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" (_page218_)]

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 DetectiveAgency's Correspondence School of Detecting, tiptoed to the door ofthe bedroom he shared with the mysterious Mr. Critz. In appearance Mr. Gubb was tall and gaunt, reminding one of a modern Don Quixote or ahuman flamingo; by nature Mr. Gubb was the gentlest and mostsimple-minded of men. Now, bending his long, angular body almostdouble, he placed his eye to a crack in the door panel and stared intothe room. Within, just out of the limited area of Mr. Gubb's vision, Roscoe Critz paused in his work and listened carefully. He heard thesharp whistle of Mr. Gubb's breath as it cut against the sharp edge ofthe crack in the panel, and he knew he was being spied upon. He placedhis chubby hands on his knees and smiled at the door, while a redflush of triumph spread over his face. 

Through the crack in the door Mr. Gubb could see the top of thewashstand 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 shoeheel out of which a piece had been cut; third, a small rubber ball nolarger than a pea; fourth, a paper-bound book; and lastly, a large andglittering brick of yellow gold. As the hand withdrew the goldenbrick, Mr. Gubb pressed his face closer against the door in his effortto see more, and suddenly the door flew open and Mr. Gubb sprawled onhis hands and knees on the worn carpet of the bedroom. 

"There, now!" said Mr. Critz. "There, now! Serves you right. Hope youhurt 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' meto fits, a'most. How'd I know who 'twas? If you want to come in, whydon'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 andthe rubber pea and the gold-brick on the washstand. He was a plumplittle man with a shiny bald head and a white goatee. As he talked, hebent his head down, so that he might look above the glasses of hisspectacles; and in spite of his pretended anger he looked likenothing so much as a kindly, benevolent old gentleman--the sort of oldgentleman that keeps a small store in a small village and sellswriting-paper that smells of soap, and candy sticks out of a glass jarwith a glass cover. 

"How'd I know but what you was a detective?" he asked, in a gentlertone. 

"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 feelthat 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 detectivethat saw that stuff on the washstand would know. "

"Well, of course, " said Mr. Gubb, "I ain't a full deteckative yet. Youcan't look for me to guess things as quick as a full deteckativewould. 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--fromthe way you look--I sort of thought--well, that it was a gold-brickyou'd bought. "

Mr. Critz turned very red. 

"Well, what if I did buy it?" he said. "That ain't any reason I can'tsell it, is it? Just because a man buys eggs once--or twice--ain't anyreason he shouldn't go into the business of egg-selling, is it? Justbecause I've bought one or two gold-bricks in my day ain't any reasonI 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. Critzfirmly. "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, thereain't hardly a con' game I ain't been conned with. I been confidencedlong enough; from now on I'm goin' to confidence other folks. That'swhat 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 youdon't need to move right away. I don't aim to start in deteckating inearnest for a couple of months yet. I got a couple of jobs ofpaper-hanging and decorating to finish up, and I can't start insleuthing until I get my star, anyway. And I don't get my star untilI get one more lesson, and learn it, and send in the examinationpaper, and five dollars extra for the diploma. Then I'm goin' at it asa reg'lar business. It's a good business. Every day there's morecrooks--excuse me, I didn't mean to say that. "

"That's all right, " said Mr. Critz kindly. "Call a spade a spade. If Iain'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 SunDeteckative Agency Correspondence School of Deteckating--"

"Slocum, Ohio?" asked Mr. Critz quickly. "You didn't see the ad. Inthe 'Hearthstone and Farmside, ' did you?"

"Yes, Slocum, Ohio, " said Mr. Gubb, "and that is the paper I saw thead. Into; 'Big Money in Deteckating. Be a Sleuth. We can make you theequal of Sherlock Holmes in twelve lessons. ' Why?"

"Well, sir, " said Mr. Critz, "that's funny. That ad. Was right atop ofthe one I saw, and I studied quite considerable before I could make upmy mind whether 'twould be best for me to be a detective and go outand get square with the fellers that sold me gold-bricks and things byputting them in jail, or to even things up by sending for this bookthat was advertised right under the 'Rising Sun CorrespondenceSchool. ' How come I settled to do as I done was that I had a sort ofstock to start with, with a fust-class gold-brick, and some greengoods I'd bought; and this book only cost a quatter of a dollar. Andshe'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 ofthe Grafters. Price 25 cents. "

"That there book, " said Mr. Critz proudly, as if he himself hadwritten 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 ofthem. Of course, I got to start in small. I can't hope to pull off awire-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 asif you was too bright, and that counts a lot. Even in this here simplelittle shell game I got to have a podner. I got to have a podner I cantrust, so I can let him look like he was winnin' money off of me. Yousee, " he explained, moving to the washstand, "this shell game is easyenough when you know how. I put three shells down like this, on astand, and I put the little rubber pea on the stand, and then I takeup the three shells like this, two in one hand and one in theother, and I wave 'em around over the pea, and maybe push the peaaround a little, and I say, 'Come on! Come on! The hand is quickerthan the eye!' And all of a suddent I put the shells down, and youthink 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 itroll 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 perfectionyet. This is the way it ought to work--oh, pshaw! there she goes ontothe floor again! Went under the bed that time. Here she is! Now, theway she ought to work is--there she goes again!"

"You got to practice that game a lot before you try it onto folks inpublic, Mr. Critz, " said Mr. Gubb seriously. 

"Don't I know that?" said Mr. Critz rather impatiently. "Same asyou've got to practice snoopin', Mr. Gubb. Maybe you thought I didn'tknow 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 mightystrange to see a man follerin' me everywhere like that. If you wentabout it quiet and unobtrusive, I wouldn't mind; but if I'd had acustomer on hand and he'd seen you it would make him nervous. He'dthink there was a--a crazy man follerin' us. "

"I was just practicin', " apologized Mr. Gubb. "It won't be so bad whenI get the hang of it. We all got to be beginners sometime. "

"I guess so, " said Mr. Critz, rearranging the shells and the littlerubber pea. "Well, I put the pea down like this, and I dare you to betwhich shell she's goin' to be under, and you don't bet, see? So I putthe shells down, and you're willin' to bet you see me put the firstshell over the pea like this. So you keep your eye on that shell, andI 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 oughtto be. By rights she ought to sort of ooze out from under whilst I'mmovin' the shells around, and I'd ought to sort of catch her inbetween my fingers and hold her there so you don't see her. Then whenyou say which shell she's under, she ain't under any shell; she'sbetween my fingers. So when you put down your money I tell you to pickup that shell and there ain't anything under it. And before you canpick up the other shells I pick one up, and let the pea fall on thestand 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 fromunder, and she won't stick between my fingers, and when she doesstick, 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 fingersare 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 shellthe 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. Critzimpatiently. "You'd be capper, and you'd guess which shell the pea wasunder. No matter which you guessed, I'd leave it under that one, so'dyou'd win, and you'd win ten dollars every time you bet--but not forkeeps. 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 itif I've got to bring it back?"

"That starts the boobs bettin', " said Mr. Critz. "The boobs see howyou look to be winnin', and they want to win too. But they don't. Whenthey 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 toreason, if a crook wants to be a crook, he's got to be crooked, ain'the?"

"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 adetective acts, the better off I'll be when I start in doin' realbusiness. Ain't that so? I guess, till I get the hang of thingsbetter, 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 mightget for a roommate next time. I might get some one that wasn'thonest. "

So it was agreed, and Mr. Critz stood over the washstand andmanipulated the little rubber pea and the three shells, while Mr. Gubbsat on the edge of the bed and studied Lesson Eleven of the "RisingSun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting. "

When, presently, Mr. Critz learned to work the little pea neatly, heurged Mr. Gubb to take the part of capper, and each time Mr. Gubb wonhe gave him a five-dollar bill. Then Mr. Gubb posed as a "boob" andMr. Critz won all the money back again, beaming over his spectaclerims, and chuckling again and again until he burst into a fit ofcoughing that made him red in the face, and did not cease until he hadtaken a big drink of water out of the wash-pitcher. Never had heseemed more like a kindly old gentleman from behind the candy counterof a small village. He hung over the washstand, manipulating thelittle rubber pea as if fascinated. 

"Ain't it curyus how a feller catches onto a thing like that all toonce?" he said after a while. "If it hadn't been that I was soanxious, I might have fooled with that for weeks and weeks and not gotanywheres 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 learndeteckating by mail. "

"Pshaw, now!" said Mr. Critz. "I'm real sorry! Maybe if I was to payyou for your time and trouble five dollars a night? How say?"

Mr. Gubb considered. "Well, I dunno!" he said slowly. "I sort of hateto take money for doin' a favor like that. "

"Now, there ain't no need to feel that way, " said Mr. Critz. "Yourtime's wuth somethin' to me--it's wuth a lot to me to get the hang ofthis gold-brick game. Once I get the hang of it, it won't be notrouble for me to sell gold-bricks like this one for all the way froma thousand dollars up. I paid fifteen hundred for this one myself, andgot it cheap. That's a good profit, for this brick ain't wuth a centover one hundred dollars, and I know, for I took it to the bank afterI bought it, and that's what they was willin' to pay me for it. Soit'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 ofyours the same. "

"Well, now, " said Mr. Gubb, "I don't know but what I might as wellmake a little that way as any other. I got a friend--" He stoppedshort. "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 tobuy 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 thefeller 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 firstrehearsal of the gold-brick game should take place the next evening, but as Mr. Gubb turned away Mr. Critz deftly slipped something intothe student detective's coat pocket. 

It was toward noon the next day that Mr. Critz, peering over hisspectacles and avoiding as best he could the pails of paste, enteredthe parlor of the vacant house where Mr. Gubb was at work. 

"I just come around, " said Mr. Critz, rather reluctantly, "to say youbetter 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 yousay it?"

"Well, I been buncoed so often, " said Mr. Critz. "Seem's like any onecan get money from me any time and any way, and I got to thinkin' itover. I don't know anything about you, do I? And here I am, going togive you a gold-brick that cost me fifteen hundred dollars, and letyou 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 nevercomin' 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 tocount over them bills I lent you to cap the shell game with, there wasa five-dollar one short. "

"I know, " said Gubb, turning red. "And if you go over there to mycoat, you'll find it in my pocket, all ready to hand back to you. Idon'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. "Youlook 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 thisway of trustin' everybody--"

Mr. Critz was evidently distressed. 

"If 'twas anybody else but you, " he said with an effort, "I'd makehim put up a hundred dollars to cover the cost of a brick like thatwhilst 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 meand Pete, and it's business; I ain't so set against puttin' up whatthe 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 almostlosin' what faith in mankind I had left. "

Mr. Gubb ate his frugal evening meals at the Pie Wagon, on WillowStreet, just off Main, where, by day, Pie-Wagon Pete dispensed lightviands; 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-WagonPete's lips before Mr. Gubb offered him the opportunity to accept ordecline; and when Mr. Gubb stopped for his evening meal, Pie-WagonPete--now off duty--was waiting for him. The story of Mr. Critz andhis amateur con' business had amused Pie-Wagon Pete. He could hardlybelieve such utter innocence existed. Perhaps he did not believe itexisted, for he had come from the city, and he had had shadycompanions before he landed in Riverbank. He was a sharp-eyed, red-headed fellow, with a hard fist, and a scar across his face, andwhen Mr. Gubb had told him of Mr. Critz and his affairs, he had seenan opportunity to shear a country lamb. 

"How goes it for to-night, Philo?" he asked Mr. Gubb, taking the stoolnext to Mr. Gubb, while the night man drew a cup of coffee. 

"Quite well, " said Mr. Gubb. "Everything is arranged satisfactory. I'mto 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, andgive 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. SoI 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 piehand-to-mouth fashion, and studied him in a new light. 

"One hundred dollars, eh?" he repeated thoughtfully. "You givehim a hundred-dollar deposit now and he meets you at nine, andme at eight-forty-five, and the train leaves for Chicago ateight-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 becameinterested. 

"Pinkish, and bald? Top of his head like a hard-boiled egg? He ain'tgot a scar across his face? The dickens he has! Short and plump, and areg'lar old nice grandpa? Blue eyes? Say, did he have a coughin' spelland 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 hismouth 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 himthis 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 acouple of bulls with you, and if they can do it, they'll nab OldHard-Boiled just as he takes your cash. And Old Sleuth and SherlockHolmes won't be in it with you when to-morrow mornin's papers comeout. Get it?"

Mr. Gubb got it. When he entered his bedroom, Mr. Critz was waitingfor him. It was slightly after eight o'clock; perhaps eight-fifteen. Mr. Critz had what appeared to be the gold-brick neatly wrapped innewspaper, and he looked up with his kindly blue eyes. He had beenreading the "Complete Con' Man, " and had pushed his spectacles up onhis 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. Ifword got passed around there was a gold-brick in town, folks mightsort of get suspicious-like. Nice night for goin' out, ain't it? Got aletter from my wife this aft'noon, " he chuckled. "She says she hopesI'm doin' well. Sally'd have a fit if she knew what business I wasgoin' 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 Is'pose it's just as well. Thankee, Mister Gubb. I'll just pile intomy coat--"

Mr. Gubb had picked up the gold-brick, and now he let it fall. Oncemore the door flew open, but this time it opened for three stalwartpolicemen, whose revolvers pointed unwaveringly at Mr. Critz. Theplump little man gave one glance, and put up his hands. 

"All right, boys, you've got me, " he said in quite another voice, andallowed 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 bebut a common vitrified paving-brick, he looked long and hard. 

"Say, " said Mr. Critz to Mr. Gubb, "I'm the goat. You stung _me_ allright. You worked me to a finish. I thought I knew all of you fromBurns 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 foremostdeteckative 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 Gubband complimented Riverbank on having a superior to Sherlock Holmes inits midst. 

"Mr. Philo Gubb, " said the "Eagle, " "has thus far received only elevenof the twelve lessons from the Rising Sun Detective Agency'sCorrespondence School of Detecting, and we look for great things fromhim when he finally receives his diploma and badge. He informed usto-day that he hopes to begin work on the dynamite case soon. With themoney he will receive for capturing the Hard-Boiled Egg, Mr. Gubbintends to purchase eighteen complete disguises from the SupplyDepartment of the Rising Sun Detective Agency, Slocum, Ohio. Mr. Gubbwishes us to announce that until the disguises arrive he will continueto do paper-hanging, decorating, and interior painting at reasonablerates. "

Unfortunately there were no calls for Mr. Gubb's detective servicesfor some time after he received his disguises and diploma, but whilewaiting he devoted his spare time to the dynamite mystery, aremarkable case on which many detectives had been working for manyweeks. 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 dayafter Mr. Gubb received his diploma seemed to offer an opportunity forhis 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 eyesalighted on Syrilla, known as "Half a Ton of Beauty, " the Fat Lady ofthe Side-Show. 

As Syrilla descended from the car, aided by the Living Skeleton andthe Strong Man, the fair creature wore a low-neck evening gown. Herarms and shoulders were snowy white (except for a peculiar mark on onearm). 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 fromthat moment he was deeply and hopelessly in love. Like one hypnotizedhe followed her to the side-show tent, paid his admission, and stoodall day before her platform. He was still there when the tent wastaken down that night. 

Mr. Gubb was not the only man in Riverbank to fall in love withSyrilla. When the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service League heardthat the circus was coming to town they were distressed to think hownarrow the intellectual life of the side-show freaks must be and theyinstructed their Field Secretary, Mr. Horace Winterberry, to go to theside-show and organize the freaks into an Ibsen Literary and DebatingSociety. This Mr. Winterberry did and the Tasmanian Wild Man was madePresident, but so deeply did Mr. Winterberry fall in love with Syrillathat he begged Mr. Dorgan, the manager of the side-show, to let himjoin the side-show, and this Mr. Dorgan did, putting him in a cage asWaw-Waw, the Mexican Hairless Dog-Man, as Mr. Winterberry wasexceedingly bald. 

At the very next stop made by the circus a strong, heavy-fisted womanentered the side-show and dragged Mr. Winterberry away. This was hiswife. Of this the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service League knewnothing, however. They believed Mr. Winterberry had been stolen by thecircus and that he was doubtless being forced to learn to swing on atrapeze or ride a bareback horse, and they decided to hire DetectiveGubb to find and return him. 

At the very moment when the ladies were deciding to retain Mr. Gubb'sservices the paper-hanger detective was on his way to do a job ofpaper-hanging, thinking of the fair Syrilla he might never see again, when suddenly he put down the pail of paste he was carrying andgrasped the handle of his paste-brush more firmly. He stared withamazement and fright at a remarkable creature that came toward himfrom a small thicket near the railway tracks. Mr. Gubb's first andcorrect impression was that this was some remarkable creature escapedfrom the circus. The horrid thing loping toward him was, indeed, theTasmanian Wild Man!

As the Wild Man approached, Philo Gubb prepared to defend himself. Hewas prepared to defend himself to his last drop of blood. 

When halfway across the field, the Tasmanian Wild Man glanced backover his shoulder and, as if fearing pursuit, increased his speed andcame toward Philo Gubb in great leaps and bounds. The CorrespondenceSchool detective waved his paste-brush more frantically than ever. TheTasmanian 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 wasmatted about his face; and his finger nails were long and claw-like. His face was daubed with ochre and red, with black rings around theeyes, and the circles within the rings were painted white, giving himan air of wildness possessed by but few wild men. His only garmentswere 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 wasabout to make, but to his surprise the Wild Man held up one hand intoken of amity, and with the other removed the matted hair from hishead, revealing an under-crop of taffy yellow, neatly parted in themiddle and smoothed back carefully. 

"I say, old chap, " he said in a pleasant and well-bred tone, "stopwaving that dangerous-looking weapon at me, will you? My intentionsare most kindly, I assure you. Can you inform me where a chap can geta pair of trousers hereabout?"

Philo Gubb's experienced eye saw at once that this creature was lesswild than he was painted. He lowered the paste-brush. 

"Come into this house, " said Philo Gubb. "Inside the house we candiscuss pants in calmness. "

The Tasmanian Wild Man accepted. 

"Now, then, " said Philo Gubb, when they were safe in the kitchen. Heseated 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 tofurnish entertainment by the evening, reading an essay entitled, "TheComparative Mentality of Ibsen and Emerson, with Sidelights on theEffect of Turnip Diet at Brook Farm, " but the agency was unable to gethim any engagements. They happened, however, to receive a request fromMr. 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 anexcellent Wild Man. He was able to rattle his chains, dash up and downthe cage, gnaw the iron bars of the cage, eat raw meat, and howl asno other Tasmanian Wild Man had ever done those things, and all wouldhave been well if an interloper had not entered the side-show. 

The interloper was Mr. Winterberry, who had introduced the subject ofIbsen's plays, and in a discussion of them the Tasmanian Wild Man andMr. Hoxie, the Strong Man, had quarreled, and Mr. Hoxie had threatenedto 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 toBoston and give up Tasmanian Wild Man-ing as a profession. But Icannot 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 WaldoEmerson 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 inthe overalls and had wiped the grease-paint from his face on an oldrag, no one would have recognized him. 

"And as for thanks, " said Philo Gubb, "don't mention it. A deteckativegent is obliged to keep up a set of disguises hitherto unsuspected bythe mortal world. This Tasmanian Wild Man outfit will do for a hermitdisguise. So you don't owe me no thanks. "

As Philo Gubb watched Waldo Emerson Snooks start in the direction ofBoston--only some thirteen hundred miles away--he had no idea how soonhe would have occasion to use the Tasmanian Wild Man disguise, buthardly 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 heappeared before the meeting of the Riverbank Ladies' Social ServiceLeague. 

"And so, " said Mrs. Garthwaite, at the close of the interview, "youunderstand 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 bereturned to you?"

"Just so. "

"And the fiends in human form that stole him are to be given the fulllimit 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 onlyask how far you want me to arrest. If the manager of the side-showstole him, my natural and professional deteckative instincts wouldtell me to arrest the manager; and if the whole side-show stole him Iwould make bold to arrest the whole side-show; but if the wholecircus stole him, am I to arrest the whole circus, and if so ought Ito include the menagerie? Ought I to arrest the elephants and thecamels?"

