] + +"That's what I did," said Chi Foxy. "I did it here. Take me down to +the lock-up. Me and you can hold me all right." + +"It's somewhat out of the ordinary common run for a feller to be a +deteckative and the criminal murderer he's chasing both at once," said +P. Gubb doubtfully. + +"That's so, ain't it?" agreed Chi Foxy. "It looks that way. But facts +are facts, ain't they?" + +"Quite occasionally they are such," agreed P. Gubb. + +"That's right," said Chi Foxy. "And all you've got to do is to explain +them. You see, bo, I was a young feller when I murdered this old +miser--" + +"What did you say his name was?" asked P. Gubb. + +"Smith," said Chi Foxy promptly. "John J. Smith, and he lived right +here in this town. And I murdered the old feller and got away. Nobody +cared much whether the old feller was murdered or not, and nothin' +much might have been said of it except that the old feller had a +nephew. His name was Smith--Peter P. Smith." + +"What did he do?" asked P. Gubb. + +"He offered a reward of a thousand dollars," said Chi Foxy. "It was +one of them unsolved mystery cases--one of them cases that never get +solved because no detective is smart enough to solve it. Nobody knew +who killed old John J. Smith but me, and I wasn't going around telling +it." + +"I should think not," said P. Gubb. + +"No, sir!" said Chi Foxy. "So I was as safe as a babe unborn. I +skipped up the river to Minneapolis, and nobody thought of lookin' for +me, because I wasn't suspected. And then I did a fool thing." + +"Murderers 'most always does," said P. Gubb. + +"Sure!" said Chi Foxy. "I thought I'd go to New Orleans. It was all +right--nice trip--until we got to Dubuque, and then what happened? The +old steamboat blew up. I went sailin' up in the air like one of these +here skyrockets, I did, and when I come down I lit head first." + +"It is a remarkable wonder it didn't kill you to death," said P. Gubb. + +"Ain't it?" said Chi Foxy. "But it did worse than kill me. It knocked +my senses out of me. When I come to I didn't know what had happened. I +didn't remember a thing out of my past--not a thing. I was like a +newborn babe. I didn't have an idea or a memory left in me. When they +picked me up and I opened my eyes I could just say 'Ah-goo' and +'Da-da' and things like that, and I didn't know who I was or where I'd +been or anything. So some kind folks took me and sent me to +kinder-garden, and I started in to learn my A-B-C's and things like +that. I learned fast, and pretty soon I was in the high school, and +pretty soon I graduated, and the name I graduated under was Mike +Higgs, Higgs being the name of the family that adopted me." + +"Mike Higgs?" repeated P. Gubb, trying to remember a celebrated +detective of that name. + +"Yes," said Chi Foxy, "they named me Mike after the old gran'pa of the +family. He was a butcher, and they wanted me to be a butcher, but I +wanted to be a detective. So Gran'pa Higgs he lent me enough money to +go to London and take lessons in detecting from Shermlock Hollums, and +I did. He says to me, when I'd finished the course, 'Mike, I hate to +say it, but I can't call you a rival. You're so far ahead of me in +detective knowledge that I'm like a half-witted child beside you.' +That's what my old friend and teacher, Shermlock Hollums, says to me." + +"That was exceedingly high praising from one so great," said P. Gubb. + +"You bet it was!" said Chi Foxy, "So one day Shermlock says to me, +'Mike you're so good at this detecting work, why don't you try to +solve The Great Mystery?' + +"'What's that?' I says. + +"'Why, the greatest unsolved mystery of the world,' he says. 'The +mystery of the Riverbank, Iowa, miser.' + +"So he told me what he knew about it," continued Chi Foxy, "and I set +to work. I come here to Riverbank to hunt up a clue, and I found just +one clue." + +"What was it?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"It was a speck of red pepper no bigger than the point of a pin," +said Chi Foxy, "crushed into the carpet by the old miser's bed, where +he had been killed. I picked up the speck of red pepper and +microscoped it, and I saw that along one edge it was sort of brown, +where it had been burned a little." + +"Have you got it now?" asked P. Gubb. + +"Got it?" said Chi Foxy. "I should say not. While I was lookin' at it +a breeze come and blowed it away, and I never saw it again, but that +was enough for me. 'Red pepper,' I says, 'partly burned,' and I began +to tremble. 'Cause why? 'Cause I never was able to get smoking tobacco +strong enough to suit me, and to make it taste snappy I always put a +little red pepper in my pipe. I turned as white as a sheet. 'Red +pepper partly burned!' I says to myself. 'Nobody in the world but me +puts red pepper in his tobacco.' + +"Well, sir, I started tracing myself back and I found out I was the +murderer. And I was the detective after the murderer. I was everybody +concerned. In a moment I was overcome by criminal fear and I fled. I +fled all over Europe, Asia, and Africa, and wherever I went I was +right after myself, ready to arrest me." + +Chi Foxy paused and glanced at P. Gubb questioningly. With a solemn +face the great Correspondence School detective blinked his bird-like +eyes at Chi Foxy. + +"So now arrest me," said Chi Foxy. + +Philo Gubb rubbed his chin. "I'd like to favor you by so doing, Mr. +Jones," he said, "for I can easy see, Mr. Higgs, that you can't arrest +yourself, but it is against the instructions in Lesson Six of the +Rising Sun Correspondence School of Deteckating for a graduate to +arrest a man without a good clue, and the only clue you had was blowed +away." + +For a moment