"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 themoorangootangs and apes?"

"I do, " said Mrs. Garthwaite. "Association with criminals has probablyinclined their poor minds to criminality. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said Philo Gubb, rising. "I leave on this case by thefirst train. "

Mr. Gubb hastily packed the Tasmanian garment and six other disguisesin a suitcase, put the fourteen dollars given him by Mrs. Garthwaitein his pocket, and hurried to catch the train for Bardville, where theWorld's Monster Combined Shows were to show the next day. With truedetective caution Philo Gubb disguised even this simple act. 

Having packed his suitcase, Mr. Gubb wrapped it carefully in manilapaper and inserted a laundry ticket under the twine. Thus, any oneseeing him might well suppose he was returning from the laundry andnot going to Bardville. To make this seem the more likely, he donnedhis Chinese disguise, Number Seventeen, consisting of a pink, skull-like wig with a long pigtail, a blue jumper, and a yellowcomplexion. Mr. Gubb rubbed his face with crude ochre powder, and hiscomplexion was a little high, being more the hue of a pumpkin than thetrue Oriental skin tint. Those he met on his way to the stationimagined he was in the last stages of yellow fever, and fled from himhastily. 

He reached the station just as the train's wheels began to move; andhe was springing up the steps onto the platform of the last car when ahand grasped his arm. He turned his head and saw that the man graspinghim was Jonas Medderbrook, one of Riverbank's wealthiest men. 

"Gubb! I want you!" shouted Mr. Medderbrook energetically, but PhiloGubb shook off the detaining arm. 

"Me no savvy Melican talkee, " he jabbered, bunting Mr. Medderbrook offthe car step. 

Bright and early next morning, Philo Gubb gave himself a healthy coatof tan, with rather high color on his cheek-bones. From his collectionof beards and mustaches--carefully tagged from "Number One" to "NumberEighteen" in harmony with the types of disguise mentioned in thetwelve lessons of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's CorrespondenceSchool of Detecting--he selected mustache Number Eight and insertedthe spring wires in his nostrils. 

Mustache Number Eight was a long, deadly black mustache with up-curledends, and when Philo Gubb had donned it he had a most sinisterappearance, particularly as he failed to remove the string tag whichbore the legend, "Number Eight. Gambler or Card Sharp. Manufacturedand Sold by the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School ofDetecting Supply Bureau. " Having put on this mustache, Mr. Gubb took acommon splint market-basket from under the bed and placed in it thematted hair of the Tasmanian Wild Man, his make-up materials, a smallmirror, two towels, a cake of soap, the Tasmanian Wild Man's animalskin robe, the hair rope, and the abbreviated trunks. He covered thesewith a newspaper. 

The sun was just rising when he reached the railway siding, and hardlyhad Mr. Gubb arrived when the work of unloading the circus began. 

[Illustration: MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED AMONGTHEM]

Mr. Gubb--searching for the abducted Mr. Winterberry--sped rapidlyfrom place to place, the string tag on his mustache napping over hisshoulder, but he saw no one answering Mrs. Garthwaite's description ofMr. Winterberry. When the tent wagons had departed, the elephants andcamels were unloaded, but Mr. Winterberry did not seem to be concealedamong them, and the animal cages--which came next--were all tightlyclosed. There were four or five cars, however, that attracted PhiloGubb'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 theside-show, Mr. Gubb rightly felt that here if anywhere he wouldfind a clue, and he was doubly agitated since he knew the beautifulSyrilla was doubtless in that car. 

Walking around the car, he heard the door at one end open. He crouchedunder the platform, his ears and eyes on edge. Hardly was he concealedbefore the head ruffian of the unloading gang approached. 

"Mister Dorgan, " he said, in quite another tone than he had used tohis laborers, "should I fetch that wild man cage to the grounds foryou to-day?"

"No, " said Dorgan. "What's the use? I don't like an empty cagestanding 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'llput the Pet in it. "

"Are ye foolin'?" asked the loading boss with a grin. "The cage won'tknow itself, Mister Dorgan, afther holdin' that rip-snortin' Wild Manto be holdin' a cold corpse like the Pet is. "

"Never you mind, " said Dorgan shortly. "I know my business, Jake. Youand I know the Pet is a dead one, but these country yaps don't knowit. 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 lookedaround 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, "andI don't think it is nice of you. Say what you will, Mr. Dorgan, acorpse 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 youto, 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 thecage the Wild Man was in, and I'm goin' to tell the audiences he'sasleep. 'He looks dead, ' I'll say, 'but I give my word he's onlyasleep. We offer five thousand dollars, ' I'll say, 'to any man, woman, or child that proves contrary than that we have documents provin' thatthis human bein' in this cage fell asleep in the year 1837 and hasbeen 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 hadheard enough to know that deviltry was afoot. There was no doubt inhis mind that the Pet was the late Mr. Winterberry, for if ever a mandeserved 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 meantto make capital of his body. The inference was logical. It was astrong clue, and Mr. Gubb hurried to the circus grounds to study thesituation. 

"No, " said Syrilla tearfully, "you _don't_ care a hang for the nervesof 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 eightypounds of fat off of me, for you well know what my contract is--somuch a week and so much for each additional pound of fat, and the lessfat I am the less you have to add onto your pay-roll. The day the Petcome to the show first I fainted outright and busted down theplatform, 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'sgettin' hysterics again. And when you've told 'em, you go up to thegrounds 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 andlifelike. "

Mr. Dorgan swung off from the car step and walked away. 

The Petrified Man had been one of his mistakes. In days past petrifiedmen had been important side-show features and Mr. Dorgan had supposedthe time had come to re-introduce them, and he had had an excellentpetrified man made of concrete, with steel reinforcements in the legsand arms and a body of hollow tile so that it could stand roughtravel. 

Unfortunately, the features of the Petrified Man had been entrusted toan artist devoted to the making of clothing dummies. Instead of anAztec or Cave Dweller cast of countenance, he had given the PetrifiedMan the simpering features of the wax figures seen in cheap clothingstores. The result was that, instead of gazing at the Petrified Manwith awe as a wonder of nature, the audiences laughed at him, and theliving freaks dubbed him "the Pet, " or, still more rudely, "theCorpse, " 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 theinvoluntary departure of Mr. Winterberry at the command of his wifeafter 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 hadnot yet been erected before the side-show tent, but all the tentsexcept 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-lookingroustabouts, after glancing here and there, glided into the propertytent and concealed themselves behind a pile of blue cases, hampers, and canvas bags. One of them immediately drew from under his coat asmall but heavy parcel wrapped in an old rag. 

"Say, cul, " he said in a coarse voice, "you sure have got a head onyou. 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, pointingto the words daubed on one of the blue cases. "But I guess it willbe--hey, old pal? I guess so!"

Together they removed the lid of the box, and Detective Gubb, seekingthe side-show, crawled under the wall of the property tent just intime to see the two ruffians hurriedly jam their parcel into the caseand screw the lid in place again. Mr. Gubb's mustache was now in adiagonal position, but little he cared for that. His eyes werefastened on the countenances of the two roustabouts. The men were easyto remember. One was red-headed and pockmarked and the other was darkand the lobes of his ears were slit, as if some one had at some timeforcibly removed a pair of rings from them. Very quietly Philo Gubbwiggled backward out of the tent, but as he did so his eyes caught aword painted on the side of the blue case. It was "_Pet_"!

Mr. Gubb proceeded to the next tent. Stooping, he peered inside, andwhat he saw satisfied him that he had found the side-show. Around theinside of the tent men were erecting a blue platform, and on the farside four men were wheeling a tongueless cage into place. A door atthe 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 loweredthe tent wall and backed away. It was into this cage that the body ofMr. Winterberry was to be put to make a public holiday for yokels! Andthe murderer was still at large!

Murderer? Murderers! For who were the two rough characters he had seentampering with the case containing the remains of the Pet? What hadthey been putting in the case? If not the murderers, they were surelyaccomplices. Walking like a wary flamingo, Mr. Gubb circled the tent. He saw Mr. Dorgan and Syrilla enter it. Himself hidden in a clump ofbushes, he saw Mr. Lonergan, the Living Skeleton; Mr. Hoxie, theStrong Man; Major Ching, the Chinese Giant; General Thumb, the Dwarf;Princess Zozo, the Serpent Charmer; Maggie, the Circassian Girl; andthe rest of the side-show employees enter the tent. Then he removedhis Number Eight mustache and put it in his pocket, and balanced hismirror against a twig. Mr. Gubb was changing his disguise. 

For a while the lady and gentleman freaks stood talking, castingreproachful glances at Mr. Dorgan. Syrilla, with traces of tears onher face, was complaining of the cruel man who insisted that the Petbecome part of the show once more and Mr. Dorgan was resisting theirreproaches. 

"I'm the boss of the show, " he said firmly. "I'm goin' to use thatcage, and I'm goin' to use the Pet. "

"Couldn't you put Orlando in it, and get up a spiel about him?" askedPrincess Zozo, whose largest serpent was called Orlando. "If you gothim a bottle of cold cream from the make-up tent he'd lie for hourswith his dear little nose sniffin' it. He's pashnutly fond of coldcream. "

"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 asOrlando was of cold cream. "And have him be the first man-monkey tospeak 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 tothe 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 hiseyes staring. Sitting on his haunches, his fore paws, or hands, hanging down like those of a "begging" dog, a Tasmanian Wild Manstared from between the bars of the cage. The matted hair, the barelegs, the animal skin blanket, the streaks of ochre and red on theface, the black circles around the eyes with the white inside thecircles, were those of a real Tasmanian Wild Man, but this TasmanianWild Man was tall and thin, almost rivaling Mr. Lonergan in thatrespect. The thin Roman nose and the blinky eyes, together with themanner of holding the head on one side, suggested a bird--a large anddissipated flamingo, for instance. 

Mr. Dorgan stared with his mouth open. He stared so steadily that heeven took a telegram from the messenger boy who entered the tent, andsigned for it without looking at the address. The messenger boy, too, stopped to stare at the Tasmanian flamingo. The men who had broughtthe blue case set it down and stared. The freaks gathered in front ofthe 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. Dorgansuddenly. "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 looklike a Tasmanian Wild Man, do you? Why, you look like--you looklike--you look--"

"He looks like an intoxicated pterodactyl, " said Mr. Lonergan, who hadsome knowledge of prehistoric animals, --"only hairier. "

"He looks like a human turkey with a piebald face, " suggested GeneralThumb. 

"He don't look like nothin'!" said Mr. Dorgan at last. "That's what helooks 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 wouldI say when I lectured about him? What would I call him? No, he's gotto go. Boys, " he said to the four roustabouts, two of whom were thoseMr. Gubb had seen in the property tent, "throw this feller out of thetent. "

"Stop!" said Mr. Gubb, raising one hand. "I will admit I have tried todeceive 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 professionthe assuming of disguises is often necessary to the completion of theclarification of a mystery plot. "

He pointed down at the Pet, whose newly rouged and powdered facerested smirkingly in the box below the cage. 

"I arrest you all, " he said, but before he could complete thesentence, the red-headed man and the black-headed man turned andbolted from the tent. Mr. Gubb beat and jerked at the bars of his cageas frantically as Mr. Waldo Emerson Snooks had ever beaten andjerked, but he could not rend them apart. 

"Get those two fellers, " Mr. Gubb shouted to Mr. Hoxie, and the strongman ran from the tent. 

"What's this about arrest?" asked Mr. Dorgan. 

"I arrest this whole side-show, " said Mr. Gubb, pressing his facebetween 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'tWinterberry! That's a stone man, a made-to-order concrete man, withhollow tile stomach and reinforced concrete arms and legs. I had himmade to order. "

"The criminal mind is well equipped with explanations for use in timeof stress, " said Mr. Gubb. "Lesson Six of the Correspondence School ofDeteckating warns the deteckative against explanations of murdererswhen 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 crumblingconcrete. He jerked the Roman tunic from the body and disclosed thehollow tile stomach. 

"Hello!" he said, lifting a rag-wrapped parcel from the interior ofthe Pet. "What's this?"

When unwrapped it proved to be two dozen silver forks and spoons and agood-sized silver trophy cup. 

"'Riverbank Country Club, Duffers' Golf Trophy, 1909?'" Mr. Dorganread. "'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 andpaper-hanger, Riverbank, Iowa. "

"Then this is for you, " said Mr. Dorgan, and he handed the telegram toMr. 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 thetelegram between it and his own hair for safe-keeping. 

"When a deteckative starts out to detect, " he said calmly, "sometimeshe detects one thing and sometimes he detects another. That cup is oneof the things I deteckated to-day. And now, if all are willing, I'llstep 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 hasto look a lot of different ways, and I thank you for the compliment. The art of disguising the human physiology is difficult. This disguiseis 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 casther 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 thesilver loving-cup from the interior of the petrified man, he cast aregretful glance backward. It was for Syrilla. There was half a ton ofher pinky-white beauty, and her placid, cow-like expression touched anechoing chord in Philo Gubb's heart. 

Philo felt, however, that his admiration must be hopeless, for Syrillamust earn a salary in keeping with her size, and his income was tooirregular and small to keep even a thin wife. 

 * * * * *

Five hundred dollars was a large reward for a loving-cup that cost notover thirty dollars, it is true, but Mr. Jonas Medderbrook couldafford to pay what he chose, and as he was passionately fond of golfand passionately poor at the game, and as this was probably the onlygolf prize he would ever win, he was justified in paying liberally, especially as this cup was not merely a tankard, but almost largeenough to be called a tank. 

Detective Gubb hastened to the home of Mr. Medderbrook, but when thedoor of that palatial house opened, the colored butler told Mr. Gubbthat Mr. Medderbrook was at the Golf Club, attending the annualbanquet of the Fifty Worst Duffers. Mr. Gubb started for the GolfClub. As he walked he thought of Syrilla, and he was at the gate ofthe Golf Club before he knew it. 

He walked up the path toward the club-house, but when halfway, hestopped short, all his detective instincts aroused. The windows of theclub-house glowed with light, and sounds of merriment issued fromthem, but the cause of Philo Gubb's sudden pause was a headsilhouetted against one of the glowing windows. As Mr. Gubb watched, he saw the head disappear in the gloom below the window only toreappear at another window. Mr. Gubb, following the directions as laiddown in Lesson Four of the Correspondence Lessons, dropped to hishands and knees and crept silently toward the "Paul Pry. " When withina few feet of him, Mr. Gubb seated himself tailor-fashion on thegrass. 

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 themarks of a sodden criminal. The face was that of a respectablybenevolent old German-American gentleman. Kindliness and good-naturebeamed from its lines; but at the moment the plump little man seemedin trouble. 

"Good-evening, " said Mr. Gubb. "I presume you are taking anobservation 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 Ilike 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, thewealthiest 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 PhiloGubb. 

"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 PhiloGubb, "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 hiscup?"

"It is, " said Philo Gubb. He raised the cup in his hand that thestranger might read the inscription stating that the cup was JonasMedderbrook's. 

The light of the window made the engraving easy to read, but the oldGerman-American first drew from his pocket a pair of gold-rimmedspectacles and adjusted them carefully on his nose. He then took thecup and moved closer to the window and read the inscription. 

"Shess! Shess!" he agreed, nodding his head several times, and then hesmiled at Mr. Gubb a broadly benevolent smile. "Oxcoose me!" he added, and with gentle deliberation he removed Mr. Gubb's hat. "Shoost aminute, please!" he continued, and with his free hand he felt gentlyof the top of Mr. Gubb's head. He turned Mr. Gubb's head gently to theright. "So!" he exclaimed: "Dot vos goot!" He raised the cup above hishead and brought it down on top of Mr. Gubb's head in the exact spothe had selected. For two moments Mr. Gubb made motions with his handsresembling those of a swimmer, and then he collapsed in a heap. Thekindly looking old German-American gentleman, seeing he was quiteunconscious, tucked the golf cup under his own arm, and waddled slowlydown the path to the club gates. 

Ten minutes later a small automobile drove up and young Dr. AnsonBriggs hopped out. Mr. Gubb was just getting to his feet, feeling thetop 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 personalhead, and if I wish to desire to rub it, you are not concerned in theoccasion whatever. "

"Oh, rub your head if you want to!" exclaimed the doctor. "I say youmust 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, andfell and knocked your head against the building. You're dazed. Liedown!"

"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?" demandedPhilo Gubb. 

"Why, a short, plump little German did, " said the doctor. "He sent mehere. And he gave me this to give to you. "

The doctor held an envelope toward Mr. Gubb, and the detective took itand 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 relieveone you considered to think in trouble, doctor, " he said, "but fitsare not in my line of sickness, which mainly is dyspeptic to date. "

"Now, what is all this?" asked the doctor suspiciously. "What is thatletter, anyway?"

"It is a clue, " said Philo Gubb, "which, connected with the bump onthe top of the cranium of my skull, will, no doubt, land somebody intojail. So good-evening, doctor. "

He picked his hat from the lawn, and in his most stately mannerwalked 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 tuckedin his neck fell over his shoulder behind him, and Mr. Medderbrook, instead of turning around bent backward until he could pick up thenapkin with his teeth, after which he resumed his normal uprightposition. 

"Excuse me, Gubb, " he said; "I didn't think what I was doing. Where isthe cup?"

The detective explained. He handed Mr. Medderbrook the receipt thathad been sent by Mr. Schreckenheim, and the moment Mr. Medderbrook'seyes fell upon it he turned red. 

"That infernal Dutchman!" he cried, although Mr. Schreckenheim was nota 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 ofit. "

"That man, " said Mr. Medderbrook bitterly, "is Schreckenheim, thegreatest tattoo artist in the world. He is the king of them all. Aconnoisseur in tattooish art can tell a Schreckenheim as easily as apicture-dealer can tell a Corot. But no matter! Mr. Gubb, you are adetective 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 lookedcautiously around--"I was once a contortionist. I was once _the_contortionist. And now I am a wealthy man. My wife left me because shesaid I was stingy, and she took my child--my only daughter. I havenever seen either of them since. I have searched high and low, but Icannot find them. Mr. Gubb, I would give the man that finds mydaughter--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 toexplain. In my contortion act, Mr. Gubb, I was obliged to wear themost expensive silk tights. Wiggling on the floor destroys themrapidly. I had a happy thought. I was known as the Man-Serpent. CouldI not save all expense of tights by having myself tattooed so that myskin would represent scales? Look. "

Mr. Medderbrook pulled up his cuff and showed Mr. Gubb his arm. It wasbeautifully tattooed in red and blue, like the scales of a cobra. 

"The cost, " continued Mr. Medderbrook, "was great. Herr Schreckenheimworked continuously on me, and when he reached my manly chest I had abrilliant thought. I would have tattooed upon it an American eagle. Imagine the enthusiasm of an audience when I stood straight, spread myarms and showed that noble emblem of our nation's strength andfreedom! I told Herr Schreckenheim and he set to work. When--and thecontract price, by the way, for doing that eagle was five hundreddollars--when the eagle was about completed, I said to HerrSchreckenheim, '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 onmy 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 hundreddollars you owe me!'

"'I owe it to you when the job is complete, ' I declared. 'That was thecontract. Is this job complete? Where are the eagle's claws? I'llnever pay you a cent!'

"We had a lot of angry words. He demanded that I give him a chance toput the claws on the eagle. I refused. I said I would never pay. Hesaid he would follow me to the end of the world and collect. He saidhe would do those eagle claws if he had to do them on my infantdaughter. I dared him to touch the child. And now, " said Mr. Medderbrook, "he has taken the golf cup I value at five hundreddollars. He has won. "

At the mention of the threat regarding the child, Philo Gubb's eyesopened wide, but he kept silence. 

"Gubb, " said Mr. Medderbrook suddenly, "I'll give you a thousanddollars 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 righthands. The cup--"

"Bother the cup!" said Mr. Medderbrook carelessly. "I want mychild--I'll give _ten_ thousand dollars for my child, Gubb. "

With difficulty could Philo Gubb restrain his eagerness to depart. Hehad a clue!

Ordinarily Mr. Gubb would have taken any disguise that seemed to himbest suited for the work in hand; but now he was going to see and beseen by Syrilla!

Mr. Gubb ran down the list--Number Seven, Card Sharp; Number Nine, Minister of the Gospel; Number Twelve, Butcher; Number Sixteen, NegroHack-Driver; Number Seventeen, Chinese Laundryman; Number Twenty, Cowboy. . . . Philo Gubb paused there. He would be a cowboy, for it was ajaunty disguise--"chaps, " sombrero, spurs, buckskin gloves, holstersand pistols, blue shirt, yellow hair, stubby mustache. He donned thecomplete disguise, put his street garments in a suitcase and viewedhimself in his small mirror. He highly approved of the disguise. Hetouched his cheeks with red to give himself a healthy, outdoorappearance. 

Early the next morning, before the earliest merchants had opened theirshops, Philo Gubb boarded the train for West Higgins, for it was therethe World's Greatest Combined Shows were to appear. The few sleepypassengers 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 stationplatform when the train pulled in, and they cheered Mr. Gubb, thinkinghim part of the show. This greatly increased the difficulty of Mr. Gubb's detective work. He had hoped to steal unobserved to the circusgrounds, but a dozen small boys immediately attached themselves tohim, running before him and whooping with joy. 

"Boys, " said Mr. Gubb sternly, "I wish you to run away and playelsewhere than in front of me continuously and all the time, "--andthey cheered because he had spoken. Only the glad news that the circustrains had reached town finally dragged them reluctantly away. Detective Gubb hurried to the circus grounds. The cook tent wasalready up, and the grub tent was being put up. Presently theside-show tent was up and the "big top" rising. It was not until nineo'clock, however, that the side-show ladies and gentlemen began toappear, and when they arrived they went at once to the grub tent andseated themselves at the table. From a corner of the "big top's" sidewall, Detective Gubb watched them. 

"Look there, dearie, " said Syrilla suddenly to Princess Zozo, "don'tthat cowboy look like Mr. Gubb that was at Bardville and got the golfcup?"

"It don't look like him, " said Princess Zozo; "it is him. Why don'tyou ask him to come over and help at the eats? You seemed to like himyesterday. "

"I thought he was a real gentlem'nly gentlemun, dearie, if that's whatyou mean, " said Syrilla; and raising her voice she called to Mr. Gubb. For a moment he hesitated, and then he came forward. "We knowed youthe minute we seen you, Mr. Gubb. Come and sit in beside me and havesome 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 importantcase 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 apair of eagle's claws, tattooed in red and blue! How little these hadmeant to him before, and how much they meant now!

"I presume you don't hardly ever long for a home in one place, MissSyrilla, " he began, with his eye fixed on her arm just above theelbow. 

"Well, believe me, dearie, " said Syrilla, "you don't want to thinkthat just because I travel with a side-show I don't long for therefinements of a true home just like other folks. Some folks think I'measy to see through and that I ain't nothin' but fat and appetite, butthey've got me down wrong, Mr. Gubb. I was unfortunate in gettin' lostfrom my father and mother when a babe, but many is the time I've saidto 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 withevery new thin man you see, " said Princess Zozo. "You said it lastnight 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 gotmyself listed right when I say I got a refined nature. I've got allthe instincts of a real society lady and sometimes it irks me awfulnot 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 youwouldn'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 mesomethin' terrible. Yes, dearie, what I long for day and night is achance to take my place in the social stratums I was born for andbant off the fat like other social ladies is doin' right along. Idon't eat food because I like it, Mr. Gubb, but because a lady in aprofession 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'nablelady would care to have, and as soon as possible I'm goin' to quit theroad and bant off six or seven hundred pounds. Would you believe itpossible 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 beoffered a home that was rich with wealth and I was to take you thereand 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, youcouldn't hold me in this show business with a tent-stake and bulltackle. But that's a rosy dream!"

"You ain't got a locket with the photo' of your mother's picture intoit?" asked Mr. Gubb. 

"No, " said Syrilla. "My pa and ma was unknown to me. I dare say theygot sick of hearin' me bawl and left me on a doorstep. The first Iknew of things was that I was travelin' with a show, representin' anewborn babe in an incubator machine. I was incubated up to the timeI 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?" askedGubb. 

"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 memoryof any rememberance to you?"

"No, Mr. Gubb, " said Syrilla regretfully, seeing how eager he was. "Itdon't. "

"In that state of the case of things, " said Mr. Gubb, "I've got to goover to that wagon-pole and sit down and think awhile. I've got acertain clue I've got to think over and make sure it leads right, andif it does I'll have something important to say to you. "

The wagon-pole in question was attached to a canvas wagon near by, andDetective Gubb seated himself on it and thought. The side-show ladiesand gentlemen, having finished, entered the side-show tent--with theexception of Syrilla, who remained to finish her meal. She ate a greatdeal at meals, before meals, and after meals. Mr. Gubb, from his seaton the wagon-pole, looked at Syrilla thoughtfully. He had not theleast doubt that Syrilla was the lost daughter of Mr. Jones (orMedderbrook as he now called himself). The German-American tattooartist 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'sarm. But, just as it is desirable at times to have a handwritingexpert identify a bit of writing, Mr. Gubb felt that if he could provethat 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 connoisseurand would perhaps be able to identify the eagle's claws. LeavingSyrilla still eating, Mr. Gubb entered the side-show tent. 

Mr. Enderbury, seated on a blue property case, was engaged in bitingthe entire row of finger nails on his right hand, and a frown creasedhis brow. He was enwrapped by a long purple bathrobe which tiedclosely about his neck. As he caught sight of Mr. Gubb, he startedslightly and doubled his hand into a fist, but he immediately calmedhimself 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 tohave nothing but contempt. Mr. Enderbury had first seen her when shewas posing in the infant incubator, and had loved her even then, forhe was twenty when she was but five. The coming of a new rival alwaysaffected him as the coming of Mr. Gubb had, but for good reason hehated Mr. Gubb worse than any of the others. 

"Excuse me for begging your pardon, " said Mr. Gubb, "but in thedeteckative business questions have to be asked. Have you ever chancedto happen to notice some tattoo work upon the arm of Miss Syrilla ofthis side-show?"

"I have, " said Mr. Enderbury shortly. 

"A pair of eagle's claws, " said Mr. Gubb. "Can you tell me, from yourknowledge 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 wantto 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 ina home of wealth at Riverbank, Iowa. If those claws are Schreckenheimclaws, Miss Syrilla is the daughter of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook of thesaid 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'lltake 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 heshut his mouth firmly; nor would he say more. 

"Do you desire to wish me to understand that they are not the work ofMr. 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, andMr. Gubb seated himself opposite her. As delicately as he could, hetold of Jonas Medderbrook and his lost daughter, of the home of wealththat awaited that daughter, and finally, of his belief that Syrillawas that daughter. It was clear that Syrilla was quite willing to takeup a life of refinement and dieting if she was given an opportunitysuch 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 gotthem claws tattooed onto me. If you ask me, I'll say it is the mysteryof my life. They've been on me since I was a little girl no biggerthan--why, who is that?"

Mr. Gubb turned his head quickly, but he was not in time to see aplump, good-natured looking little German-American slip quickly out ofsight behind the cook tent. Neither did he see the glitter of the sunon a large silver golf cup the plump German-American carried underhis arm; but the German-American had recognized Mr. Gubb, even throughhis disguise of a cowboy. 

"No matter, " said Syrilla. "But these claws have been on my arm sinceI was a wee little girl, Mr. Gubb. I always thought they was atrademark 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 hadan accident and had to be took to a hospital, and it wasn't untilafter that that anybody saw the eagle's claws on me. I considered thatmaybe it was like the mark the laundry puts on a handkerchief it haslaundered. "

"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. Didyou ever hear of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?"

"Only that Mr. Enderbury is always cross on the days of the month thathe gets Mr. Schreckenheim's statements of money due. Mr. Schreckenheimis 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 Higginsimmediately by the three P. M. Afternoon train, " he said, "and you willmeet him as your paternal father and arrange to make your home withhim 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 restingbefore 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 wealthand refinement had spread quickly. Syrilla herself was in tears. Nowthat the time had come she was loath to part from her kind companions. 

"I tell you, Mr. Gubb, " Mr. Medderbrook said, as they entered theside-show, "if you have indeed found my daughter you have made me ahappy man. You cannot know how lonesome my life has been. Now, whichis 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 theside-show!" he exclaimed. "I thought--I--why, my daughter wouldn't bea 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 daughteras he had seen her last, a tender babe in long clothes. As he rodetoward West Higgins, however, he had thought about his daughter andhe had revised his conception of her. She was older now, of course, and he had finally settled the matter by deciding that she would bea dainty slip of a girl--probably a tight-rope walker or one of thetoe-dancers in the Grand Spectacle, or perhaps even engaged as theTen-Thousand-Dollar Beauty. But a Fat Lady! Mr. Medderbrook walkedtoward Syrilla. Every eye in the tent was upon him. There was uttersilence except for Syrilla's happy sobbing. 

"Shess!" said a voice suddenly. "You bet I vos here! Und I vant mymoney! Years I haf been collecding dot bill, und still you owe me. NowI come, and you pay me all vot you owe or I make troubles!"

The voice came from outside the tent, and with surprising agilityDetective Gubb dived under the platform and wriggled under the canvaswall. 

"I don't owe you a cent!" exclaimed the voice of Mr. Enderbury. "I'vepaid you for every bit of tattoo I have on me. "

"Seven hunderdt dollars vos der contract, " cried the voice of HerrSchreckenheim. "Und ten dollars is due me yet. I vant it. "

"Well, you'll keep on wanting it, " said Mr. Enderbury's voice. "Lookhere! Look at my chest. There's the eagle you did on me--do you seeany claws on it? No, you don't! Well, I'm not going to pay for clawsthat are not on me. No, sir!"

"Claws? I do some claws on you, don't I, ven I do dot eagle?" askedthe German-American. 

"Yes, but they're not on me now, are they?" asked Mr. Enderbury, "Youcan go and collect from the person that has them. What do I care forher now? She's going to quit the circus business. I've paid for allthe tattoo that's on me; you go and collect ten dollars for thoseclaws from Syrilla. "

"Und how does she get those claws on her?" asked Herr Schreckenheimshrewdly. 

"I'll tell you how, " said Mr. Enderbury. "You remember when Griggs' &Barton's Circus burned down years ago? Well, Syrilla was burned inthat fire--burned on the arm--and they took her to a hospital and herarm wouldn't heal. So somebody had to furnish some skin for askin-grafting job, and I did it. The piece they took had those clawson 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 shedon't care a hang for me, and now she's going away. Go and collect forthose claws from her. I haven't got them. She's going to be rich; shecan pay you!"

Simultaneously there was an exclamation from Mr. Medderbrook, a cryfrom Syrilla, and a short, sharp yell from outside the tent. Mr. Gubbentered, spurs first, creeping backward under the canvas. As he backedfrom 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 ona leg, and the leg on a short, plump, elderly German-American, whoyelled as he was dragged into the tent on his back. In one hand of theGerman-American was a large silver golf cup with a deep dent on oneside. As Mr. Gubb arose to his feet, still holding the German-Americantattoo artist's foot in his hand, he said:--

"Mr. Medderbrook, the deteckative business is not always completelysatisfactory in all kinds of respects, and it looks as if it appearedthat the daughter I found for you is somebody else's, but if you willlook 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 onceagain for the second time. "

"And that, " said Mr. Medderbrook as he took the cup from theGerman-American's hand, "is remarkable work. The ordinary detective isusually satisfied to recover stolen property once, but you haverecovered 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 PrincessZozo, the Snake Charmer, who had walked around Syrilla and unhookedtwo of the hooks at the top of Syrilla's low-necked gown. 

"Look!" she exclaimed, and she pointed to a second pair of eagle'sclaws tattooed between Syrilla's shoulder blades. Without a word Mr. Medderbrook took five hundred dollars from his purse and handed themto 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 thefreaks laid him on the ground and, by fanning him vigorously, wereable to bring him back to life. Mr. Medderbrook's first act uponopening 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 myword. The ten thousand dollars shall be yours. "

"Into ordinary circumstances, " said Mr. Gubb gravely, "ten thousanddollars would be a largely big price to pay for recovering back a lostdaughter, Mr. Medderbrook, but into the present case it don't amountto more than ten dollars per pound of daughter, which ain't a largelygreat rate per pound. "

THE OUBLIETTE

The discovery that Syrilla was the daughter of Jonas Medderbrook (bornJones) was a great triumph for Philo Gubb, but while the "RiverbankEagle" made a great hurrah about it, Philo Gubb was not entirely happyover the matter. Having won a reward of ten thousand dollars fordiscovering Syrilla and five hundred dollars for recovering Mr. Medderbrook's golf cup, Mr. Gubb might have ventured to tell Syrillaof his love for her but for three reasons. 

The first reason was that Mr. Gubb was so bashful that it wasimpossible for him to speak his love openly and immediately. IfSyrilla had returned to Riverbank with her father, Mr. Gubb would havecourted her by degrees, or if Syrilla had weighed only two hundredpounds, Mr. Gubb might have had the bravery to propose to herinstantly, but she weighed one thousand pounds, and it required fivetimes the bravery to propose to a thousand pounds that was required topropose 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 afive-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 youfret! I got a hunch how to make him cancel my contract in a perfectlyrefined an' ladylike manner. Right now I start in bantin' and dietin'in the scientific-est manner an' the way I can lose three or fourhundred pounds when I set out to do it is something grand. It won't beno time at all until I'm thin and wisp-like, an' Mr. Dorgan will beglad to get rid of me. "

This information greatly cheered Mr. Gubb. While he admired Syrillajust as she was, a rapid mental calculation assured him that she wouldstill be quite plump at seven hundred pounds and he knew he could loveseven tenths of Syrilla more than he could love ten tenths of anyother lady in the world. 

The third reason had to do with the ten-thousand-dollar reward. WhenMr. 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, "butI'm going to pay it so it will be worth a lot more than ten thousanddollars 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 goingto 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 stockI want to give you is in a block of twenty-five thousand dollars. It'snice stock. It's as neatly engraved as any stock I ever saw, and it isgenuine 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 itthat name is because this mine lies right between two of the bestgold-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 minersnamed this mine they took part of the names of the two others andcalled this one the Utterly Hopeless. That's the way I--the way it isalways done. "

"It's very cleverly bright, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"It's an old trick--I should say an old and approved method, " saidMr. Medderbrook. "So what I'm going to do, Mr. Gubb, is to let you inon the ground floor on this mine. It's a chance I wouldn't offer toeverybody. This mine hasn't paid out all its money in dividends. Itell you as an actual fact, Mr. Gubb, that so far it hasn't paid out acent in dividends, not even to the preferred stock. No, sir! And itain't one of these mines that has been mined until all the gold ismined out of it. No, sir! Not an ounce of gold has ever been taken outof 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 meto I'll give you a written guarantee that the Utterly Hopeless Minehas never paid a cent in dividends and that not an ounce of gold hasever 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 toyou a block of twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of Utterly HopelessGold-Mine stock and apply the ten thousand dollars I owe you as partof the purchase price. All you need to do then is to pay me the otherfifteen 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 shareof the stock of that mine, Mr. Gubb, and as soon as you get thefifteen thousand dollars paid up I'll advance the price of that stockone 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'shand. 

"And all I ask, " said Mr. Medderbrook, "is that you hustle up and paythat 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 andturned over to him the stock in the Utterly Hopeless Mine. 

"And here, " said Mr. Medderbrook, "is a receipt for ten thousand fivehundred dollars, and you can give me back that five hundred I paid youfor recovering of my golf cup. That's to show you everything is fairand square when you deal with me. Now you owe me only fourteenthousand 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 fromSyrilla 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 andproceeded downtown. He now had a double incentive for seeking therewards that fall to detectives, for he had Syrilla to win and theUtterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock to pay for. He started for thePie-Wagon, for he was hungry, but on the way certain suspiciousactions of Joe Henry (the liveryman who had twice beaten him up whilehe was working on the dynamiter case), stopped him, and it was muchlater when he entered the Pie-Wagon. 

As Philo Gubb entered, Billy Getz sat on one of the stools and stirredhis coffee. He held a dime novel with his other hand, reading; butPie-Wagon Pete kept an eye on him. He knew Billy Getz and hispractical jokes. If unwatched for a moment, the young whipper-snappermight empty the salt into the sugar-bowl, or play some other prankthat came under his idea of fun. 

Billy Getz was a good example of the spoiled only son. He went in forall the vice there was in town, and to occupy his spare time heplanned practical jokes. He was thirty years old, rather bald, had apale and leathery skin, and a preternaturally serious expression. Inhis 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 "ThePale Avengers, " tucked the book in his pocket, and looked up and sawPhilo Gubb. The hawk-eyes of Billy Getz sparkled. 

"Hello, detective!" he cried. "Sit down and have something! You'rejust the man I've been lookin' for. Was askin' Pete about you not aminute ago--wasn't I, Pete?"

Pie-Wagon Pete nodded. 

"Yes, sir, " said Billy Getz eagerly, "I've got something right in yourline--something big; mighty big--and--say, detective, have you everread 'The Pale Avengers'?"

"I ain't had that pleasure, Mr. Getz, " said Philo Gubb, straddling astool. 

"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 afterthe dynamiters, have you?"

"I am from time to time working upon that case, " said Philo Gubb withdignity. 

"Well, you be careful. You be mighty careful! We can't afford to losea man like you, " said Billy Getz. "You can't be too careful. Got anyof the ghouls yet?"

"Not yet, " said Philo Gubb stiffly. "It's a difficult case for onethat's just graduated out of a deteckative school. It's like LessonNine 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 teachyou some things you don't know about crooks, maybe. "

"Thank you, " said Philo Gubb, taking the dime novel. "Anything thatcan 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 thecounter and crouching behind it. 

Billy Getz turned toward the door, where a short, red-faced man wasstanding with a pine slab held in his hand. Intense anger glittered inhis eyes, and he darted to the counter and, leaning over, brought theslab 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 himI wasn't goin' to have him doggin' me an' pesterin' me. I've beat himup 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 besorry if you beat him up. He don't mean no harm. He's just foolish. Hedon't know no better. All you got to do is to explain it to himright. "

"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 atJoe 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 downthe slab. 

"All right, you explain, " he said ungraciously, and Philo Gubb raisedhis white face above the counter. 

 * * * * *

Upon the passage of the State prohibitory law every saloon inRiverbank had been closed and there had been growlings from the saloonelement. Five of the leading prohibitionists had received threateningletters and, a few nights later, the houses of four of the five wereblown up. Kegs of powder had been placed in the cellar windows of eachof the four houses, wrecking them, and the fifth house was saved onlybecause the fuse there was damp. Luckily no one was killed, but thatwas not the fault of the "dynamiters, " as every one called them. 

The town and State immediately offered a reward of five thousanddollars for the arrest and conviction of the dynamiters, anddetectives flocked to Riverbank. Real detectives came to try for thenoble prize. Amateur detectives came in hordes. Citizens who were notdetectives 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 theirordinary occupations, the amateur detectives went home, the realdetectives were called off on other and more promising jobs, and soonthe field was left clear for Philo Gubb. 