this seemed to annoy Chi Foxy, but his face suddenly +brightened. + +"Clue?" he said. "Say, friend, I wouldn't ask you to arrest me on any +such clue as a speck of red pepper. No, sir! But I've got a clue +that'll mean something. I can tell you right where I buried that old +miser's bones, I can. You go up the river road until you come to a +tool-house on the railway, and just back of the tool-house is a +dwellin'-house--old and unpainted. All right! Right in that yard, +close to the railway fence, the bones is buried. Now, you turn me over +to the law, and you go up there--" + +"We'd best go up there immediately first before anything else," said +Philo Gubb, starting to remove his paper-hanger's apron. "Putting off +clues until sometime else is against Paragraph Four, Lesson One. If +you come up there with me--" + +"Look here," said Chi Foxy, "will you buy me a feed on the way up if I +go with you?" + +"Quite certainly sure," said P. Gubb, and so it was agreed. + +The paper-hanger detective and the criminal-detective stopped at +Hank's restaurant and Chi Foxy ate a heavy meal, and then led the way +to the tool-house, and pointed over the wire fence to the spot where +the bones of the murdered miser were supposed to repose. + +"Right there!" he said, but when P. Gubb had climbed the fence and had +turned to look for Chi Foxy, the late detective-criminal was gone. Mr. +Gubb's face turned red, but as he hung his head in shame he noticed +that the ground at his feet had lately been spaded. He stooped to look +at it, and then walked to the weather-beaten house and knocked. A +lanky, loose-jointed man came to the door, and a woman peered at Mr. +Gubb from behind the man. + +"I hope you'll pardon," said Mr. Gubb politely, "but my name is P. +Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger, and I'm looking up a case. Might I +trouble you for the loan of a spade or shovel?" + +"What you want with it?" asked the man gruffly. + +"To dig," said Mr. Gubb. + +The man reluctantly handed Mr. Gubb a spade on which there were still +traces of soft, sandy soil. Mr. Gubb walked to the rear of the yard +and jabbed the spade into the soft soil. It struck something hard. In +a moment or two Mr. Gubb had the evidences of crime completely +uncovered. There were bones buried there--many bones. Mr. Gubb looked +up and wiped his brow. Then he looked down at the bones. One was a +skull. Mr. Gubb stared at it. It was indeed a skull, but it was the +skull of a calf. All the bones were calf bones--not bones of the human +calf, but bones of the veal calf. Mr. Gubb turned his head and saw the +long lanky man approaching. + +"All right," said the long, lanky man, "I give up. You've got me. I +surrender. When a detective gets that close, a man hasn't any chance. +I own up. I did it." + +"You did what?" + +"Now, quit!" said the long, lanky man. "No use rubbin' it in after +I've owned up. You know as well as I do--I'm the man that stole Farmer +Hopper's calf. I give up. I surrender." + +"I'm much obliged to you," said Philo Gubb. + +"Well, I ain't obliged to _you,"_ said the lanky man, "but I wish +you'd tell me how you found out I was the calf thief." + +Mr. Gubb smiled an inscrutable smile. + +"A deteckative acquires dexterity in the way of capturing up the +criminal classes," he said with oracular yet modest simplicity. + + * * * * * + +The next day, when Mr. Gubb returned to his paper-hanging job he found +Chi Foxy waiting for him. + +"Boss," he said with a laugh, "I showed you where that murdered man's +bones was buried, won't you stake me to a meal?" + +"Are you hungry again?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Hungry?" said Chi Foxy. "I'm so hungry that I feel like a living +skeleton. I'm so hungry that a square meal would make me feel like +Syrilla, that Fat Lady I seen at Derlingport a couple of days ago." + +"What's that you remarked about?" asked Mr. Gubb, pinning Chi Foxy +with his eye. "Did I understand the meaning of what you said was that +you saw a Fat Lady named Syrilla?" + +"At Derlingport," said Chi Foxy. "A swell guy named Medderbrook give +me a meal and a ticket to the big show. It was a performance _de +luxe_, so to say. Special attraction, bo. You'd have laughed your head +off. This here Syrilla Fat Lady got married to the Living Skeleton in +the middle ring, and she had the Snake Charmer for a bridesmaid. Say! +you'd have laughed--" + +But Mr. Gubb did not laugh. He never laughed again. + + + + +PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE + + +Philo Gubb, wrapped in his bathrobe, went to the door of the room that +was the headquarters of his business of paper-hanging and decorating +as well as the office of his detective business, and opened the door a +crack. It was still early in the morning, but Mr. Gubb was a modest +man, and, lest any one should see him in his scanty attire, he peered +through the crack of the door before he stepped hastily into the hall +and captured his copy of the "Riverbank Daily Eagle." When he had +secured the still damp newspaper, he returned to his cot bed and +spread himself out to read comfortably. + +It was a hot Iowa morning. Business was so slack that if Mr. Gubb had +not taken out his set of eight varieties of false whiskers daily and +brushed them carefully, the moths would have been able to devour them +at leisure. + +P. Gubb opened the "Eagle." The first words that met his eye caused +him to sit upright on his cot. At the top of the first column of the +first page were the headlines. + + MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF HENRY SMITZ + + Body Found In Mississippi River By Boatman Early This