Not that he made much progress. Each night he hid himself in the darkdoorway of Willcox Hall waiting to pick up (Lesson Four, Rule Four)some suspicious-looking person, and having picked him up, he proceededto trail and shadow him (Lesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen). Sixtimes--twice by Joe Henry--he was well beaten by those he followed. Itbecame such a nuisance to be followed by Philo Gubb in false mustacheor whiskers, that it was a public relief when Billy Getz and otheryoung fellows took upon themselves the duty of being shadowed. Withhats pulled over their eyes and coat-collars turned up, they wouldpass the dark doorway of Willcox Hall, let themselves be picked up, and then lead poor Detective Gubb across rubbish-encumbered vacantlots, over mud flats or among dark lumber piles, only to give him theslip with infinite ease when they tired of the game. 

But Philo Gubb was back the next night, waiting in the shadow of thedoorway of Willcox Hall. He did not progress very rapidly toward thegoal of the reward, but he counted it all good practice. 

But being beaten twice in succession by Joe Henry aroused hissuspicion. 

Joe Henry ran a small carting business. He had three teams and threedrays, and a small stable on Locust Street, on the alley corner. Hewas a great friend of Pie-Wagon Pete and he ate at the Pie-Wagon. 

Philo Gubb, after leaving Mr. Medderbrook, had not intentionallypicked up Joe Henry. On his way to the Pie-Wagon it had been necessaryfor him to pass the alley opposite Joe Henry's stable and hisdetective instinct told him to hide himself behind a manure bin in thealley and watch the stable. In the warm June dusk he had crouchedthere, watching and waiting. 

Mr. Gubb could see into the stable, but there was not much to see. Thestable boy sat at the door, his chair tipped back, until a few minutesafter eleven, when one of Joe Henry's drays drove up with a load ofbaled hay. 

Philo Gubb heard the voices of the men as they hoisted the hay to thehay-loft, and he saw Joe Henry helping with the hoisting-rope. The haywas water-soaked. Water dripped from it onto the floor of the stable. 

But nothing exciting occurred, and Philo Gubb was about to considerthis a dull evening's work, when Joe Henry appeared in the doorway, apitchfork in one hand and the slab of pine in the other. He looked upand down the street and then, with surprising agility, sprang acrossthe street toward where Philo Gubb lay hid. With a wild cry, PhiloGubb fled. The pitchfork clattered at his feet, but missed him, andhe had every advantage of long legs and speed. His heels clattered onthe alley pave, and Joe Henry's clattered farther and farther behindat 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 wedon't want to be follered. We're detectives. Reg'lar detectives. FromChicago. An' we're hired by the Law an' Order League to run down themgools. We're right clost onto 'em now, ain't we, Joe? An' that's whywe don't want to have no one botherin' us. You wouldn't want no oneshadowin' 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 heredynamite gools is the kind of murderers they is, an' me and Joe isexpectin' to be murdered by them any minute, it makes Joe nervous tobe follered an' spied on, don't it, Joe?"

"You bet, " said Joe. "I'm liable to turn an' maller up anybody I seesneakin' 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. "Ijust 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 fullgraduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence Schoolof Deteckating. I got to do my level best to catch them dynamitersmyself. "

Joe Henry frowned, and Pie-Wagon Pete shook his head. 

"If you'll take my advice, Gubby, " he said, "you'll drop that caseright here an' now. You don't know what dangerous characters themgools 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. "ButI'll do my dooty as I see it. Fear don't frighten me. The first wordsin Lesson One is these: 'The deteckative must be a man devoid offear. ' I can't go back on that. If them gools want to kill me, I can'tobject. 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 adummy--he'll go right ahead follerin' me. He needs a good scarethrown into him. "

Billy Getz slid from his stool and ran his hands deep into hispockets, 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 fellerthat can kid him to death. Go ahead. If you do, I'll give you a caseof 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 havingtaken off his shoes and coat, leaned back in his chair with his feeton the bed, and opened "The Pale Avengers. " He had never before read adime 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 thefiendishness of malefactors when brought to bay, and yet here it wasin black and white. The oubliette--a dark, dank dungeon hidden beneaththe ground--was a favorite method of killing detectives, it seemed. Generally speaking, the oubliette seemed to be the prevailing fashionin 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 forthe victim always lurked in the pit. 

Before getting into bed Philo Gubb examined the walls, the floor, andthe ceiling of his room. They seemed safe and secure, but twice duringthe night he awoke with a cry, imagining himself sinking through thefloor. 

Three nights later, as Philo Gubb stood in the dark doorway of theWillcox Building waiting to pick up any suspicious character, BillyGetz slipped in beside him and drew him hastily to the back of theentry. 

"Hush! Not a word!" he whispered. "Did you see a man in the windowacross 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! Itis suicide for you to try to go out the front way now. Follow me; Ihave news for you. Step quietly!"

He led the paper-hanger through the back corridor to the open air andup 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 admittedthem. 

The room was the club-room of the Kidders, where they gathered nightafter night to play cards and drink illicit whiskey. Green shades overwhich were hung heavy curtains protected the windows. A large, roundtable stood in the middle of the floor under the gas-lights; a couchwas in one corner of the room; and these, with the chairs and aformless heap in a far corner, over which a couch-cover was thrown, constituted all the furniture, except for the iron cuspidors. Here theyoung fellows came for their sport, feeling safe from intrusion, forthe possession of whiskey was against the law. There was a fine offive hundred dollars--one half to the informer--for the misdemeanor ofhaving whiskey in one's possession, but the Kidders had no fear. Theyknew each other. 

For the moment the cards were put away and the couch-cover hid thefour 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. Herewe 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 thecuspidors aside to make room, and as he pushed it with his foot he sawan oblong of paper lying in it among the sand and cigar stubs. It wasa Six Star whiskey label. He turned his head from it with hisbird-like twist of the neck and let his eyes rest on Billy Getz. 

"We know who dynamited those houses!" said Billy Getz suddenly. "Doyou 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 theboss of the gang. Read this!"

He slid a sheet of note-paper across to Philo Gubb, and the detectiveread 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, hewas 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 thereward with us?"

"Half for you and half for me?" asked Philo Gubb, his eyes as big aspoker 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 yourexperience 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 wasthe son of old Harburger of the Harburger House at Derlingport, andthat they could count on the clerk of that hotel to help them. BillyGetz would go up and get things ready, and the next day Philo Gubbwould 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 seethat there was a hidden opening in the partition; and Billy Getz, pretending he was bringing the money, would wring a full confessionfrom Jack Harburger. Then Philo Gubb need only step into the room andsnap the handcuffs on Jack Harburger and collect the reward. 

They shook hands all 'round, finally, and Billy Getz went to thewindow to see that no ghoul was lurking in the street, ready to murderPhilo Gubb when he went out. As he turned away from the window thetoe of his shoe caught in the fringe of the couch-cover and dragged itpartially from the odd-shaped pile in the corner. With a quick sweepof his hand Billy Getz replaced the cover, but not before Philo Gubbhad seen the necks of a full case of bottles and had caught the glintof the label on one of them, bearing the six silver stars, like thatin the cuspidor. Billy Getz cast a quick glance at the CorrespondenceSchool detective's face, but Philo Gubb, his head well back on hisstiff 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, onthe way to Derlingport, the water was over the tracks, and in manyplaces the wagon-road, which followed the railway, was completelyswamped, and the passing vehicles sank in the muddy water to theirhubs. The year is still known as the "year of the big flood. " InRiverbank the water had flooded the Front Street cellars, and inDerlingport the sewers had backed up, flooding the entire lower partof the town. 

When the train reached Derlingport Philo Gubb, with his telescopevalise, which contained his twelve Correspondence School lessons, "ThePale Avengers, " a pair of handcuffs, his revolver, and three extradisguises, walked toward the Harburger House. He was alreadythoroughly disguised, wearing a coal-black beard and a red mustacheand an iron-gray wig with long hair. Luckily he passed no one. Withthat disguise he would have drawn an immense crowd. Nothing like ithad ever been seen on the streets of Derlingport--or elsewhere, forthat matter. 

A full block away Philo Gubb saw the sign of the hotel, and heimmediately became cautious, as a detective should. He crossed thestreet and observed the exits. There was a main entrance on thecorner, a "Ladies' Entrance" at the side, and an entrance to what hadonce been the bar-room. From the fire-escape one could drop to thestreet without great injury. 

Philo Gubb noted all these, and then walked to the alley. There weretwo doors opening on the alley--one a cook's door, and the otherevidently leading to the cellar. At the latter a dray stood, and asPhilo Gubb paused there, two men came from this door and laid a baleof hay on the dray, pushing it forward carefully. They did not toss itcarelessly onto the dray but slid it onto the dray. And the hay waswet. Moreover, the two men were two of Joe Henry's men, and that wasodd. It was odd that Joe Henry should send a dray the full thirtymiles to Derlingport to get a load of wet hay, when he could get allthe 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 itsold-fashioned black-walnut woodwork. Except for one man sitting at adesk by the window and writing industriously, and the clerk behind thecounter, the lobby was untenanted. To the left a huge stairway led tothe 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. Theindustrious penman by the window glanced over his shoulder. He lookedmore like a hotel clerk than like a traveling salesman, but Philo Gubbgave this no thought. The clerk behind the desk put his fingers on hislips. 

"Sh!" he whispered. "Are you Detective Gubb? Good! I've been expectingyou. Have you a gun?"

"In my telescope case, " whispered Philo Gubb. 

"Take this one, " said the clerk, handing the paper-hanger-detective aglittering revolver. "Be careful. Come--I'll show you the room. "

He came from behind the desk and picked up Philo Gubb's telescopevalise and led the way up the dingy stairway. Luckily for Billy Getz'sgreat practical joke, Philo Gubb had never seen Jack Harburger, or hewould have recognized him in the plump little man carrying histelescope valise. Up three flights of dark stairs, Jack Harburger ledPhilo 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 whiskersand 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 holethrough the wall from your room into Jack's. You can hear every wordhe speaks. Have you pencil and paper? Good! Jot down every word youhear. And don't make a sound. If you are discovered--well, they're adesperate 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 drewa key from his pocket. 

"That's Jack's room, " he breathed softly, "and you go in here. Sorryit 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 itoccupied one half of one side of the room. The floor of the room wascarpeted, and the walls were papered, as was the ceiling. There was nowindow, 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 smallbureau beside it. Jack Harburger pointed to a hole in the wall-paper. 

"That's your ear-hole, " he whispered, and Philo Gubb stepped into theroom. Instantly the door slammed behind him, the key turned in thelock, and he heard a heavy iron bar clank as it fell into placeoutside. He was a prisoner, caught like a rat in a trap, and he knewit! He threw himself against the door, but it did not give. Theelectric light above his head went dark. He put out his hand, and thewall gave slightly. He drew the revolver and waited, dreading whatmight next occur. He heard soft footsteps outside the door, and, raising the revolver, pulled the trigger. The trigger snappedharmlessly. 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 othertwo. 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 inutter silence. Oubliette! The fate of the detectives of "The PaleAvengers" was to be his! Suddenly the room began to quiver. The floorand the walls trembled and creaked, and Philo Gubb threw himself oncemore against the door. He shouted and beat upon it with his hands. Inch by inch, creaking and swaying, the room glided downward. Thedoor seemed to glide upward beyond the ceiling, giving place to asolid wall. He turned and beat on the side of the room, and it gaveforth a hollow sound. As he moved, the room swayed under his feet. Hewas doomed!

Alone in the darkness, his fear suddenly gave way to a feeling ofpride. 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--agreat detective, or such means would not have been taken to get rid ofhim. He felt a sort of calm joy in this. His murderers knew hisprowess. 

Locked in the room, going down to certain death, he exulted. And if hewas as great as all that, it could not be that his position washopeless. Time and again Carl Carroll, the Boy Detective, had been inequally precarious positions, but in the end he had brought the PaleAvengers low. And what a boy, untrained, could do, a graduate of theRising 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 theside wall. 

Being a paper-hanger, the first touch of his hand against the sidewall had told him the wall-paper was pasted on canvas and not on asolid wall, and now he ripped the canvas away. The wall was of roughboards, scarred and marred. The opposite wall was the same. He kneeledon the bed and tried the rear wall. He felt the plastered wall glidingupward. He stood on the bed and ripped the canvas ceiling away. 

As he ripped the ceiling away, light entered the cage from a dirtyskylight far above. Just over his head a heavy iron grating coveredthe 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 anelevator, but this knowledge gave him small comfort. Cage, room, orelevator--call it what he chose--it was relentlessly descending intothe flooded cellar. He watched the drum with fascinated eyes, as thewire cable unwound itself. He lay back on the bed, his feet hanging tothe floor, and stared upward. He could not take his eyes from therevolving drum. It was like a clock, marking the moments he still hadto live. 

But suddenly he was galvanized into action. Over his feet somethingcold ran, making him jerk them from the floor. It was the water of theoubliette, 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 reachedthe first drawer of the small bureau. It crept up to the side rails ofthe bed. It wet the mattress--and still it rose. He stood on the bedand grasped the iron grating above his head. 

"Stop!" whispered a voice above his head, and the creaking cagestopped. 

"Gubb! Detective Gubb!" whispered the voice, and Philo Gubb lookedupward. "Listen, Detective Gubb, " said the voice. "One touch of myhand on the lever, and you will be dropped beneath the waters, neverto appear again, except dead. One only chance remains for your life, and, blackened with crime though we are, we offer you that chance. Ifyou 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 hismouth, but as he turned his head upward, he closed it again and lickedhis 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 midnightto 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 andbegan cutting out one of the panels of the door that shut him in onone 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 thedrum to be unwound. The car could descend no farther. His feet were aswet as they could get. Unless the river rose to unbelievable height, he could not be drowned in the makeshift oubliette, unless hevoluntarily lay down in the shallow water and inhaled it. He worked onthe panel slowly, but with the earnestness of a very angry victim of ahoax. The panel fell outward with a splash, and floated away. PhiloGubb bent sideways and squeezed out of the small opening into thecellar. 

The huge cellar was dusky in the dim light that entered through thecobwebbed panes, high in the wall. It was an immense place, and nowknee-deep in water, except for a gangway of boards laid on lowtrestles, which led from one side of the cellar to the cellar door. There were coal-bins and vegetable-bins, like watery bays leading fromthe general cellar sea, and--strange appliance to discover in a hotelcellar--a small hay-baling press stood on an extemporized platformagainst one wall, and alongside it, on a long table, such as are seenin factories, bales of hay, some complete and some torn open--andcases! The cases were labeled "Blue River Canned Tomatoes, " but one, split across the end, gave evidence that their contents were notcanned tomatoes at all. Through the crack in the case glittered thesix silver stars of the Six Star whiskey. There were twenty-six of thecases. 

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 cautiouslyand stepped into the alley, closing the door carefully behind him. Hepulled his false whiskers and wig from his face and stuffed them inhis pockets and hurried down the alley. 

When he returned, Billy Getz, Jack Harburger, and six of the Kidderswere holding high revel in the closed bar-room of the Harburger House, but they all fell silent when the door opened and the Sheriff ofDerling 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, ofRiverbank, has been doing some sleuthing in your hotel, he says. Wewant 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 ofwhiskey had been discovered and confiscated--one in the cellar of theHarburger House at Derlingport; one in Joe Henry's stable atRiverbank; and a smaller one in the room in the Willcox Buildingfrequented by the "Kidders. "

"How I done it?" said Philo Gubb to one of his admirers. "I done itlike a deteckative does it--a deteckative that wants to detect--picksup some feller that looks suspicious-like, like it says in LessonFour, Rule Four. And then he shadows and trails him, like it says inLesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen. And then somethin's bound tohappen. "

"But how can you tell what's goin' to happen?" asked his admirer. 

"Well, sir, " said Philo Gubb, "that's the beauty of the deteckativebusiness. You don't ever know what's goin' to happen until ithappens. "

THE UN-BURGLARS

Although Detective Gubb's experience with the oubliette-elevator didnot lead to the detection of the dynamiters for whom a reward of fivethousand dollars was offered, it resulted in the payment to him of onehalf of three fines of five hundred dollars for each of the threestores of whiskey he had unearthed. With this money, amounting toseven hundred and fifty dollars, Mr. Gubb went to the home of JonasMedderbrook and paid that gentleman the entire amount. 

"That there payment, " Mr. Gubb said, "deducted from what I owe ontothem shares of Perfectly Worthless Gold-Mine Stock--"

"The name of the mine, if you please, is Utterly Hopeless and notPerfectly 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 thatthe indebtedness of the liability I now owe you is only thirteenthousand seven hundred and fifty dollars. "

"And the sooner you get it paid up the better it will suit me, " saidMr. Medderbrook. 

"Yes, sir, " said Mr. Gubb, and hesitated. Then, assuming an air oflittle concern, he asked: "It ain't likely to suppose we've had anyword from Miss Syrilla, is it, Mr. Medderbrook?"

For answer Mr. Medderbrook went to his desk and brought Mr. Gubb atelegram. 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 twohundred and ninety-two pounds more before Mr. Dorgan will dischargeher 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 thetelegram came collect and cost me forty cents. If you want to do thesquare thing, Mr. Gubb, you'll pay me twenty cents for your share ofthat telegram. "

Mr. Gubb immediately gave Mr. Medderbrook twenty cents and Mr. Medderbrook kindly allowed him to keep the telegram. Mr. Gubb placedit in the pocket nearest his heart and proceeded to a house on TenthStreet where he had a job of paper-hanging. 

At about this same time Smith Wittaker, the Riverbank Marshal--orChief of Police, as he would have been called in a largercity--knocked the ashes from his pipe against the edge of hismuch-whittled desk in the dingy Marshal's room on the ground floor ofthe City Hall, and grinned at Mr. Griscom, one of Riverbank'scitizens. 

"Well, I don't know, " he said with a grin. "I don't know but what I'dbe glad to be un-burgled like that. I guess it was just somebodyplaying a joke on you. "

"If it was, " said Mr. Griscom, "I am ready to do a little jokingmyself. I'm just enough of a joker to want to see whoever it was injail. My house is my house--it is my castle, as the saying is--and Idon't want strangers wandering in and out of it, whether they come totake 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 doyou know he broke out?"

"Well, my wife and I went to the Riverbank Theater last night, " saidMr. Griscom, "and when I got home and went to put the key in thekeyhole, there was another key in it. Here are the two keys. "

Marshal Wittaker took the two keys and examined them. One was an olddoorkey, much worn, and the other a new key, evidently the work of anamateur 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. "Butwhen we reached home last night, this nickel-silver key was stickingin the lock of the front door, on the outside, and the door wasunlocked and standing ajar. "

"Just as if some one had gone in at the front door and left itunlocked, " 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, inthe dining-room, and there--"

"Yes, " said Mr. Wittaker. "There, on the sideboard, were a dozen solidsilver 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--hadbeen broken out of. "

"Why not broken into?" asked the Marshal. 

"Well, I'm not quite a fool, " said Mr. Griscom with some heat. "I knowbecause of the marks his jimmy made on the sill. "

"Some one has been playing a joke on you, " said Mr. Wittaker. "Youwait, 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. Whatare your own spoons, solid or plated?"

"Plated, " said Mr. Griscom. 

"Well, " said Mr. Wittaker, "there's where to look for the joke. Try tothink 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 youcan 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'sthe 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 grinwhen he met Billy Getz on Main Street. Billy uttered a hasty "Can'tstop now, Wittaker!" but the head of the Riverbank police grasped hisarm. 

"What's your rush? I've got some fun for you, " said Wittaker. 

"Some other time, " said Billy. "I just borrowed this from Doc Mortimerand promised to take it back quick. "

"What is it?" asked the Marshal, gazing at the curious affair Billyhad in his hands. It looked very much like a coffeepot, and on the lidwas a wheel, like a small tin windmill. Just below the lid, and abovethe 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 SamSimmons. I show two pounds more lung pressure than he does. Twenty-sixpounds. "

"You?" scoffed Wittaker. "I bet I can show twenty-eight, if you canshow 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 thehole under the lid, a great cloud of flour shot out, covering his faceand head, and deluging his garments. From up and down the street cameshouts of joy, and the Marshal, brushing at his face, grinned. 