A.M. + + Foul Play Suspected + +Mr. Gubb unfolded the paper and read the item under the headlines with +the most intense interest. Foul play meant the possibility of an +opportunity to put to use once more the precepts of the Course of +Twelve Lessons, and with them fresh in his mind Detective Gubb was +eager to undertake the solution of any mystery that Riverbank could +furnish. This was the article:-- + + Just as we go to press we receive word through Policeman + Michael O'Toole that the well-known mussel-dredger and + boatman, Samuel Fliggis (Long Sam), while dredging for + mussels last night just below the bridge, recovered the body + of Henry Smitz, late of this place. + + Mr. Smitz had been missing for three days and his wife had + been greatly worried. Mr. Brownson, of the Brownson Packing + Company, by whom he was employed, admitted that Mr. Smitz + had been missing for several days. + + The body was found sewed in a sack. Foul play is suspected. + +"I should think foul play would be suspected," exclaimed Philo Gubb, +"if a man was sewed into a bag and deposited into the Mississippi +River until dead." + +He propped the paper against the foot of the cot bed and was still +reading when some one knocked on his door. He wrapped his bathrobe +carefully about him and opened the door. A young woman with +tear-dimmed eyes stood in the doorway. + +"Mr. P. Gubb?" she asked. "I'm sorry to disturb you so early in the +morning, Mr. Gubb, but I couldn't sleep all night. I came on a matter +of business, as you might say. There's a couple of things I want you +to do." + +"Paper-hanging or deteckating?" asked P. Gubb. + +"Both," said the young woman. "My name is Smitz--Emily Smitz. My +husband--" + +"I'm aware of the knowledge of your loss, ma'am," said the +paper-hanger detective gently. + +"Lots of people know of it," said Mrs. Smitz. "I guess everybody knows +of it--I told the police to try to find Henry, so it is no secret. And +I want you to come up as soon as you get dressed, and paper my +bedroom." + +Mr. Gubb looked at the young woman as if he thought she had gone +insane under the burden of her woe. + +"And then I want you to find Henry," she said, "because I've heard you +can do so well in the detecting line." + +Mr. Gubb suddenly realized that the poor creature did not yet know the +full extent of her loss. He gazed down upon her with pity in his +bird-like eyes. + +"I know you'll think it strange," the young woman went on, "that I +should ask you to paper a bedroom first, when my husband is lost; but +if he is gone it is because I was a mean, stubborn thing. We never +quarreled in our lives, Mr. Gubb, until I picked out the wall-paper +for our bedroom, and Henry said parrots and birds-of-paradise and +tropical flowers that were as big as umbrellas would look awful on our +bedroom wall. So I said he hadn't anything but Low Dutch taste, and +he got mad. 'All right, have it your own way,' he said, and I went and +had Mr. Skaggs put the paper on the wall, and the next day Henry +didn't come home at all. + +"If I'd thought Henry would take it that way, I'd rather had the wall +bare, Mr. Gubb. I've cried and cried, and last night I made up my mind +it was all my fault and that when Henry came home he'd find a decent +paper on the wall. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Gubb, that when the +paper was on the wall it looked worse than it looked in the roll. It +looked crazy." + +"Yes'm," said Mr. Gubb, "it often does. But, however, there's +something you'd ought to know right away about Henry." + +The young woman stared wide-eyed at Mr. Gubb for a moment; she turned +as white as her shirtwaist. + +"Henry is dead!" she cried, and collapsed into Mr. Gubb's long, thin +arms. + +Mr. Gubb, the inert form of the young woman in his arms, glanced +around with a startled gaze. He stood miserably, not knowing what to +do, when suddenly he saw Policeman O'Toole coming toward him down the +hall. Policeman O'Toole was leading by the arm a man whose wrists bore +clanking handcuffs. + +"What's this now?" asked the policeman none too gently, as he saw the +bathrobed Mr. Gubb holding the fainting woman in his arms. + +"I am exceedingly glad you have come," said Mr. Gubb. "The only +meaning into it, is that this is Mrs. H. Smitz, widow-lady, fainted +onto me against my will and wishes." + +"I was only askin'," said Policeman O'Toole politely enough. + +"You shouldn't ask such things until you're asked to ask," said Mr. +Gubb. + +After looking into Mr. Gubb's room to see that there was no easy means +of escape, O'Toole pushed his prisoner into the room and took the limp +form of Mrs. Smitz from Mr. Gubb, who entered the room and closed the +door. + +"I may as well say what I want to say right now," said the handcuffed +man as soon as he was alone with Mr. Gubb. "I've heard of Detective +Gubb, off and on, many a time, and as soon as I got into this trouble +I said, 'Gubb's the man that can get me out if any one can.' My name +is Herman Wiggins." + +"Glad to meet you," said Mr. Gubb, slipping his long legs into his +trousers. + +"And I give you my word for what it is worth," continued Mr. Wiggins, +"that I'm as innocent of this crime as the babe unborn." + +"What crime?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Why, killing Hen Smitz--what crime did you think?" said Mr. Wiggins. +"Do I look like a man that would go and murder a man just because--" + +He hesitated and Mr. Gubb, who was slipping his suspenders over his +bony shoulders, looked at Mr. Wiggins with keen eyes. + +"Well, just because him and me had words in fun," said Mr. Wiggins, "I +leave it to you, can't a man say words in fun once in a while?" + +"Certainly sure," said Mr. Gubb. + +"I guess so," said Mr. Wiggins. "Anybody'd know a man don't mean all +he says. When I went and told Hen Smitz I'd murder him as sure as +green apples grow on a tree, I was just fooling. But this fool +policeman--" + +"Mr. O'Toole?" + +"Yes. They gave him this Hen Smitz case to look into, and the first +thing he did was to arrest me for murder. Nervy, I call it." + +Policeman O'Toole opened the door a crack and peeked in. Seeing Mr. +Gubb well along in his dressing operations, he opened the door wider +and assisted Mrs. Smitz to a chair. She was still limp, but she was a +brave little woman and was trying to control her sobs. + +"Through?" O'Toole asked Wiggins. "If you are, come along back to +jail." + +"Now, don't talk to me in that tone of voice," said Mr. Wiggins +angrily. "No, I'm not through. You don't know how to treat a gentleman +like a gentleman, and never did." + +He turned to Mr. Gubb. + +"The long and short of it is this: I'm arrested for the murder of Hen +Smitz, and I didn't murder him and I want you to take my case and get +me out of jail." + +"Ah, stuff!" exclaimed O'Toole. "You murdered him and you know you +did. What's the use talkin'?" + +Mrs. Smitz leaned forward in her chair. + +"Murdered Henry?" she cried. "He never murdered Henry. I murdered +him." + +"Now, ma'am," said O'Toole politely, "I hate to contradict a lady, but +you never murdered him at all. This man here murdered him, and I've +got the proof on him." + +"I murdered him!" cried Mrs. Smitz again. "I drove him out of his +right mind and made him kill himself." + +"Nothing of the sort," declared O'Toole. "This man Wiggins murdered +him." + +"I did not!" exclaimed Mr. Wiggins indignantly. "Some other man did +it." + +It seemed a deadlock, for each was quite positive. Mr. Gubb looked +from one to the other doubtfully. + +"All right, take me back to jail," said Mr. Wiggins. "You look up the +case, Mr. Gubb; that's all I came here for. Will you do it? Dig into +it, hey?" + +"I most certainly shall be glad to so do," said Mr. Gubb, "at the +regular terms." + +O'Toole led his prisoner away. + +For a few minutes Mrs. Smitz sat silent, her hands clasped, staring at +the floor. Then she looked up into Mr. Gubb's eyes. + +"You will work on this case, Mr. Gubb, won't you?" she begged. "I have +a little money--I'll give it all to have you do your best. It is +cruel--cruel to have that poor man suffer under the charge of murder +when I know so well Henry killed himself because I was cross with him. +You can prove he killed himself--that it was my fault. You will?" + +"The way the deteckative profession operates onto a case," said Mr. +Gubb, "isn't to go to work to prove anything particularly especial. It +finds a clue or clues and follows them to where they lead to. That I +shall be willing to do." + +"That is all I could ask," said Mrs. Smitz gratefully. + +Arising from her seat with difficulty, she walked tremblingly to the +door. Mr. Gubb assisted her down the stairs, and it was not until she +was gone that he remembered that she did not know the body of her +husband had been found--sewed in a sack and at the bottom of the +river. Young husbands have been known to quarrel with their wives over +matters as trivial as bedroom wall-paper; they have even been known to +leave home for several days at a time when angry; in extreme cases +they have even been known to seek death at their own hands; but it is +not at all usual for a young husband to leave home for several days +and then in cold blood sew himself in a sack and jump into the river. +In the first place there are easier ways of terminating one's life; in +the second place a man can jump into the river with perfect ease +without going to the trouble of sewing himself in a sack; and in the +third place it is exceedingly difficult for a man to sew himself into +a sack. It is almost impossible. + +To sew himself into a sack a man must have no little skill, and he +must have a large, roomy sack. He takes, let us say, a sack-needle, +threaded with a good length of twine; he steps into the sack and pulls +it up over his head; he then reaches above his head, holding the mouth +of the sack together with one hand while he sews with the other hand. +In hot anger this would be quite impossible. + +Philo Gubb thought of all this as he looked through his disguises, +selecting one suitable for the work he had in hand. He had just +decided that the most appropriate disguise would be "Number 13, +Undertaker," and had picked up the close black wig, and long, drooping +mustache, when he had another thought. Given a bag sufficiently loose +to permit free motion of the hands and arms, and a man, even in hot +anger, might sew himself in. A man, intent on suicidally bagging +himself, would sew the mouth of the bag shut and would then cut a slit +in the front of the bag large enough to crawl into. He would then +crawl into the bag and sew up the slit, which would be immediately in +front of his hands. It could be done! Philo Gubb chose from his +wardrobe a black frock coat and a silk hat with a wide band of crape. +He carefully locked his door and went down to the street. + +On a day as hot as this day promised to be, a frock coat and a silk +hat could be nothing but distressingly uncomfortable. Between his door +and the corner, eight various citizens spoke to Philo Gubb, calling +him by name. In fact, Riverbank was as accustomed to seeing P. Gubb in +disguise as out of disguise, and while a few children might be +interested by the sight of Detective Gubb in disguise, the older +citizens thought no more of it, as a rule, than