"One on me, Billy, " he said, good-naturedly, patting the flour out ofhis 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 Marshalwith a wink. "But how about putting Correspondence School DetectiveGubb onto the job?"

"Fine!" said Billy. "Tell me what the un-burgled Griscom thing is, andI'll do the rest. "

Billy found Philo Gubb at work in the house on Tenth Street, hangingpaper on the second floor, and the lank detective looked at Billysolemnly as the story of the Griscom affair was explained to him. 

"When I started in takin' lessons from the Rising Sun DeteckativeAgency's Correspondence School of Deteckating, " said Mr. Gubbsolemnly, "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 thinkyou'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, " saidBilly. 

"Yes, I do, " Philo Gubb said. "A fellow can tie a knot, or he canun-tie it, can't he? He can hitch a horse, or he can un-hitch it. Andif a man can burgle, he can un-burgle. A mercenary burglar wouldnaturally burgle things out of a house after he had burgled himselfin, but a generous-hearted burglar would just as naturally un-burglethings into a house and then un-burgle himself out. That stands toreason. "

"Of course it does, " said Billy Getz. "And I knew you would see itthat way. "

"I see things reasonable, " said Philo Gubb. "But I guess I won't takeup the case; un-burgling ain't no common crime. It ain't mentioned inthe twelve lessons I got from the Rising Sun Correspondence School. Iwouldn'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 reasonI 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 tohave a hard heart. "

"All right! Here is this man, un-burgling houses. For all we know heis honest and upright, " said Billy Getz. "He continues un-burglinghouses. The habit grows. Each house he un-burgles tempts him toun-burgle two. Each set of spoons he leaves in a house tempts him toleave two sets in the next house, or four sets, or a solid silverpunch-bowl. In a short time he wipes out his little fortune. Heborrows. He begs. At last he steals! In order to un-burgle one househe burgles another. He leads a dual life, a sort of Jekyll-Hydelife--"

"But what if I caught him?" said Mr. Gubb. 

"Oh, you won't catch--I mean, we will leave that to you. Frighten himout of the un-burgling habit. I'll tell Marshal Wittaker you will geton the trail?"

"Yes, " said Philo Gubb. "I feel sorry for the feller. Maybe he'slettin' his wife and children suffer for food whilst he un-burglesaway his substance. "

"Then, " said Billy Getz, taking up his lung-tester, "suppose you stopin at the Marshal's office to-night at eight-thirty. Wittaker willtell you all about it. "

Philo Gubb waited until Billy was well out of the house, and then hesaid: "He done it, and I know he done it, and he done it to make afool out of me, but I guess I owe Billy Getz a scare, and if I canprove 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, pinnedhis large nickel-plated star on his vest, put three false beards inhis pocket, and went. 

The Marshal received him cordially. Billy Getz was there. 

"You understand, " said Wittaker, "I have nothing to do with puttingyou on this case. But I want to ask you to report to me everyevening. "

"I could write out a docket, " said Philo Gubb. "That's what themFrench deteckatives did always. "

"Good idea!" said Wittaker. "Write out a docket, and bring it in everynight. Now, I'll go over this Griscom case, so you'll understand howto 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 forhim at the Kidders' Club, when the telephone bell rang. The Marshaldrew 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 frontdoor with a key. Yes. What kind of a key, Mr. Millbrook? Thin, nickel-silver key. Nothing taken? What's that? Left a dozen solidsilver spoons engraved with your wife's initials? I see. And broke outthrough a cellar window. Yes, I understand. No, it doesn't seempossible, 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 anotherof your jokes?"

"Wittaker, " said Billy, "I give you my word I had nothing to do withthis. "

"Well, I'll believe you, " said Wittaker rather reluctantly. "I thoughtit was you. Who do you suppose is trying to take the honor of towncut-up from you?"

"I can't imagine, " said Billy. "Are you going to leave the thing inGubb's hands?"

"That mail-order detective? Not much! It is getting serious. I'll sendPurcell up to look the ground over. A man can't make nickel-silverkeys, and break out of houses and leave engraved spoons and forksaround 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'sun-burgled house at 765 Locust Avenue. Mr. Millbrook, a short, stoutman with a husky voice that gurgled when he was excited, opened thedoor. 

"I'm Deteckative Gubb, of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency'sCorrespondence School of Deteckating, come to see about yourun-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 doorand broke out through the cellar window. "

"How long have you been married?" asked Mr. Gubb, seating himself onthe 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 brideand a groom it would be easier, but I guess maybe you can tell me thenames 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 todinner! Dining out and giving dinners is our favorite amusement. Ican'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'tit?"

"It's my affair too, " said Detective Gubb. "Mr. Griscom's house wasun-burgled last night, and he had plated spoons. The un-burglar leftsolid 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 leavesyou solid ones. So he must have known you had plated ones and neededsolid ones. So it must be some one who has had dinner with you. "

"My dear man, " gurgled Mr. Millbrook, "we never have had a platedspoon 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 wellas he could. There was not a mark to be seen from the outside, but apansy-bed bore the marks of the un-burglar's exit. To get out of thecellar, the un-burglar had had to wiggle himself out of the smallwindow, and had crushed the pansies flat. Detective Gubb feltcarefully among the crushed pansies, and his hand found something hardand round. It was the drumstick bone of a chicken's leg. DetectiveGubb threw it away. Even an un-burglar would not have chosen achicken's leg bone as a weapon. Evidently Billy Getz had not left anyclue in the pansy-bed. 

Philo Gubb had no doubt that Billy was putting up a joke on him. Thedetective decided that his best method would be to shadow Billy Getzfrom sundown each day, until he caught him un-burgling another house, or found something to connect him with the un-burglaries. So he wenthome. It was eleven when he began to undress. 

It was then he first realized that the knees of his light trouserswere damp from kneeling in the pansy-bed, and he looked at themruefully. The knees were stained like Joseph's coat of many colors, and they were his best trousers. He hung them carefully over the backof his chair, and went to bed. 

The next morning he rolled the trousers in a bundle and took them withhim on his way to his paper-hanging job. On Main Street he stopped atFrank the Tailor's--"Pants Cleaned and Pressed, 35 Cents. " He unrolledthe 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, MisterGupp. Shust dis morning alretty I didt it der same ding. You fall oferder vire too, yes?"

"Certainly. I expect it was the same wire. Into a flower-bed. "

"Chess, " said Frank. "Like Misder Vestcote, yes? Cudding across dercorner, yes, und didn't see der vire?"

"That so?" said Detective Gubb. "You don't mean old Mr. Westcote, doyou?"

"Sure, yes!" said Frank. "He falls by der flower-bed in, und stainshis knees alretty, shust like dot. Vell, I have me dese pants retty byyou dis efenings. You vant dem pressed too?"

"Press 'em, an' clean 'em, an' make 'em nice, " said Philo Gubb, andwent out. 

[Illustration: UNDER HIS ARM HE CARRIED A SMALL BUNDLE]

Old John Westcote, and pansy stains on his trouser knees, was it? Thething seemed impossible, but so did un-burglary, for that matter. OldJohn Westcote was one of the richest men in Riverbank. He was aretired merchant and as mean as sin. He was the last man in Riverbankany one would suspect of leaving spoons and forks in other people'shouses. But how did it come that he had pansy stains on the knees ofhis trousers? Philo Gubb thought of old John Westcote all day, andtoward night he hit on a solution. Wedding presents! From what he hadheard, old John was--or had been--the sort of man to accept a weddinginvitation, go to the reception and eat his fill, and never send thebride so much as a black wire hairpin. And now, grown old, hisconscience might be hurting him. He might be in that semi-senile statewhen restitution becomes a craze, and the ungiven wedding presentsmight press upon his conscience. It was not at all unlikely that hehad chosen the un-burglary method of giving the presents at thislate date. The form of the un-burgled goods--forks and spoons--and theinitials engraved upon them, made this more likely. 

That night Detective Gubb did not report in person or by docket toMarshal Wittaker. At seven o'clock he was hiding in the hazel brushopposite old John Westcote's lonely house on Pottex Lane. Atseven-fifteen the old man tottered from his gate and tottered down thelane toward the more thickly settled part of the town. Under his armhe carried a small bundle--a bundle wrapped in newspaper!

Detective Gubb waited until the old man was well in advance, and thenslipped from the hazel brush and followed him, observing all the rulesfor Shadowing and Trailing as taught by the Rising Sun DetectiveAgency's Correspondence School of Detecting. For three hours the oldman wandered the streets. Now he walked along Main Street, peeringanxiously into the faces of the pedestrians, with purblind eyes, andnow walking the residence streets. Detective Gubb kept close behind. 

As ten o'clock struck from the clock in the High School tower, oldJohn Westcote quickened his steps a little and walked toward theopposite end of the town, where the lumber-yards are. Down the hillinto the lumber district he walked, and Detective Gubb dodged fromtree to tree. Halfway down the hill the old man hesitated. He glancedaround. At his side was a mass of lilac bushes, seeming strangely outof place among the huge piles of lumber. Without stopping, the old manlet the bundle slide from under his arm and fall on the walk. For amoment it lay like a white spot on the walk, and then it moved rapidlyout of sight into the bushes. 

Bundles do not move thus, unless assisted, but Philo Gubb was too faraway to see the hand he knew must have reached out for the bundle. Heran rapidly, keeping in the sawdust that formed the unfruitful soil ofthe lumber-yard, until he dared come no nearer, and then he climbed tothe top of the tallest lumber-pile and lay flat. He commanded everyside 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, crossthe street and disappear over the bank into the railway switch-yardbelow. Mr. Gubb scrambled down and followed. 

At the bank above the switch-yard he paused, keeping in a shadow, andlooked here and there. Flat cars and box cars stood on the tracks ingreat numbers, most of them closed and sealed--some partly open. Heheard a car door grate as it was closed. He slipped down the bank andcrept on his hands and knees. He was halfway down the line of carswhen 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'ssee if he put up a job on us. If he did, we'll blow him up to-morrownight, hey?"

"That's right. We got a can o' powder left under the pile by thelaylocks. How much is it?"

"We tol' him one thousand, didn't we? Same as he give the Law andOrder to help grab us. Now, listen! You take half of this and go oneway, an' I'll take half an' go the other. We can get away with fivehundred 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 melife. What's that?"

It was Philo Gubb, slipping the car door latch over the staple andhammering home the hasp with a rock. It was the engine, backingagainst the long row of cars to make a coupling, and then movingslowly forward toward Derlingport as the heavy train got under way. The two rascals hammered on the side of the car with their fists. Theyswore. They kicked against the doors. Philo Gubb drew himself into thenext 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'scellar window. Says he didn't mean no harm. Had a dream he was toleave spoons on all the society folks an' he'd be invited to all theirparties. "

"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 fencecuttin' a corner an' fell into a flower-bed. Got Hail Columbia fromthe lady, too. She said old man Westcote fell into the flowersyesterday, and she didn't mean to have her flower-bed used as nolandin' place. Heard from Detective Gubb yet?"

Wittaker grinned. "We ought to hear from him soon. And I reckon he'llbe worth waiting to hear from. "

And he was. Word came from him about an hour later. It was a telegramfrom 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 OfficerPurcell. "Let's hustle out an' nab the other three, an' maybe we cansplit it with Gubb. "

"And us sitting here thinking we had a joke on him!" exclaimed MarshalWittaker 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 ofpaper-hanging when he made the happy error of capturing the dynamiterswhile seeking the un-burglars was the home of Aunt Martha Turner, amember of the Ladies' Temperance League of Riverbank. 

The members of the Ladies' Temperance League--and Aunt Martha Turnerparticularly--had recently begun a movement to have City AttorneyMullen impeached and thrown out of office, for they claimed that whilehe had been elected by the Prohibition-Republican Party, and hadpledged himself to close every saloon, he had not closed one singlesaloon. Aunt Martha Turner and her associates believed this wasbecause Attorney Mullen was himself a drinker of beer, and it was toget proof of this that the hot-headed ladies had engaged a youth namedSlippery Williams to make a raid on his home. 

Detective Gubb was, however, quite unconscious of all this when heproceeded to the home of Aunt Martha to complete his work there. Hewas in an unhappy frame of mind, for he had in his pocket nothing butone 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 thecolored butler informed him that Mr. Medderbrook had been called toChicago. 

"He done lef word, howsomedever, " said the butler, "dat ef you comean' was willin' to pay thutty cents you could have dis telegraf whutcome from Mis' Syrilla. An' he lef dis note fo' you, whut you can havewhever you pay or not. "

Mr. Gubb quite willingly gave the negro thirty cents, the very lastmoney 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 notesaid:--

 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 ideawhere he could raise one hundred dollars during the day and he saw hispromising romance cut short just when Syrilla was beginning to loseweight handsomely. The greeting he received when he reached AuntMartha Turner's was not of a sort to cheer him. Mrs. Turner met himwith a sour face. 

"No, you can't go ahead with puttin' the wall-paper on this kitchenceilin' to-day, Mr. Gubb, " she said. 

"I'd like to, if I could, " said Philo Gubb wistfully. "My financialcondition ain't such as to allow me to waste a day. I'm very low in amonetary shape, right now. "

Aunt Martha Turner seemed worried. 

"Well, " she said reluctantly, "I guess if that's the case you might aswell go ahead. I expect I'll have to be out of the house 'most allday. If you get done before I get back, lock the kitchen door and putthe key behind a shutter. "

She departed, and Philo Gubb set up his trestle, unrolled and trimmeda strip of ceiling-paper, pasted it, and climbed his ladder. At thetop he seated himself a moment and shook his head. 

He sighed and picked up the paste-covered strip of ceiling-paper, butbefore 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 sometime, I guess, Snooksy. "

"Good!" said Snooks, and he entered the kitchen. Some weeks before hehad met Nan Kilfillan. He was deeply in love with Nan, and Nan was agood girl, although Aunt Martha Turner did not approve of her, becauseshe was "hired girl" to City Attorney Mullen. Before she had metSnooks Nan had done her best to "make something" of "Slippery"Williams, who was courting her then, but that task was beyond evenNan's powers. 

Snooks held a job on the "Eagle" as city reporter, with the dignifiedtitle of City Editor, and he was making good. He got the news. Heseemed able to smell news. When there was big news in the air he wouldbecome 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 getit. 

"She's gone out, has she?" said Snooks, when he had entered his aunt'skitchen and asked Philo Gubb about Aunt Martha. "That's good. I wantedto see you on a matter of business--detective business. "

He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small roll of bills. Hewas not the usually neat Snooks. One eye was blackened and one side ofhis face was scratched. His clothes were badly torn and soiled. Helooked as if some one had tried to murder him. 

"There!" he said, holding the bills up to Philo Gubb after countingthem. "There's twenty-five dollars. You take that and find out what Ihave 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 knowwhat 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 marshalput 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 forme at all. Here I figgered that there wouldn't be no wave of crimestrike town for some days, and I went and took the jail door down tothe blacksmith to have a panel put in where the one rusted out, and mywife made me promise to drive out to the farm with her to-morrow, andnow you come and spoil everything. I got to stay in town and watchyou. '

"'Go on, ' I says, 'and take your drive. I'll stay in jail. I got astrong 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. Youcan see it wouldn't do for me to be running all over town when, byrights, I'm locked and barred and bolted in jail. I'm locked andbarred and bolted in jail, and well started on my way to thepenitentiary as a burglar. "

"As a burglar!" exclaimed Gubb. 

"That's it!" said Snooks. "I can't see head or tail of it. You got tohelp 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 goingto. She works for Mullen. We got back to Mullen's house about eleveno'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 waswith her he shook hands with me and asked me to come in and have acigar, and sit awhile, but I told him I had to hustle up some news forto-day's paper, and he let me go. That's how pleasant he was. So Iwent 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 lastnight?' I hadn't heard. 'I heard ma say, ' says Sammy, 'but don't say Itold you. They got up a petition to have City Attorney Mullenimpeached by the City Council. '

"Well, that was news! I went into the 'Eagle' office and called upMullen. 

"'Hello! Is that Attorney Mullen?' I says. 

"'Yes, ' he says. 

"'Well, something happened last night, ' I says, 'and I'd like to seeyou 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 theladder. 

"So I went, " continued Snooks. "I rang the doorbell and, the moment itrang, the door flew open and--_bliff!_--down came a bed-blanket overme and somebody grabbed me in his arms and lugged me into the house. Iguess it was Attorney Mullen--you know how big and husky he is. But Icouldn'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 thiseye. And, all the time, he was talking to me, mad as a hatter, and Icouldn't hear a word he said. But I could hear his wife screaming atthe top of the stairs, and I could hear Nan screaming, and I heard awindow go up. 

"'Stop that yelling!' says Mullen, in a voice I _could_ hear, and thenhe picked me up again and carried me to the back door, and opened itand threw me all the way down the eight steps. I chucked off theblanket, and I was going up the steps again, to show him he couldn'ttreat me that way, when--_bing!_--somebody next door took a shot at mewith a revolver. Thought I was a burglar, I guess. I started to runfor the back gate, when--_bing!_--somebody shot at me from the otherhouse. What do you think of that? For a few minutes it sounded likethe battle of San Juan, and I can't understand yet why I didn't sufferan 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 therange. I stayed in the cellarway, with the bullets pattering on itlike hail, until the cop came. Tim Fogarty was the cop. He ordered'Cease firing!' and the shower stopped, and I let him capture me. Hetook me to the calaboose, and this morning, early, he had me beforethe judge, and I'm held for the grand jury, and the charge is burglaryand petit larceny. Now what is the answer?"

"Being pulled into a house and thrown out the other door isn'tburglary, " 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 thismorning. He handled the case against me. Who is that?"

Some one was climbing the back steps, and Snooks made one dive for thecellar door, and slipped inside. He knew how to get out through thecellar, for he was familiar with it. He did not wait now, but openedthe outside cellar door, and after looking to see that the way wasclear, hurried back to the jail. 

Philo Gubb did not have time to descend from his ladder before thekitchen door opened. The visitor was Policeman Fogarty. 

"Mawrnin'!" he said, removing his hat and wiping the sweat-band withhis red handkerchief. "Don't ye get down, Misther Gubb, sor. I wantbut a wurrd with ye. I seen Snooksy Tur-rner here but a sicond ago, melookin' in at the windy, an' you an' him conversin'. Mayhap he wasspeakin' t' ye iv his arrist?"

"He was conversing with me of that occurrence, " said Philo Gubb. "Hewas consulting me in my professional capacity. "

"An' a fine young lad he is!" said Policeman Fogarty, reaching intohis pocket. "I got th' divvil for arristin' him. 'Twas that dark, yesee, Misther Gubb, I cud not see who I was arristin'. Maybe he wasconsultin' 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 muchmoney. 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. 'Tisixpinsive 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' havehad a hand in arristin' him. "

Fogarty held up the bill and Philo Gubb took it. 

"Contingent expenses are always numerously present in deteckativeoperations, " he said. 

"Right ye ar-re!" said Fogarty. "An' ye'll remimber, if anny wan asksye, that I ixprissed me contrition for arristin' Snooksy. Whist!" hesaid, putting his hand alongside his mouth and whispering: "Some wanwanted me t' search th' house here t' see did Snooksy have sivinbottles iv beer an' a silver beer-opener in his room. "

Philo Gubb sat on the ladder and contemplated the five-dollar billuntil 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 wasrightfully 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 onetapped at the kitchen door. 

"Come in!" he called, and the door opened. 

"Slippery" Williams glided into the room. His crafty eyes sought PhiloGubb. 

"'Lo, Gubby! Watcha doin' up there? Where's Miss Turner?" he asked. 

"Miss Turner is out on business, I presume, " said the CorrespondenceSchool detective coldly, "and I am pursuing my professional duties inthe 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. Frombold he became cringing. 