of seeing Banker +Jennings appear in a pink shirt one day and a blue striped one the +next. No one ever accused Banker Jennings of trying to hide his +identity by a change of shirts, and no one imagined that P. Gubb was +trying to disguise himself when he put on a disguise. They considered +it a mere business custom, just as a butcher tied on a white apron +before he went behind his counter. + +This was why, instead of wondering who the tall, dark-garbed stranger +might be, Banker Jennings greeted Philo Gubb cheerfully. + +"Ah, Gubb!" he said. "So you are going to work on this Smitz case, are +you? Glad of it, and wish you luck. Hope you place the crime on the +right man and get him the full penalty. Let me tell you there's +nothing in this rumor of Smitz being short of money. We did lend him +money, but we never pressed him for it. We never even asked him for +interest. I told him a dozen times he could have as much more from us +as he wanted, within reason, whenever he wanted it, and that he could +pay me when his invention was on the market." + +"No report of news of any such rumor has as yet come to my hearing," +said P. Gubb, "but since you mention it, I'll take it for less than it +is worth." + +"And that's less than nothing," said the banker. "Have you any clue?" + +"I'm on my way to find one at the present moment of time," said Mr. +Gubb. + +"Well, let me give you a pointer," said the banker. "Get a line on +Herman Wiggins or some of his crew, understand? Don't say I said a +word,--I don't want to be brought into this,--but Smitz was afraid of +Wiggins and his crew. He told me so. He said Wiggins had threatened to +murder him." + +"Mr. Wiggins is at present in the custody of the county jail for +killing H. Smitz with intent to murder him," said Mr. Gubb. + +"Oh, then--then it's all settled," said the banker. "They've proved it +on him. I thought they would. Well, I suppose you've got to do your +little bit of detecting just the same. Got to air the camphor out of +the false hair, eh?" + +The banker waved a cheerful hand at P. Gubb and passed into his +banking institution. + +Detective Gubb, cordially greeted by his many friends and admirers, +passed on down the main street, and by the time he reached the street +that led to the river he was followed by a large and growing group +intent on the pleasant occupation of watching a detective detect. + +As Mr. Gubb walked toward the river, other citizens joined the group, +but all kept a respectful distance behind him. When Mr. Gubb reached +River Street and his false mustache fell off, the interest of the +audience stopped short three paces behind him and stood until he had +rescued the mustache and once more placed its wires in his nostrils. +Then, when he moved forward again, they too moved forward. Never, +perhaps, in the history of crime was a detective favored with a more +respectful gallery. + +On the edge of the river, Mr. Gubb found Long Sam Fliggis, the mussel +dredger, seated on an empty tar-barrel with his own audience ranged +before him listening while he told, for the fortieth time, the story +of his finding of the body of H. Smitz. As Philo Gubb approached, Long +Sam ceased speaking, and his audience and Mr. Gubb's gallery merged +into one great circle which respectfully looked and listened while Mr. +Gubb questioned the mussel dredger. + +[Illustration: HE WAS FOLLOWED BY A LARGE AND GROWING GROUP INTENT ON +WATCHING A DETECTIVE DETECT] + +"Suicide?" said Long Sam scoffingly. "Why, he wan't no more a suicide +than I am right now. He was murdered or wan't nothin'! I've dredged up +some suicides in my day, and some of 'em had stones tied to 'em, to +make sure they'd sink, and some thought they'd sink without no +ballast, but nary one of 'em ever sewed himself into a bag, and I give +my word," he said positively, "that Hen Smitz couldn't have sewed +himself into that burlap bag unless some one done the sewing. Then the +feller that did it was an assistant-suicide, and the way I look at +it is that an assistant-suicide is jest the same as a murderer." + +The crowd murmured approval, but Mr. Gubb held up his hand for +silence. + +"In certain kinds of burlap bags it is possibly probable a man could +sew himself into it," said Mr. Gubb, and the crowd, seeing the logic +of the remark applauded gently but feelingly. + +"You ain't seen the way he was sewed up," said Long Sam, "or you +wouldn't talk like that." + +"I haven't yet took a look," admitted Mr. Gubb, "but I aim so to do +immediately after I find a clue onto which to work up my case. An A-1 +deteckative can't set forth to work until he has a clue, that being a +rule of the game." + +"What kind of a clue was you lookin' for?" asked Long Sam. "What's a +clue, anyway?" + +"A clue," said P. Gubb, "is almost anything connected with the late +lamented, but generally something that nobody but a deteckative would +think had anything to do with anything whatsoever. Not infrequently +often it is a button." + +"Well, I've got no button except them that is sewed onto me," said +Long Sam, "but if this here sack-needle will do any good--" + +He brought from his pocket the point of a heavy sack-needle and laid +it in Philo Gubb's palm. Mr. Gubb looked at it carefully. In the eye +of the needle still remained a few inches of twine. + +"I cut that off'n the burlap he was sewed up in," volunteered Long +Sam, "I thought I'd keep it as a sort of nice little souvenir. I'd +like it back again when you don't need it for a clue no more." + +"Certainly sure," agreed Mr. Gubb, and he examined the needle +carefully. + +There are two kinds of sack-needles in general use. In both, the point +of the needle is curved to facilitate pushing it into and out of a +closely filled sack; in both, the curved portion is somewhat flattened +so that the thumb and finger may secure a firm grasp to pull the +needle through; but in one style the eye is at the end of the shaft +while in the other it is near the point. This needle was like neither; +the eye was midway of the shaft; the needle was pointed at each end +and the curved portions were not flattened. Mr. Gubb noticed another +thing--the twine was not the ordinary loosely twisted hemp twine, but +a hard, smooth cotton cord, like carpet warp. + +"Thank you," said Mr. Gubb, "and now I will go elsewhere to +investigate to a further extent, and it is not necessarily imperative +that everybody should accompany along with me if they don't want to." + +But everybody did want to, it seemed. Long Sam and his audience joined +Mr. Gubb's gallery and, with a dozen or so newcomers, they followed +Mr. Gubb at a decent distance as he walked toward the plant of the +Brownson Packing Company, which stood on the riverbank some two blocks +away. + +It was here Henry Smitz had worked. Six or eight buildings of various +sizes, the largest of which stood immediately on the river's edge, +together with the "yards" or pens, all enclosed by a high board fence, +constituted the plant of the packing company, and as Mr. Gubb appeared +at the gate the watchman there stood aside to let him enter. + +"Good-morning, Mr. Gubb," he said pleasantly. "I been sort of +expecting you. Always right on the job when there's crime being done, +ain't you? You'll find Merkel and Brill and Jokosky and the rest of +Wiggins's crew in the main building, and I guess they'll tell you just +what they told the police. They hate it, but what else can they say? +It's the truth." + +"What is the truth?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"That Wiggins was dead sore at Hen Smitz," said the watchman. "That +Wiggins told Hen he'd do for him if he lost them their jobs like he +said he would. That's the truth." + +Mr. Gubb--his admiring followers were halted at the gate by the +watchman--entered the large building and inquired his way to Mr. +Wiggins's department. He found it on the side of the building toward +the river and on the ground floor. On one side the vast room led into +the refrigerating room of the company; on the other it opened upon a +long but narrow dock that ran the width of the building. + +Along the outer edge of the dock were tied two barges, and into these +barges some of Wiggins's crew were dumping mutton--not legs of mutton +but entire sheep, neatly sewed in burlap. The large room was the +packing and shipping room, and the work of Wiggins's crew was that of +sewing the slaughtered and refrigerated sheep carcasses in burlap for +shipment. Bales of burlap stood against one wall; strands of hemp +twine ready for the needle hung from pegs in the wall and the posts +that supported the floor above. The contiguity of the refrigerating +room gave the room a pleasantly cool atmosphere. + +Mr. Gubb glanced sharply around. Here was the burlap, here were +needles, here was twine. Yonder was the river into which Hen Smitz had +been thrown. He glanced across the narrow dock at the blue river. As +his eye returned he noticed one of the men carefully sweeping the dock +with a broom--sweeping fragments of glass into the river. As the men +in the room watched him curiously, Mr. Gubb picked up a piece of +burlap and put it in his pocket, wrapped a strand of twine around his +finger and pocketed the twine, examined the needles stuck in +improvised needle-holders made by boring gimlet holes in the wall, and +then walked to the dock and picked up one of the pieces of glass. + +"Clues," he remarked, and gave his attention to the work of +questioning the men. + +Although manifestly reluctant, they honestly admitted that Wiggins had +more than once threatened Hen Smitz--that he hated Hen Smitz with the +hatred of a man who has been threatened with the loss of his job. Mr. +Gubb learned that Hen Smitz had been the foreman for the entire +building--a sort of autocrat with, as Wiggins's crew informed him, an +easy job. He had only to see that the crews in the building turned out +more work this year than they did last year. "'Ficiency" had been his +motto, they said, and they hated "'Ficiency." + +Mr. Gubb's gallery was awaiting him at the gate, and its members were +in a heated discussion as to what Mr. Gubb had been doing. They ceased +at once when he appeared and fell in behind him as he walked away from +the packing house and toward the undertaking establishment of Mr. +Holworthy Bartman, on the main street. Here, joining the curious group +already assembled, the gallery was forced to wait while Mr. Gubb +entered. His task was an unpleasant but necessary one. He must visit +the little "morgue" at the back of Mr. Bartman's establishment. + +The body of poor Hen Smitz had not yet been removed from the bag in +which it had been found, and it was to the bag Mr. Gubb gave his +closest attention. The bag--in order that the body might be +identified--had not been ripped, but had been cut, and not a stitch +had been severed. It did not take Mr. Gubb a moment to see that Hen +Smitz had not been sewed in a bag at all. He had been sewed in +burlap--burlap "yard goods," to use a shopkeeper's term--and it was +burlap identical with that used by Mr. Wiggins and his crew. It was no +loose bag of burlap--but a close-fitting wrapping of burlap; a cocoon +of burlap that had been drawn tight around the body, as burlap is +drawn tight around the carcass of sheep for shipment, like a mummy's +wrappings. + +It would have been utterly impossible for Hen Smitz to have sewed +himself into the casing, not only because it bound his arms tight to +his sides, but because the burlap was lapped over and sewed from the +outside. This, once and for all, ended the suicide theory. The +question was: Who was the murderer? + +As Philo Gubb turned away from the bier, Undertaker Bartman entered +the morgue. + +"The crowd outside is getting impatient, Mr. Gubb," he said in his +soft, undertakery voice. "It is getting on toward their lunch hour, +and they want to crowd into my front office to find out what you've +learned. I'm afraid they'll break my plate-glass windows, they're +pushing so hard against them. I don't want to hurry you, but if you +would go out and tell them Wiggins is the murderer they'll go away. Of +course there's no doubt about Wiggins being the murderer, since he has +admitted he asked the stock-keeper for the electric-light bulb." + +"What bulb?" asked Philo Gubb. + +"The electric-light bulb we found sewed inside this burlap when we +sliced it open," said Bartman. "Matter of fact, we found it in Hen's +hand. O'Toole took it for a clue and I guess it fixes the murder on +Wiggins beyond all doubt. The stock-keeper says Wiggins got it from +him." + +"And what does Wiggins remark on that subject?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +"Not a word," said Bartman. "His lawyer told him not to open his +mouth, and he won't. Listen to that crowd out there!" + +"I will attend to that crowd right presently," said P. Gubb, sternly. +"What I should wish to know now is why Mister Wiggins went and sewed +an electric-light bulb in with the corpse for." + +"In the first place," said Mr. Bartman, "he didn't sew it in with any +corpse, because Hen Smitz wasn't a corpse when he was sewed in that +burlap, unless Wiggins drowned him first, for Dr. Mortimer says Hen +Smitz died of drowning; and in the second place, if you had a live man +to sew in burlap, and had to hold him while you sewed him, you'd be +liable to sew anything in with him. + +"My idea is that Wiggins and some of his crew jumped on Hen Smitz and +threw him down, and some of them held him while the others sewed him +in. My idea is that Wiggins got that electric-light bulb to replace +one that had burned out, and that he met Hen Smitz and had words with +him, and they clinched, and Hen Smitz grabbed the bulb, and then the +others came, and they sewed him into the burlap and dumped him into +the river. + +"So all you've got to do is to go out and tell that crowd that Wiggins +did it and that you'll let them know who helped him as soon as you +find out. And you better do it before they break my windows." + +Detective Gubb turned and went out of the morgue. As he left the +undertaker's establishment the crowd gave a slight cheer, but Mr. Gubb +walked hurriedly toward the jail. He found Policeman O'Toole there and +questioned him about the bulb; and O'Toole, proud to be the center of +so large and interested a gathering of his fellow citizens, pulled the +bulb from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Gubb, while he repeated in +more detail the facts given by Mr. Bartman. Mr. Gubb looked at the +bulb. + +"I presume to suppose," he said, "that Mr. Wiggins asked the +stock-keeper for a new bulb to replace one that was burned out?" + +"You're right," said O'Toole. "Why?" + +"For the reason that this bulb is a burned-out bulb," said Mr. Gubb. + +And so it was. The inner surface of the bulb was darkened slightly, +and the filament of carbon was severed. O'Toole took the bulb and +examined it curiously. + +"That's odd, ain't it?" he said. + +"It might so seem to the non-deteckative mind," said Mr. Gubb, "but to +the deteckative mind, nothing is odd." + +"No, no, this ain't so odd, either," said O'Toole, "for whether Hen +Smitz grabbed the bulb before Wiggins changed the new one for the old +one, or after he changed it, don't make so much difference, when you +come to think of it." + +"To the deteckative mind," said Mr. Gubb, "it makes the difference +that this ain't the bulb you thought it was, and hence consequently it +ain't the bulb Mister Wiggins got from the stock-keeper." + + * * * * * + +Mr. Gubb started away. The crowd followed him. He did not go in search +of the original bulb at once. He returned first to his room, where he +changed his undertaker disguise for Number Six, that of a blue +woolen-shirted laboring-man with a long brown beard. Then he led the +way back to the packing house. + +Again the crowd was halted at the gate, but again P. Gubb passed +inside, and he found the stock-keeper eating his luncheon out of a tin +pail. The stock-keeper was perfectly willing to talk. + +"It was like this," said the stock-keeper. "We've been working +overtime in some departments down here, and Wiggins and his crew had +to work overtime the night Hen Smitz was murdered. Hen and Wiggins was +at outs, or anyway I heard Hen tell Wiggins he'd better be hunting +another job because he wouldn't have this one long, and Wiggins told +Hen that if he lost his job he'd murder him--Wiggins would murder Hen, +that is. I didn't think it was much of anything but loose talk at the +time. But Hen was working overtime too. He'd been working nights up in +that little room of his on the second floor for quite some time, and +this night Wiggins come to me and he says Hen had asked him for a +fresh thirty-two-candle-power bulb. So I give it to Wiggins, and then +I went home. And, come to find out, Wiggins sewed that bulb up with +Hen." + +"Perhaps maybe you have sack-needles like this into your stock-room," +said P. Gubb, producing