"Why, I'm Snooksy's friend, " he said. "You know me and Snooksy wasalways chums, don't you, Gubby? Yes, sir, I think a lot of Snooksy. Hesays, 'Slippery, you go up to my room and get me a bundle of cleanclothes--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 bottlesof beer and a beer-opener. "

"Look here!" said Slippery sweetly. "If I gave you five dollars tohire you to hunt for them, could you find them seven bottles of beerand 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 fivedollars. "

Philo Gubb took the money. 

"All right, " said Slippery, "now, you find them. They're upstairs inMrs. Turner's bed, between the quilt and the mattress. Go find them. "

"Not until Miss Turner comes home, " said Philo firmly. "It's herhouse. "

"Why, you long-legged stork you!" said Slippery, "she knows I'm herefor 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'rea dandy detective, ain't you? Sittin' on top of a ladder, and notlettin' a friend of Snooks help him out. Say, listen, Gubby!Everybody's goin' to get into worse trouble if I don't get away withthat 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 thecellar door, through which Snooks had so recently fled. The kitchendoor opened to admit Attorney Smith. He was a thin man, butintelligent-looking, as thin men quite frequently are. 

"Don't get down, Mr. Gubb, don't get down!" he said. "I came in theback 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 meto do some deteckating. I'm sort of in charge of that case. I'm justgoing to start in looking it up. "

Attorney Smith took a turn to the end of the room and back. He wasknown in Riverbank as the unsuccessful competitor against AttorneyMullen for the City Attorneyship, and was supposed to be the counselorof the liquor interests. 

"You have done nothing yet?" he asked suddenly, stopping below PhiloGubb's elevated seat. 

"No, I'm just about beginning to commence, " said Philo. 

"Then you know nothing regarding the--the articles young Turner ischarged with stealing?"

"Well, maybe I do know something about that, " said Philo. "If you meanseven bottles of beer and a beer-opener, I do. "

"Where are they?" asked Attorney Smith in the sharp tone he used inaddressing 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 Philothoughtfully. "I don't want to be disobliging, Mister Smith, but Ilook on them bottles of beer as a clue, and that beer-opener as aclue, and they're about the only clue I've got. I got to save up myclues. "

"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 interestsat stake in this case. Larger interests than you imagine. We areall interested at this moment in clearing your client of thesuspicion--which I hope is an unjust suspicion--now resting over andupon him. I need not say what the interests are, but they are verypowerful. I feel confident that those interests could succeed inclearing Snooks Turner. "

"Well, I guess, if I was left alone long enough to get down from thisladder, I could clear him myself. I didn't study in the Rising SunDeteckative Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating fornothing, " 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 interestsI 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. Hereyes were red and swollen. Attorney Smith hastily excused himself andwent 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'swages, but it will help a little, won't it?"

"Thank you, " said Philo Gubb, taking the money. "I cannot estimate inadvance what the cost of his clearance will be. It may be more, and itmay be less. It is a complicated case. I am just about going to getdown 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, "willyou go to the jail and ask Snooks where is the beer and thebeer-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 doit! Oh, Snooks, how could you--how could you!"

"Now, don't you weep like that, " said Philo Gubb soothingly. "You goand ask him. I'll have my things ready for my immediate departure ontothe case by the time you get back. "

Nan hurried away, and Philo Gubb waited only to count the money he hadso far received. It amounted to fifty-five dollars. He slipped it intohis pocket and stood up on the stepladder. He had even proceeded sofar as to put one foot on a lower step, when Mrs. Wilmerton enteredthe kitchen. 

She was a stout woman, and she was almost out of breath. She had tostand a minute before she could speak, but as she stood she madegestures with her hands, as if _that_ much of her delivery could begiven, at any rate, and the words might catch up with theirappropriate 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! Doyou--do you know where the beer is?"

"I wouldn't advise you to take beer for shortness of the breath, " saidPhilo 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 againas 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. "Hethreatened Aunt Martha that if she did not give it to him freely, hewould have it found here, and make a scandal! Beer hidden between thequilt and the mattress of Aunt Martha's bed, and she Secretary of theLadies' Temperance League! It's awful! Martha is so headstrong! She'sgetting herself in an awful fix! She never should have had a thing todo with that Slippery fellow!"

"With who? With Slippery Williams?" asked Philo Gubb, intenselysurprised. "Aunt Martha Turner? What did she have to do with SlipperyWilliams?"

"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, androbbing houses at her time of life, and wanting the Ladies' TemperanceLeague to have a special meeting this morning to approve of burglaryand 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 Turnerhas engaged me and my services to detect for him in this burglarcase. If Aunt Martha Turner burgled the burglary that Snooks is injail for, maybe you ought not say anything about it to me. I got to dowhat I can to free Snooksy, no matter who it gets into trouble. "

"Mr. Gubb!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton suddenly--"Mr. Gubb, I'm notauthorized so to do, but I'll warrant I'll get the other ladies toauthorize, or I'll know why. If I was to give you twenty dollars onbehalf of the Ladies' Temperance League to help get Snooksy out ofjail, --and land only knows why he is in jail, --would you be so kind asto 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 bewilling to leave Attorney Mullen alone in every shape and form fromnow 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. "AllI 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 ofCity Attorney Mullen. He bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Wilmerton, whoturned bright red with embarrassment, probably because of her part inthe efforts of the League to have Mr. Mullen impeached by the CityCouncil. Attorney Mullen was not, however, embarrassed. 

"I am glad you are here, Mrs. Wilmerton, " he said, "for I wish awitness. I do not wish to have any stigma of bribery rest on me. Icame here, " he continued, taking a leather purse from the inner pocketof 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 wentthere with the intention of bailing him out, pending the simpleprocess of his ultimate and speedy release from the charges againsthim. I am convinced that I was wrong when I made the charge ofburglary against him. I am convinced that no burglary was evercommitted on my premises--"

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton. "Not even seven bottles of beer and abeer-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 hidethe glare of hatred in his eyes by turning to Philo Gubb. 

"Exactly!" he said with forced calmness. "And perhaps I know moreabout them than Mr. Gubb knows. In fact, I do know more about them. Iknow they are upstairs between a blanket and a mattress. I know, Mrs. Wilmerton, " he almost shouted, turning on her with an accusingforefinger, "that they were stolen from a house in this town by someone representing the Ladies' Temperance League. I know that burglarywas committed by, or at the behest of, some one representing theLadies' Temperance League! I know that, if this matter is carried tothe end, a respectable old lady--a leader in the Ladies' TemperanceLeague--will go behind the bars, sentenced as a burglar! That's what Iknow!"

"Oh, my!" gasped Mrs. Wilmerton, and sank into a chair. 

"Now, then!" said Attorney Mullen, turning to Philo Gubb again, andhanding him the twenty-five dollars, "I give you this money as myshare of the fund that is to pay you for the work you do for SnooksTurner. I make no request, because of the money. It is yours. But ifyou love justice, for Heaven's sake, send word to him to come out ofjail!"

"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 shouldwe, 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 startto work, sends her there, I don't see that I can help it, " said PhiloGubb. "Deteckative work is a science, as operated by them that hasstudied in the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence Schoolof Deteckating--"

"Snooks says he don't know anything about any beer, " said NanKilfillan, 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, thatputs an entirely different aspect on the matter! That gives me, asCity Attorney, all the proof I shall need to convict the respectableMiss Martha Turner and her honorable nephew of the 'Eagle. ' And, bythe 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 jailand tell Snooksy I want to see him right away, Miss Kilfillan. Maybehe can stretch the jail that much again. Tell him I'm just going toget down from this ladder and start to work, and I want to ask hisadvice. "

"What do you want to ask him?" inquired Attorney Mullen, as Nanhurried away. 

"I want to ask him about those seven bottles of beer and thatbeer-opener, " said Philo Gubb. 

"Mr. Gubb, " said the City Attorney, "I can tell you about thosebottles of beer. If those bottles of beer came from my house AuntMartha Turner goes to the penitentiary. If she does not go to thepenitentiary, there are no bottles of beer and there is nobeer-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 wasdone. And, if it was done, and Snooks Turner telephoned, and I thoughthe 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 withSnooksy and Nan. 

"I've done ivrything I cud t' quiet th' matter up, " said Fogarty toMullen, 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 agust of wind, scattering the others like leaves, and threw her armsaround her nephew Snooksy. 

"Oh, my Snooksy! My Snooksy!" she moaned. "Don't you love your oldauntie 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'the?"

"But won't you come out?" she pleaded. "Everybody wants you to comeout, dear, dear boy. See--they all want you to come out. Every lastone of them. Please come out. "

"Oh, I like it in jail, " said Snooks. "It gives me time formeditation. 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 tothe penitentiary if you go back to that old jail?"

"Yes, but don't you care, auntie. They say the penitentiary is nicerthan the jail. Better doors. Nobody can break in and steal things fromyou. "

"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 mego to prison--suffer?"

"No, of course not, auntie, " said Snooks, laughing. "But you see, I'vehired Detective Gubb to work on this case, and if there's no case, itwill not be fair to him. He's all worked up about it. He's so eager tobe at it that he has almost come down from the top of that ladder. Inanother day or two he would come all the way down, and then there'sno telling what would happen. No, I'm a newspaper man. I want PhiloGubb to discover something we don't know anything about. "

"I might start in trailing and shadowing somebody that hasn't anythingto do with this case, " suggested Philo Gubb. "That wouldn't discommodenone of you folks, and I'd sort of feel as if I was giving you yourmoney's worth. Somebody has been writin' on the front of the MethodistChurch 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 oughtto 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 oldfingers. Philo Gubb took from his pocket the bills he had been givenduring the morning. He counted them. He had exactly one hundreddollars, 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'vegot 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 Snooksstopped him on the street and asked him why he had asked for tencents. 

"For to register a letter, " said Philo Gubb. "A letter I had to sendoff. "

THE CHICKEN

Philo Gubb, with three rolls of wall-paper under his arm and a pail ofmixed paste in one hand, walked along Cherry Street near thebrick-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 thedynamiters and had this very morning paid the full amount to Mr. Medderbrook, leaving but eleven thousand six hundred and fifty dollarsstill to be paid that gentleman for the Utterly Hopeless Gold-MineStock, and upon the further payment of seventy-five cents--half itscost--Mr. Medderbrook gave him a telegram he had received fromSyrilla. 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 theCherry Street Methodist Chapel, to the brick-yard. Mrs. Smith'schicken coop stood on the fence line between her property and thebrick-yard!

[Illustration: "DETECKATING IS MY AIM AND MY PROFESSION"]

Philo Gubb had passed Mrs. Smith's front gate when Mrs. Smith waddledto her fence and hailed him. 

"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she panted. "You got to excuse me for speakin' to youwhen 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 Gubbseriously. "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 ora hen?"

"It was a hen, " said Mrs. Smith. 

"Well, " said Mr. Gubb, "if you was to offer a reward of a hundreddollars for the capture of the thief--"

"Oh, my land!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith. "It would be cheaper for me topay 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 onethat did the crime, am I? It's only right that a thief should pay forthe 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 youcan offer yourself a million dollars reward if you want to. That'snone of my business. "

"Well, " said Philo Gubb, picking up his paste-pail, "I guess if thereain't any important murders or things turn up by seven to-night, I'llstart in to work for that reward. I guess I can't ask more than fivedollars reward. "

At seven the evening was still light, and Philo Gubb, to cover hisintentions and avert suspicion in case his interview with Mrs. Smithhad been observed by the thief, put a false beard in his pocket and arevolver beside it and left his office in the Opera House Blockcautiously. He slipped into the alley and glided down it, keepingclose to the stables. A detective must be cautious. 

The abandoned brick-kilns offered admirable seclusion. A brick-kiln isbuilt entirely, or almost so, of the brick that are to be burned, andthe kilns are torn down and carted away as the brick are sold. Theover-structure of the kilns was a mere roof of half-inch planks laidon timbers that were upheld by poles. 

A ladder leaning against one of the poles gave access to the roof. Inthe darkness it was impossible for Philo Gubb to find a finger-printof the culprit on the kilns, although he looked for one. He did noteven find the usual and highly helpful button, torn from its place inthe criminal's eagerness to depart. He found only an old horseshoe anda broken tobacco pipe. As there were evidences that the pipe had beenabandoned on that spot several years earlier, neither of these was avery valuable clue. 

Mr. Gubb next gave his attention to the chicken coop. It waspreëminently a hand-made chicken coop of the rough-and-ready variety. 

Philo Gubb entered the chicken-house and looked around, lighting hisdark lantern and throwing its rays here and there that he might seebetter. The house was so low of roof that he had to stoop to avoid theroosts, and the tails of the chickens brushed his hat. It neededbrushing, so this did no harm. The hens and the two roosterscomplained gently of this interruption of their beauty sleep, andmoved along the roosts, and Mr. Gubb went outside again. It was quiteevident that the thief had had no great hardships to undergo inrobbing 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 hoopover the end board of the gate, studied this. 

The theory that Mr. Gubb adopted was that the thief, coming for a raidon the coop, had been surprised to find it so poorly guarded. It hadbeen so easy to enter the coop and steal the chicken that he haddecided it would be folly to take eight or ten chickens and thusarouse instant suspicion and reprisal. Instead of this he had takenbut one, trusting that the loss of one would be unnoticed or laid torats or cats or weasels. Thus he would be able to return again andagain as fowl meat was needed or desired, and the chickens would belike money in the bank--a fund on which to draw. This theory was sosound that Mr. Gubb believed it would require nothing more thanpatience to capture the criminal. The thief would come back for morechickens!

Philo Gubb looked around for an advantageous position in which toawait the coming of the thief, and be unseen himself, and the looseboard 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 asideenough to permit him to squeeze through onto the roof, and creepingcarefully over the loose boards, reached the edge of the roof. Here hestretched himself out flat on the boards, and waited. 

Nothing--absolutely nothing--happened! The mosquitoes, numerous indeedbecause of the nearness of the pond, buzzed around his head and stunghim on the neck and hands, but he did not dare slap at them lest hebetray his hiding-place. Hour followed hour and no chicken thiefappeared. And when the first rays of the sun lighted the east heclimbed down and stalked stiffly away to a short hour of sleep. 

The next night the Correspondence School detective wasted no time inpreliminary observations of the lay of the land. He kept out of sightuntil the sun had set and dusk covered the land with shade, and thenhe went at once to the roof of the brick-kiln. This time he wasdisguised in a red mustache, a pair of flowing white side-whiskers, and a woolen cap. And he wore two revolvers--large ones--in a beltabout his waist. 

It was still too early for brisk business in chicken-stealing whenPhilo Gubb climbed to the roof of the kiln and spread himself outthere, and he felt that he had time for a few minutes' sleep. 

He was tremendously sleepy. Sleep fairly pushed his eyelids down overhis eyes, and he put his crooked arm under his head and, afterthinking fondly of Syrilla for a few minutes, went to sleep sosuddenly that it was like falling off a cliff into dreamland. Hedreamed, uneasily, of having been captured by an array of fortychicken thieves, of having been led in triumph before the SupremeCourt of the United States, and of having been condemned as aDetective Trust on the charge of acting in restraint of trade--asinjuring the Chicken Stealers' Association's business--and required todissolve himself. 

The dream was agonizing as he tried one dissolvent after anotherwithout success. Turpentine merely dissolved his skin; alcohol had noeffect whatever. He imagined himself in a long room in which stoodvast rows of vats bearing different labels, and in and out of thesehe climbed, trying to obey the order of the court, but nothing seemedcapable of dissolving him, and he suddenly discovered that he was madeof 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 andgrace, and flew a few miles. Finally he found the vat of benzine, immersed himself in it, and began to dissolve calmly and with ablessed sense of having done his duty. 

It was then that Philo Gubb entered the dreamless sleep of the utterlyweary, and, about the same time, two men slunk under the roof of thebrick-kiln and after looking carefully around took seats on the fallenbricks, resting their backs against the partly demolished kiln. Theyarranged the bricks as comfortably as possible before seatingthemselves, and when they were seated, one of them drew a whiskeybottle from his pocket and, after taking a good swig, offered it tohis partner. 

"Nope!" said he. "I'm going to steer clear of that stuff until I knowwhere I'm at, and you're a fool for not doing the same, Wixy. Firstthing you know you'll be soused, and if you are, and anything turnsup, 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 felleras 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 washe 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, " saidWixy. "Didn't we tell him we was goin' East ourselves? Maybe he ain'tlookin' for steady company any more than we be. Maybe he come this wayto get away from us, like we did to get away from--say!--Sandlot, " hesaid almost pleadingly, "you don't really think old White-Whiskers wasa-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 Isee a feller like that once, and then again, and he looks like he wastryin' to keep hid from us, I want to shake him off. I know that. AndI know I'm goin' to shake him off. And I know that if you get allboozed up, and full of liquor, and can't walk, and that feller showsup, I'm a-goin' to quit you and look out for myself. When a fellersteals something, or does any little harmless thing like that, it'sdifferent. 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 moremurder than nothing. Was we going to let Chicago Chicken bash ourheads in just because we stood up for our rights? Him wantin' a fullhalf just because he put us onto the job! He'd ought to been killedfor 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, youcan't do it. If I hang, you hang. Maybe I did take a rock to him, butyou had him strangled to death before I ever hit him. "

"What's the use gabbin' about it?" said Sandlot. "He's dead, and wemade our get-away, and all we got to do is to keep got away. Thereain't anybody ever goin' to find him, not where we sunk him in thatdeep water. "

"Ain't I been sayin' that right along?" asked Wixy. "Ain't I beentellin' you you was a fool to be scared of an old feller likeWhite-Whiskers? Cuttin' across country this way when we might as wellbe forty miles more down the Rock Island, travelin' along as nice asyou please in a box car. "

"Now, look here!" said Sandlot menacingly. "I ain't goin' to take noabuse from you, drunk or sober. If you don't like my way, you go backto the railroad and leave me go my own way. I'm goin' on acrosscountry until I come to another railroad, I am. And if I come to ariver, and I run across a boat, I'm goin' to take that boat and floata ways. When I says nobody is goin' to know anything about what we didto the Chicken, over there in Chicago, I mean it. Nobody is. Butdidn'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 guesssomething happened to the Chicken?"

"She's goin' to think he made a rich haul, like he did, and that he upand 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' theChicken money when he needed it, because he said he was workin' upthis job with us? I bet the Chicken owed Mother Smith a hundreddollars, and when he don't come back, then what? Sal will say sheain't got no money because the Chicken quit her, and Mother Smithwill--"

"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 ofhim--"

"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 tellhow Mother Smith keeps tabs on anybody that tries to do her out of tencents even. Why, maybe the Chicken promised to come back that nightand pay up. I bet he did! And I bet he _was_ sour on Sal. And I betMother Smith knew it all the time, and that when he didn't come backthat 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 nonerve. You're so scared you're seein' ghosts. "

"All right!" said Sandlot, rising. "I'll see ghosts, then. But I'llsee them by myself. You can go--"

"Goo'-bye!" said Wixy carelessly, and finished the last drop in hisbottle. "Goo'-bye, ol' Sandlot! Goo'-bye!"

Sandlot hesitated a moment and then arose and, after a parting glanceat Wixy, struck out across the drying floor of the brick-yard, and waslost in the darkness. Wixy blinked and balanced the empty bottle inhis 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 amotion of disgust at the cowardice of Sandlot. The bottle burst with ajangling of glass. 

On the loose board roof Philo Gubb raised his head suddenly. For aninstant he imagined he was a disembodied spirit, his body having beendissolved in benzine, but as he became wider awake he was conscious ofa noise beneath him. Wixy was shifting twenty or thirty bricks thathad fallen from the kiln upon a truss of straw, used the last winterto cover new-moulded bricks to protect them from the frost againsttheir drying. He was preparing a bed. He muttered to himself as heworked, and Philo Gubb, placing his eye to a crack between the boardsof the roof, tried to observe him. The darkness was so absolute hecould see nothing whatever. 

He heard Wixy stretch out on the straw, and in a minute more he heardthe heavy breathing of a sleeper. Wixy was not letting any cowardicedisturb his repose, at all events, and Philo Gubb considered how hecould best get himself off the roof. 