the needle Long Sam had given him. The +stock-keeper took the needle and examined it carefully. + +"Never had any like that," he said. + +"Now, if," said Philo Gubb,--"if the bulb that was sewed up into the +burlap with Henry Smitz wasn't a new bulb, and if Mr. Wiggins had +given the new bulb to Henry, and if Henry had changed the new bulb for +an old one, where would he have changed it at?" + +"Up in his room, where he was always tinkering at that machine of +his," said the stock-keeper. + +"Could I have the pleasure of taking a look into that there room for a +moment of time?" asked Mr. Gubb. + +The stock-keeper arose, returned the remnants of his luncheon to his +dinner-pail and led the way up the stairs. He opened the door of the +room Henry Smitz had used as a work-room, and P. Gubb walked in. The +room was in some confusion, but, except in one or two particulars, no +more than a work-room is apt to be. A rather cumbrous machine--the +invention on which Henry Smitz had been working--stood as the murdered +man had left it, all its levers, wheels, arms, and cogs intact. A +chair, tipped over, lay on the floor. A roll of burlap stood on a +roller by the machine. Looking up, Mr. Gubb saw, on the ceiling, the +lighting fixture of the room, and in it was a clean, shining +thirty-two-candle-power bulb. Where another similar bulb might have +been in the other socket was a plug from which an insulated wire, +evidently to furnish power, ran to the small motor connected with the +machine on which Henry Smitz had been working. + +The stock-keeper was the first to speak. + +"Hello!" he said. "Somebody broke that window!" And it was true. +Somebody had not only broken the window, but had broken every pane and +the sash itself. But Mr. Gubb was not interested in this. He was +gazing at the electric bulb and thinking of Part Two, Lesson Six of +the Course of Twelve Lessons--"How to Identify by Finger-Prints, with +General Remarks on the Bertillon System." He looked about for some +means of reaching the bulb above his head. His eye lit on the fallen +chair. By placing the chair upright and placing one foot on the frame +of Henry Smitz's machine and the other on the chair-back, he could +reach the bulb. He righted the chair and stepped onto its seat. He put +one foot on the frame of Henry Smitz's machine; very carefully he put +the other foot on the top of the chair-back. He reached upward and +unscrewed the bulb. + +The stock-keeper saw the chair totter. He sprang forward to steady it, +but he was too late. Philo Gubb, grasping the air, fell on the broad, +level board that formed the middle part of Henry Smitz's machine. + +The effect was instantaneous. The cogs and wheels of the machine began +to revolve rapidly. Two strong, steel arms flopped down and held +Detective Gubb to the table, clamping his arms to his side. The roll +of burlap unrolled, and as it unrolled, the loose end was seized and +slipped under Mr. Gubb and wrapped around him and drawn taut, bundling +him as a sheep's carcass is bundled. An arm reached down and back and +forth, with a sewing motion, and passed from Mr. Gubb's head to his +feet. As it reached his feet a knife sliced the burlap in which he was +wrapped from the burlap on the roll. + +And then a most surprising thing happened. As if the board on which he +lay had been a catapult, it suddenly and unexpectedly raised Philo +Gubb and tossed him through the open window. The stock-keeper heard a +muffled scream and then a great splash, but when he ran to the window, +the great paper-hanger detective had disappeared in the bosom of the +Mississippi. + +Like Henry Smitz he had tried to reach the ceiling by standing on the +chair-back; like Henry Smitz he had fallen upon the newly invented +burlaping and loading machine; like Henry Smitz he had been wrapped +and thrown through the window into the river; but, unlike Henry Smitz, +he had not been sewn into the burlap, because Philo Gubb had the +double-pointed shuttle-action needle in his pocket. + +Page Seventeen of Lesson Eleven of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's +Correspondence School of Detecting's Course of Twelve Lessons, says:-- + + In cases of extreme difficulty of solution it is well for + the detective to reenact as nearly as possible the probable + action of the crime. + +Mr. Philo Gubb had done so. He had also proved that a man may be sewn +in a sack and drowned in a river without committing willful suicide or +being the victim of foul play. + + THE END + + + + + The Riverside Press + + CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS + + U . S . A + + + + +TRANSCRIBER'S NOTE: + +Minor changes have been made to correct typesetters' errors; otherwise, +every effort has been made to remain true to the author's words and +intent. + + + + + +End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Philo Gubb Correspondence-School +Detective, by Ellis Parker Butler + +*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK PHILO GUBB *** + +***** This file should be named 29721.txt or 29721.zip ***** +This and all associated files of various formats will be found in: + https://www.gutenberg.org/2/9/7/2/29721/ + +Produced by D Alexander, Joseph Cooper and the Online +Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net + + +Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions +will be renamed. + +Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no +one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation +(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without +permission and without paying copyright royalties. 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