The sleeping man was immediately beneath him; the ladder was a fullten yards away; every motion made the loose boards complain. Lookingdown, Mr. Gubb saw that the top of the kiln reached within a few feetof where he lay, and that the partially removed sides had left aseries of giant steps. 

Mr. Gubb loosened his pistols in his belt. Now that he had the chickenthief so near, he meant to capture him. With the utmost care he slidone of the boards of the roof aside and put his long legs into theopening thus made, feeling for the kiln until he touched it, and whenhe had a firm footing on it he lowered the upper part of his bodythrough the roof. 

Five feet away a cross-timber reached from one pillar of the roof toanother, and just below that was one of the steps of the kiln. PhiloGubb lighted his dark lantern, and casting its ray, saw thiscross-piece. If he could jump and reach it he could drop to the lowerstep and avoid the danger of bringing the side of the kiln down withhim. 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 struggledto gain a firmer hold; and then he dropped straight upon the sleepingWixy. He alighted fair and square on the murderer's stomach, and theair went out of Wixy in a sudden _whoof_!

Philo Gubb, in the unreasoning excitement of the moment, grappled withWixy, but the unresistance of the man told that he was unconscious, and the Correspondence School detective released him and stood up. Heuncovered 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 notdead!

[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 darklantern on a shelf of the kiln, so that its rays might illuminateWixy and himself alike, drew one of his pistols and pointed it full atWixy's head, and holding it so, he dashed the can of water in the faceof the unconscious man. Wixy moved uneasily. He emitted a long sighand opened his eyes. 

"I got you!" said Philo Gubb sternly. "There ain't no use to make amove, because I'm a deteckative, and if you do I'll shoot this pistolat 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 placedone of his hands on his stomach. 

"Put 'em up!" said Philo Gubb, and with another groan Wixy raised hishands. He was still flat on his back. He looked as if he were doingsome sort of health exercise. In a minute the hands fell to theground. 

"I guess you'd better set up, " said Philo Gubb. "You ain't goin' to beable to hold up your hands if you lay down that way. "

As he helped Wixy to a sitting position, he kept his pistol againstthe fellow's head. 

"Now, then, " said Philo Gubb, when he had arranged his captive to suithis 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 otherfeller done it. "

"That don't bother me none, " said Philo Gubb. "If you didn't do it, Idon't know who did. Just about the best thing you can do is toaccount for the chicken and pay my expenses of getting you, and thequicker you do it the better off you'll be. "

Pale as Wixy was, he turned still paler when Philo Gubb mentioned thechicken. 

"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 Gubbcalmly. "The chicken is gone, and I reckon that's the end of thechicken. But Mrs. Smith has got to be paid. "

"Did she send you?" asked Wixy, trembling. "Did Mother Smith put youonto me?"

"She did so, " said the Correspondence School detective. "And you canpay 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 offifty cents, "but it don't satisfy me. My time's valuable and it's gotto be paid for. Ten times fifty ain't a bit too much, and if it hadtook longer to catch you I'd have asked more. If you want to give thatmuch, all right. And if you don't, all right too. "

Wixy studied the face of Philo Gubb carefully. There was no sign ofmercy in the bird-like face of the paper-hanger detective. Indeed, hisface was severe. It was relentless in its sternness. Five dollars waslittle enough to ask for two nights of first-class CorrespondenceSchool detective work. Rather than take less he would lead the chickenthief to jail. And Wixy, with his third, and half of the Chicken'sthird, of the proceeds of the criminal job that had led to the deathof the Chicken, knowing the relentlessness of Mother Smith, thatfemale Fagin of Chicago, considered that he would be doing well topurchase his freedom for five hundred dollars. 

"All right, pal, " he said suddenly. "You're on. It's a bet. Here youare. "

He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out a great roll ofmoney. With the muzzle of Philo Gubb's pistol hovering just out ofreach before him, he counted out five crisp one hundred dollar bills. He held them out with a sickly grin. Philo Gubb took them and lookedat 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! Youcan jug me, if you want to. You can't prove nothin' on me, and youknow it. Have you found the body of the Chicken? Well, you got to havethe corpus what-you-call-it, ain't you? Huh? Ain't five hundredenough? I bet the Chicken never cost Mother Smith more than a hundredand 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 cangive Mother Smith what you want, and keep what you want. That's allyou'll get. "

Philo Gubb could not understand it. He tried to, but he could notunderstand it at all. And then suddenly a great light dawned in hisbrain. There was something this chicken thief knew that he and Mrs. Smith did not know. The stolen chicken must have been of some rare andmuch-sought strain. So it was all right. The thief was paying what thechicken was worth, and not what Mrs. Smith thought it was worth in herignorance. He slipped the money into his pocket. 

"All right, " he said. "I'm satisfied if you are. The chicken was afancy 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 ahen. "

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 dowith an insane man. Wixy moved toward the open drying-floor. 

"Well, so 'long, pard, " he said to Philo Gubb. "Give my regards toMother Smith. And say, " he added, "if you see Sal, don't let her knowwhat happened to the Chicken. Don't say anybody made away with theChicken, 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 outinto the dark. Philo Gubb heard him shuffle across the drying-floor, and when the sound had died away in the distance he put up hisrevolver. 

"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 thiefpay. He asked her what the most expensive chicken in the world mightbe worth, and she reluctantly accepted ten dollars as being far toomuch. Then he asked her who Sal was. 

"Sal?" queried Mrs. Smith. 

"The chicken thief declared the statement that you would know, " saidMr. Gubb. "He said to tell her--"

"Well, Mr. Gubb, " said Mrs. Smith tartly, "I don't know any Sal, andif I did I wouldn't carry messages to her for a chicken thief, and itis past midnight, and the draught on my bare feet is giving me mydeath of cold, and if you think this is a pink tea for me to standaround 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 andninety dollars to Mr. Medderbrook, and his intended father-in-lawreceived him quite graciously. 

"This is more like it, Gubb, " he said. "Keep the money coming rightalong 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, delightedto find Mr. Medderbrook in a good humor. "I hope to get the eleventhousand two hundred and sixty dollars I owe you paid up--"

"Where do you get that?" asked Mr. Medderbrook. "You owe me twelvethousand dollars, Gubb. "

"It was eleven thousand seven hundred and fifty, " said Mr. Gubb, "andthis here payment of four hundred and ninety--"

"Ah!" said Mr. Medderbrook, "but the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine hasdeclared a dividend--"

"But, " ventured Mr. Gubb timidly, "I thought dividends was money thatcame to the owner of the stock. "

"Often so, " said Mr. Medderbrook. "I may say, not infrequently so. Butin this case it was a compound ten per cent reversible dividend, cumulative and retroactive, payable to prior owners of the stock, onaccount of the second mortgage debenture lien. In such a case, " heexplained, "unless the priority is waived by the party of the firstpart, you have to pay it to me. "

"Oh!" said Mr. Gubb. 

"Luckily, " said Mr. Medderbrook, "I was able to prevail upon theregistrar of the company to make the dividend only ten cumulative percents instead of eleven retroactive geometrical per cents, or youwould now owe me thirteen thousand dollars. "

"Well, I'm sure I'm much obliged to you, " said Mr. Gubb with sinceregratitude. "I appreciate your kindness of good-will most greatly. "

He stood for a minute or two uneasily, while Mr. Medderbrook frownedlike 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 hispocket, "and it will only cost you one dollar to read it. I paid twodollars. "

Mr. Gubb was very glad to pay the small sum and he eagerly devouredthe 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, "thatMiss Syrilla could be here present this week in Riverbank whilst theCarnival 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 thefestivities of the occasion, " said Mr. Gubb, but this was not quitetrue. What he wished was that she could be present to see him in thehandsome disguise he had obtained for his work as Official Detectiveof the Carnival, and which he was now about to don. 

This, the second day of the Third Riverbank Carnival, opened with asun hot enough to frizzle bacon, and the ladies in charge of thelemonade, ice-cream and ice-cream cone booths were pleased, while thecommittee from Riverbank Lodge P. & G. M. , No. 788, selling broiledfrankfurters (known as "hot dogs"), groaned. It was no day for hotfood. But it was grand Carnival weather. 

The grounds opened at one-thirty and the amateur circus began attwo-thirty, but Philo Gubb, the detective, was on the grounds in fullregalia by ten o'clock in the morning. Through some awful error on thepart of the Chicago costumer, Philo Gubb's regalia had not arrived intime for the first day of the Carnival, so he had absented himselfrather than let the crooks and thieves who were supposed to swarm thegrounds have an opportunity to become acquainted with his appearanceand thus be put on their guard against the famous CorrespondenceSchool detective. 

When the Committee on Organization of the Third Carnival and Circusfor the benefit of the Riverbank Free Hospital held its first publicmass meeting in Willcox Hall, Philo Gubb had been there. Like all therest of Riverbank, he was willing to assist the good cause in any wayhe could, and he had meant to donate his services as officialpaper-hanger, but a grander opportunity offered. Mr. Beech, theChairman of the Committee on Peanuts and Police Protection, offeredMr. Gubb the position of Official Detective. Mr. Gubb acceptedeagerly. 

During the weeks of preparation for the Carnival, a thousand plans forgetting the better of pickpockets and other crooks passed throughPhilo Gubb's mind. He finally decided to disguise himself as Ali Baba. He had a slight recollection that Ali Baba had something to do withforty thieves. It seemed an appropriate _alias_. 

His disguise he ordered from the Supply Department of the Rising SunDetective Agency, where he bought all his disguises. It consisted of atall conical cap spangled with stars, a sort of red Mother-Hubbardgown bespattered with black crescents, a small metal tube, and a wand. With the metal tube came several hundred sheets of apparently blankpaper, but, when these were rolled into cylinders and inserted in themetal tube for half a minute, characters appeared on the sheets. Achild could work the magic tube, and so could Philo Gubb. 

It was not until the second day that Mr. Beech thought of Mr. Gubb atall. 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 byseventeen ladies of the highest society Riverbank could boast, andthey served hot waffles with their own fair hands to all who chose tobuy. The cooking of the waffles, being a warm task in late June, hadbeen turned over to three colored women, hired for the occasion, andto complete the "ongsomble" and make things perfectly "apropos"--twoof Mrs. Phillipetti's favorite words--the three colored women had beendressed as Turkish slaves, while Mrs. Phillipetti and her aidesdressed as Beauties of the Harem. 

To judge by Mrs. Phillipetti's costume, the Beauties of the Harem wereexpensive to clothe. She had more silk, gold lace, and tinsel strungupon her ample form than would set a theatrical costumer up inbusiness, but the star feature of her costume was her turban. It was agorgeous creation, and would have been a comfortable piece of headgearin midwinter, although slightly heating for a hot June day, but itcame near being the talk of the Carnival, for in the center of thefront, just above her forehead, Mrs. Phillipetti had pinned thecelebrated brooch containing the Dragon's Eye--the priceless rubygiven to old General Phillipetti by the Dugosh of Zind after the olddiplomat had saved the worthless life of the old reprobate byappealing to the Vice-Regent of Siberia in his behalf. 

The Dragon's Eye was about the size of a lemon and weighed nearly asmuch as a pound of creamery butter, so it required considerable turbanto make it "apropos" and complete its "ongsomble. " Pinned on hershelf-like chest, Mrs. Phillipetti wore a small mirror somewhatsmaller than a tea saucer. By tipping the outer edge of the mirrorupward and glancing down into it, Mrs. Phillipetti had a good view ofthe entire façade of her turban, reflected in the mirror, and she wasthus able to keep an eye on the Dragon's Eye. 

"Oh, Mr. Beech!" cried Mrs. Phillipetti, stopping him as he wasbustling 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 hiscomposure. Mrs. Phillipetti explained that she had removed her turbanand placed it under a chair at the back of the booth. A little latershe had noticed that the turban, with the priceless Dragon's Eye, wasgone. 

"Now, this--now--was not wholly unexpected, " Beech said. "It'sa--now--unfortunate thing, but it's the sort of thing that happens. Now, Mrs. Phillipetti, just let me beg you not to say anything aboutit to anybody, and I'll have Detective Gubb get right on the case. Thematter is in my hands. Rest easy! We will attend to it. "

"I--I hate to lose the Dragon's Eye, " said Mrs. Phillipetti, wipingher eyes, "but the worst is to have my turban stolen. Mr. Beech, Iwill give one hundred dollars to whoever returns the Dragon's Eye tome. 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 wantsomething to wear, you can get a Turkish hat at the Paper Hat Boothfor twenty-five cents. "

"Thank you!" said Mrs. Phillipetti scornfully. "I don't weartwenty-five-cent hats!"

Within twenty minutes the Boy Scouts, who were acting as Aides to theExecutive Committee, had tacked in ten prominent places ten hastilydaubed 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 roundaboutroutes, 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 negrosat on an elevated perch just over a canvas tub full of water. Infront of the net was a small target, and if a patron of the game hitthe target with a baseball, the negro suddenly and unexpectedlydropped into the tub of water. The price was three throws for fivecents. 

As Riverbank had some remarkably clever baseball throwers, theEthiopian was dipped quite frequently. As the water was cold and sucha bath an unusual luxury for the Riverbank Ethiopians, no oneEthiopian cared to be dipped very often in succession. Therefore theCommittee of Seven of the Exempt Firemen's Association, which had theDip in charge, had arranged for a quick change of Ethiopians, andwhile one sat on the perch to be dipped, three others lolled inbathing 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 seennuffin'. 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 detime. 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 detime. "

"Well, perhaps you can tell how this board got pried loose, if youwere here all the time, " said Mr. Beech. 

"It wa'n't pried loose, " said the yellow negro. "Hit got kicked loosef'om de hinside. I know dat much, annerways. I seen dat oc-cur. I seendat 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. Hespecialized 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 handkerchiefabout her head. 

"I hope to return the turban and the jewel sometime to-morrow, " saidMr. Beech, bluffing bravely. 

But Philo Gubb did not heed the notices posted to call him to theExecutive Booth. The evening passed and he did not appear, and Mr. Beech, on his way home, stopped at the police station. It was aftermidnight, but Chief of Police Wittaker was still on duty. He neverslept during the Carnival. 

Mr. Beech explained the loss of the turban and the Dragon's Eye, andearly the next morning the Chief himself took up the hunt. By threeo'clock in the afternoon he had discovered several things. Hediscovered that the yellow man who had claimed to see the board pushedout 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 alonebehind the waffle booth. The Chief thereupon arrested the yellownegro. 

As he led the negro from the grounds by the back way, in order tocause as little commotion as possible, he brushed by a strangecreature 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 ofMother-Hubbard gown, and a pointed cap. As the Chief passed with hisprisoner the wizard turned his eyes on the two, and then droned on. Itwas Philo Gubb, the paper-hanger detective, on the job!

Philo Gubb, having received his costume, had come to the Carnivalgrounds the back way. He had wandered about the grounds, peeking andpeering, seeking malefactors unsuccessfully. He felt the whole weightof the Carnival on his shoulders. When he suspected a youth hefollowed him at a safe distance, stopping when he stopped, going onwhen he went on. He was so intent on trailing and shadowing that hedid not even notice the placards calling him to the Executive Booth. Every few minutes he had to stop and tell a fortune with the magictube. So far he had collected two dollars and sixty cents. 

The Chief, with his prisoner walking quietly by his side, --to avoidunpleasant commotion in an otherwise orderly crowd, --had just passedthe 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. Andyou've got to give up the money you've taken. Quick now. We don'tallow any professionals on these grounds. "

The voices were those of Henry P. Cross, Officer of the Day for thisday of the Carnival, and Sam Green, Jr. , Vice-Chairman of Police, andthey were speaking to the wizard. 

"Sh!" said the wizard, in a mysterious voice. "It's all right! Don'tmake a fuss. It's all right!"

"Let me kick him off the grounds!" said Mr. Cross. "All I want is achance to kick him off the grounds. The cheap professional fakir, sneaking in to get money that ought to go to the Hospital! Let mekick--"

"Now, wait!" said Mr. Green irritably. "We want to make him disgorgefirst, 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 belonghere. "

"You belong nowhere!" shouted Mr. Cross. "You belong here, indeed!Why, you couldn't tell that to a baby! I guess not! Telling fortunesand putting the cash in your pocket. Don't the Ladies' Aid of theSecond 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 makemoney 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 clubmeaningly. The yellow man, who had been standing awaiting the end ofthe controversy, seated himself on the grass and leaned his backagainst a tree. Philo Gubb, as evidence that he did not mean to run, also seated himself, and leaned back against the same tree. The Chiefstood 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 neckef some one don't he'p me mighty quick. Ef I hand you somethin' is yougwine take it?"

"Sure, " said Philo Gubb. 

"Grab it!" whispered the yellow man, and his hand slid the Dragon'sEye into the hand of Philo Gubb. 

The Chief moved nearer. 

"I guess dey let me go whin dey git me to de calaboose, " said theyellow 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 thisnow? 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 heturned to Gubb. "We've been wanting you, detective. Put up placardsfor you. Now, listen! Mrs. Phillipetti had a turban stolen from herbooth, and that infernal ton and a half or so of ruby was in it. TheDragon'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. "Ithought you were going to be of some use. Fooling around here withyour silly ten-cent fortune-telling, having the time of your lifewhile all of us are worrying about that Dragon's Eye. Why don't youhunt for it?"

"It ain't hardly necessary to engage in deteckative exertions at thepresent moment on account of that ruby, " said Philo Gubb slowly, "because when I want it, all I got to do is to consult the magicdeteckative tube. "

"You're crazy!" said Mr. Beech. "You're crazy as a loon!"

"The usual price for consulting the oracle is ten cents, " said PhiloGubb, "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 theturban is at. "

"Honest!" exclaimed Mr. Beech. "Gubb, you're a wonder!"

The negro, thus trapped, told where he had hidden the turban, and in afew minutes Mr. Beech, Mr. Cross, and Mr. Green returned with Mrs. Phillipetti, on whose head again towered the turban with the Dragon'sEye gleaming in it, making her "ongsomble" thoroughly "apropos. "

"Gubb, " said Mr. Beech, "I want Mrs. Phillipetti to meet you. Youcertainly are a wizard. "

"Yes, indeed!" said Mrs. Phillipetti. "The wizardry of your wholeongsomble is completely apropos to your detective ability. "

THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER

When Philo Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook the one hundred dollars he hadreceived for retrieving the Dragon's Eye, Mr. Medderbrook was notextremely gracious. 

"I'll take it on account, " he said grudgingly, "but it ought to bemore. It only brings what you owe me for that Utterly HopelessGold-Mine stock down to eleven thousand nine hundred dollars and, atthis rate, you'll never get me paid up. I can't tell when there'llcome 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 Ihave half a mind not to let you see the telegram I got from mydaughter Syrilla this morning. "

"Was the news into it good?" asked Mr. Gubb eagerly. 

"As good as gold, " said Mr. Medderbrook. "As good as Utterly HopelessGold-Mine stock. "

"What did Miss Syrilla convey the remark of?" asked the lovelornpaper-hanger detective. 

"Well, now, " said Mr. Medderbrook, "I went and paid two dollars andfifty cents for that telegram. For one dollar and twenty-five centsI'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 telegramfrom 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 dearmissive to his lips, "but unless I am mistaken you will be still moredeeply touched when you pay for--when you read Syrilla's nexttelegram. "

"I so hope and trust, " said Mr. Gubb, and he returned to his office inthe Opera House Block with a light heart. 

 * * * * *

With the increase of fame that came to him as a detective Mr. Gubb'spaper-hanging business had grown, and he had left Mrs. Murphy's houseand taken a room on the second floor of Opera House Block, near theoffices of ex-Judge Gilroy, attorney-at-law, and C. M. Dillman, loansand real estate. The door now bore the sign

 PHILO GUBB DETECKATIVE Also Paper-hanging

On this morning Detective Gubb had hardly reached his office whenUncle Gabriel Hostetter, a shrewd smile on his face, opened Mr. Gubb'sdoor. 

Uncle Gabriel Hostetter was a round-shouldered old man with a longwhite beard that came to a thin point. He wore old-fashionedgold-rimmed spectacles, the rims forming irregular octagons, and onhis head he wore one of the grandest old silk hats that ever saw thelight of day in 1865. His principal garment was a frock coat, onceblack, but now grayish green. He was the wealthiest man in town, andit was said that when he once got his hands on a silver dollar hesqueezed 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 arrayof mahogany desks and filing cabinets for which he would have to payevery time the detective turned around. When he peered into the roomhe saw a tall, thin man in white overalls with a bib, sitting on anup-ended bundle of wall-paper, stirring a pail of paste with one handwhile he ate a ham sandwich by means of the other. 

"I guess I got in the wrong place, " said Uncle Gabe. "Thought this wasa detective office. All right! All right!"

"I'm him, " said Philo Gubb, swallowing a hunk of sandwich with a gulpand 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-hangingand decorating stuff? No, this ain't no disguise. Even a deteckativehas 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 dobusiness. If you want to do a little detective work to sort of keepyour 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 andkeep bright? Why, you'd ought to pay me for lettin' you have thepractice. 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 mightpay some if it was a case that would do me good to practice on. Imight pay a little. "

"I knew it, " said old Gabe. "Now, this case of mine--What sort of acase _would_ you pay to work on?"

"Well, " said Philo thoughtfully, "if I was to have a chance at a realtough murder case, for instance. "

"Humph!" said old Gabe. "How much might you pay to be let work on acase like that?"

"Well, I dunno!" said Philo Gubb thoughtfully. "If it looked like amighty 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, "isjust that sort of a case. And I'll let you work on it for a dollar anda quatter a day. "

"Well, if it's that kind of a case, " said Philo slowly, "I'll give youa 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 centsapart. You add on a nickel and I'll knock off a nickel, and we'll makeit 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, andwhen was he murdered, and why was he murdered? Them's the things I'vegot to know first. "

"You pay me a dollar five for the first day's work, and I'll tellyou, " 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, goahead. "

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, andchoosing his words with care, "is because the murder ain't completedyet. It's being did. "

"Right now?" exclaimed Philo excitedly. "Why, we oughtn't to besitting here like this. We ought--"

"Now, don't be in such a hurry, " said old Gabe. "If you mean we oughtto 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 slowmurder. I'm liable to drop down dead any minute. But I don't want tobe murdered and not have the feller that murders me hang like heought. I can't be expected to. It ain't human nature. "

"No, it ain't, " agreed Philo. "A man can't help feeling revengefulagainst the man that murders him. If anybody murdered me I'd feel thesame 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 thepolice?"

"I come to you, didn't I?" asked old Gabe. "If I was to set the policeon 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 ina while he takes a shot at me. Sometimes through the window of myhouse, 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 meevery time. There ain't a day he don't shoot and hit me, and some dayshe hits me two or three times. I dare say I'm almost dead now, if Iknowed 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, youmight have got it without wastin' so much of my time, " he saidreproachfully. 

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 asto 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, " saidPhilo Gubb. 

"If you ever _was_ shot by a thirteen-inch cannon ball, " said oldGabe, "you'd know it. When a thirteen-inch cannon ball hits you, thereain't nothin' left of you at all. But when a one-inch cannon ball hitsyou, you've got a chance to live a minute or two, maybe. That's thedifference between a thirteen-inch cannon ball shootin' you, and aone-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 Iwas sayin', a rifle ball acts different. Maybe it kills you the firstshot, and maybe you can hold three or four rifle bullets before youdie, but if they keep on shootin' at you, you get killed sooner orlater. Probably five shots is all any man could stand. I guess that'sabout 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 caliberrevolvers. If he don't hit you in the heart, a murderer could easyenough shoot at you twenty-five times with one of them littletwenty-two's before he killed you dead. But you'd be dead sooner orlater. It's just a matter of what a man shoots you with that makes thedifference in time. 

"Of course, " he continued agreeably, "you don't expect no pea-shooterto kill me as quick as a thirteen-inch gun would. If you expect thatyou're unreasonable. But the principle is just the same. Shootin' isshootin'. 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 thething for me to do is to wait until you're dead and then catch thefeller. 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, Isuppose, and then start out to catch the feller. And you'd lose allthe help I can give you. It ain't often a detective can get the corpseto 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 oldGabe. 

Philo Gubb considered this carefully. 

"Why, yes, " he said at length, "I will. Who is the feller you think isdoin' it?"

"Farrin'ton Pierce, the cashier of the Farmers' and Citizens' Bank, "said old Gabe, his eyes shining with malice and shrewdness, as heleaned 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 Iever felt was the sting of it when it hit me. "

"Maybe, " said Philo Gubb eagerly, "maybe it ain't a pea-shooter. Maybeit's a twenty-two short pistol with a silencer onto it. Maybe it'sonly because he's been afraid to come nigh enough to you that he ain'tkilled you yet. It don't seem to me that any man would try to murderany one with a pea-shooter. "

"Humph!" said old Gabe. "Maybe you are right, at that. That'ssomething 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 frompayin' me that dollar five a day. Just you hustle onto this case andkeep at it, and I'll leave you work on it for nothin'. All I want isthat you should send me word reg'lar of what you find out. "

"It is the custom of all the graduates of the Rising SunCorrespondence School deteckatives to make reg'lar reports inwriting, " said Philo Gubb. "I'll start right in shadowing and trailingMister Farrington Pierce, according to Lessons Three and Four, andI'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 hireto help me on my paper-hangin', and I'll get him to finish up thisjob. I'll start trailin' and shadowin' Farry Pierce right away. "

Old Gabe shook hands with Philo and went out. When the door was closedbehind him he chuckled, and all the way home his face was creased in agrin. He felt that he had done a good bit of business and savedhimself a good sum of money. Philo Gubb, in the meantime, having put afalse beard and a wig in his pocket, went out. 

Across the street from the bank was Grammill's Cigar Store, where theidler men of the town loafed when they had nothing better on hand, and Philo Gubb entered and bought a cigar and took an easy loafingposition near the front window. He commanded a view of the onlyentrance to the bank, and here he waited. At fifteen minutes afterthree Farry Pierce came out of the bank. 

"There's a man with an easy job, " said one of the loafers. "That FarryPierce. Nothing to do till to-morrow. "

"Too much time on his hands, I guess, " said another, who--by theway--had more spare time than Farry Pierce. "From what I hear he'd bebetter 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 blowingall his salary and more on that widow. Must make old Gabe crazy to seeany of his kin spend money that way. Or any way. He's a close one, oldGabe 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 adivorce. "

"Who told you that?"

"My girl. My girl is workin' for his girl. Fr'm what she tells me oldGabe is pretty well worked up about it. Said he'd get a spotter tofoller Farry and get some evidence on him if it didn't cost so blamemuch. I bet the' won't be any divorces in that family if old Gabe hasto pay out any money. "

"I bet they won't. And the' ain't no detectives workin' for nothin' sofar as I hear. Not this year. "

"No, nor next year, neither, " said the other; and as this was in thenature 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 Piercedisappear around the corner of the bank building. If any one felt likemurdering old Gabe with a pea-shooter at that moment, Philo Gubb did. Shadow and trail Farry Pierce! The old skin-flint, coming with a fairytale and getting the only fully graduated deteckative in Riverbank toshadow and trail a son-in-law and report daily! Divorce case evidence, hey? Talking murderer and working a deteckative into doing scandalsleuthing free of charge! Philo Gubb's face reddened again with newanger as he put his hand in his pocket and touched the beard and wighe had placed there. But for this chance conversation he would havebeen following Farry Pierce now, and making a fool of himself. But forthis chance conversation he would not have lost sight of Farry Pierceby 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 theloafers 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 minutesafter we seen him comin' out of the bank. Shot him. Killed him firstshot. Yes, sir! Killed him instantly with a little mite of a pistolwith about as much carry as a pea-shooter. Must have hit him in justthe right spot. "

"Did you see the pistol?" asked Philo Gubb nervously. 

"No, I didn't, " said his informant, "but that's what the feller toldme. '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 Hostetterwasn't murdered instantly at all. He was progressively murdered byinches over a long considerable period of time, like little drops ofwater. "

For a minute the loafer stared at Mr. Gubb. Then he laughed. 

"Crazy!" he scoffed. "Crazy as a loon!" and he walked away and leftMr. Gubb struggling for a suitably crushing retort. 

THE MISSING MR. MASTER

That evening Mr. Gubb received a short note from Mr. Medderbrook thatwas in the form of a bill or statement. It read: "Due from P. Gubb toJ. Medderbrook, $11, 900. Please remit, "--so he put on his hat andwalked 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 UtterlyHopeless Gold-Mine stock at the moment, "because I know you are softon Syrilla, and from a telegram I got from her to-day it looks as ifit would be no time at all before she reduced her weight down to sevenhundred pounds and Mr. Dorgan of the side-show broke his contract withher. And if you want to read the telegram you can do so by paying halfwhat it cost me, which was three dollars. "

Mr. Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook one dollar and a half, as any loverwould, 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 Iwould wish the cost of telegrams would reduce themselves down alittle. This one is marked onto its upper corner 'PAID'--"

"Yes, the telegraph boy said that was a mistake, " said Mr. Medderbrookhastily. 

"And very likely so, " said Mr. Gubb, "but for a reduction of fivepounds one dollar fifty is a highish price to pay. Thirty cents apound is too much. "

"Well, " said Mr. Medderbrook, "I don't want to have any quarrel withyou, so I'll do this for you: I will make you a flat price oftwenty-five cents per pound. "

"Which is a fair and reasonable price for glad tidings to a fondheart, " 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 apillow made a back-rest, and a bundle of wall-paper served as a ratherlofty footstool. He was deeply immersed in Lesson Eleven, hisbird-like face screwed into tensity. From time to time he wiggled onetoe or another as a fly alighted on it. Sometimes, when more than onefly alighted on his toes at once, he wiggled all ten toessimultaneously. 

A trunk, a varnished oak washstand and a cot showed that the room wasnot only a decorator's shop, but a living-place; and that this wasthe office of Philo Gubb, detective, was shown by a row of hooks fromwhich hung various disguises used by the celebrated detective, by aportrait of William J. Burns, cut from a magazine and pasted on thewall, and by a placard which read, "P. Gubb, Graduate and Diploma-istof the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School ofDetecting. 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 morningChicago paper, with a two-column spread headline reading, "Wife Offers$5000 Reward, " and it was this that had driven Philo Gubb, thepaper-hanger detective, to renewed study of Lesson Eleven--"Procedurein Abduction and Missing Men Cases. "

Mr. Custer Master, of Chicago, had mysteriously disappeared. Oneparagraph 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 suffererfrom dyspepsia for many years, but this had not had a permanentlydepressing effect on his mind. His home relations were mostsatisfactory. His own business--he was a dealer in laundry suppliesand laundry machinery--was doing well, and no trace of outsidetroubles could be discovered. 

On the morning of his disappearance, Mr. Master had shown some signsof mental eccentricity. A neighbor, happening to be at her window, sawMr. Master come hurriedly from the door of his house. An hour later afriend 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 tohimself. "I never could do it. I said so. "

The next news of Mr. Master was gained from the keeper of a bath-houseand 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 inadvance, removed his garments in one of the small dressing-rooms, puton a swimming-suit and went to the edge of the big pool. Here hegrasped the rail and extended one foot until his toes touched the coldwater, when he uttered a cry, rushed to the dressing-room, and, assoon as he had thrown on his clothes, dashed from the building. Thatwas 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 HouseBuilding was disturbed by the sound of feet ascending the brass-cladstairs. 

The nocturnal visitors seemed unacquainted with the building, for, after two or three steps had been taken, one lighted a match. It wasevident to the detective that these visitors were reading the names onthe doors as they progressed along the corridor, and he was about toextinguish his lamp and prepare for the worst, when the two menstopped 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-sheetover his scantily clad legs. He knotted the sheet behind, like anapron, and arose to greet the comers. They were two. One of them Mr. Gubb recognized at once; he was Billy Gribble, proprietor of the GoldStar Hand Laundry, just across the way on Main Street. The other manwas a stranger. 

Under his arm, Billy Gribble carried a long, cylindrical parcelenclosed in heavy wrapping paper. The parcel was about six feet longand nearly as large around as Billy himself. Under his other arm, Billy carried a second parcel. This was about three feet square. Thetrained eye of Detective Gubb noted all this at a glance. BillyGribble 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 wouldtalk to him, didn't I? What do you mean by--if you'll please let--youare Detective Gubb, are you not?" he asked. 

Philo Gubb gazed at the man. The man was tall and thin, taller andthinner than Mr. Gubb himself. He was clean-shaven and his face showeddeep 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 werefastened on the end of the suitcase the stranger still held in hishand. 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 andput it on the floor with a suddenness that brought forth a thumpingsound. 

"Clue!" he said, and he kicked the suitcase. 

"I presume the honor of this call at this late hour of time, " saidPhilo 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 kindlyexcused whilst I assume my pants. "

"Business call, business call entirely, Mr. Gubb, " said the tallstranger. "Don't put anything on. If--if you feel embarrassed I'lltake 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 Iknow my own name? Phineas--that's my name, and I know it as well asyou 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 isPhineas Burns. "

"All right! All right!" said Billy Gribble. "Have it your own way. Youought 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'tknow 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 CharlesAugustus Witzel. "

"Glad to know your acquaintance, sir, " said Philo Gubb. "Won't you beseated upon one of them bundles of wall-paper?"

"I'm a detective, " said Mr. Charles Augustus Witzel. "Tell him aboutme, Gribble. "

"Well, he--whatever his name is, but Burke was what he told me--is aChicago 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'sdisappeared. 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 inthe 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 andwent out the back way. Anyway, I'm out. Say, " he said, as Mr. Witzelsquirmed, "if you don't like the way I'm telling this, tell ityourself. "

"I entered Mr. Gribble's laundry, " said Mr. Witzel. "You'llunderstand, being a detective, Mr. Gubb. I entered the laundry. Hereis the counter. I walked up to the counter. I leaned over and spoke tothe girl there. 'My dear young lady, ' I said, 'is Mr. Gribble in?''Out, ' she says. Naturally, I looked down. A detective observeseverything. My toe has hit a suitcase. On the end of the suitcase arethe 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. Iquestioned 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 saidto Gribble, 'he'll be back. He'll come back after the suitcase. ' SoGribble 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 anopportunity to get that five thousand dollars, " he said. 

"Mr. Gubb, " said Mr. Witzel, "you have a chance to get twenty-fivehundred. It was to offer you the chance to get twenty-five hundredthat I came here. What did I say to you, Gribble?"

"You go ahead and tell it, if you want it told, " said Gribble. "Youdon't like the way I tell things. Tell 'em yourself. "

"I said to Gribble, " said Mr. Witzel slowly, "'Gribble, is this thetown 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 abit. 'Gribble, ' I says, 'by to-morrow there will be forty Chicagodetectives in his town, all looking for Master. And I don't care awhoop for any of them, ' I says. 'I'm the leader of them all, asanybody 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 adetective, Witzel or Wotzel or Wutzel--who cares? We understand eachother. Don't we?"

"I presume to suppose we will do so in the course of time, " said PhiloGubb politely. 

"Pre-cise-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. "So I said to Gribble, 'I'm afraid ofGubb! He's the man who will find Master, if I don't. But I've got anadvantage. I've got the clue. '"

He pointed to the suitcase. 

"So Gribble says to me, " said Mr. Witzel, "'Why don't you and Gubbcombine?' '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. Gubbkindly. "And as to how about it, I wouldn't want to enter into acombination shutting me out from using the ability taught to me inChapters One to Twelve inclusive, of the Correspondence course. Forthe twenty-five hundred which would fall to my share, I should expectto detect to some considerable extent. "

"Quite right! _Quite_ right!" said Mr. Witzel promptly. "That meets myplans 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. Youshadow 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, andreleased a canvas cot and a bundle of bedding. Then he said good-nightand withdrew, closing the door behind him. 

Mr. Gubb waited until he heard Mr. Gribble's footsteps on thebrass-clad stairs. 

"That Gribble man ain't what I'd term by name of a--of a--" Hehesitated. "He's not known as a strictly reliable citizen in anyrespect, " he ended. "I wouldn't trust him any more than need benecessary. "

"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 seeif Mr. Master has a night-shirt in his suitcase. I think it helps theinductive 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 bunchof keys. He found a night-shirt and put it on. To his surprise itfitted him exactly, which was odd, for Mr. Witzel was an unusuallytall and thin man. Without wasting time, he climbed into the cot andclosed his eyes. Mr. Gubb also retired. 

Philo Gubb, from his cot, watched Mr. Witzel until he was sure he wasthoroughly asleep. Then the Correspondence School detective slippedout 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 outergarments was marked with Mr. Master's name. There were silver-backedtoilet articles, engraved with Mr. Master's name, and these Mr. Gubbexamined closely, but what caught and held his interest most was afolded document, covered in light-blue paper and endorsed, "Last Willand Testament of Orlando J. Higgins. Copy. "

The will began with the usual preamble, but the clause that caughtPhilo 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, shallbenefit by this clause only in case he faithfully carries out theinstructions contained in the sealed envelope attached hereto, thecontents of said envelope to be read by my hereinafter namedExecutors, and the said Custer Master, and not by any other personswhatsoever; the said Executors are to be the sole judges of whetherthe said Custer Master has carried out the instructions thereincontained. "

This document was worn at the corners of the folds, and slightlysoiled, as if Mr. Master had carried it in his pocket some time beforedropping it in his suitcase. 

With the same caution, and following closely Lesson Three and itsdirections for "Searching Occupied Apartments, Etc. , " Mr. Gubbexamined the articles of dress the Chicago detective had cast aside. All were marked "C. Master" or "C. M. " or with a monogram composed ofthe letters "C. M. " interwoven. 

As cautiously as he could, Philo Gubb crossed to his trunk and tookfrom the left-hand compartment of the tray his trusty pistol. It was alarge and deadly looking pistol, about a foot and a half long, with asmall ramrod beneath the barrel. It was a muzzle-loader of the crop of1854, and carried a bullet the size of a well-matured cherry. It wasas heavy as a vitrified paving-brick. Its efficiency as a firearm wasunknown, as Mr. Gubb had never discharged it, but it looked dangerous. A man, facing Philo Gubb's trusty weapon, felt that if the gun wentoff he would be utterly and disastrously blown to flinders. Mr. Gubbpointed it at the sleeping Mr. Witzel, using both hands, and sightingalong the barrel. 

"Wake up!" he exclaimed sternly. 

Mr. Witzel sat straight up on the cot. For an instant he was stilldazed with sleep and did not seem to know where he was; then a look ofjoy spread over his face and he jumped from the cot and, with bothhands extended, moved toward Detective Gubb. 

"Superb!" he exclaimed. "A perfect specimen! Wonderfully preserved!"

"Go back!" said Philo Gubb sternly. "This article is a loaded pistolgun, prepared for momentary explosion at any time at all. Go back!"

"Remarkable!" cried Mr. Witzel joyously. "A superb specimen. Let mesee it. Let me look at it. "

He walked up to the gun and peered into its muzzle with one eye. Hebent his head to read the engraving on the top of the barrel. 

"A real Briggs & Bolton 53-1/2 caliber, muzzle-loading, 1854!" heexclaimed rapturously. 

Mr. Gubb pushed him away with one hand. 

"Go back there into range, " he said sternly. "In shooting I aim tokill, but not to blow into particles of pieces. "

"But, my dear sir!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "Do you know what you havethere?"

"It's a pistol gun, " said Philo Gubb. "If you don't stand back, I'llshoot you anyway. "

"It's a Briggs & Bolton, " said Mr. Witzel. "That's what it is. It isthe 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'sbung full of powder and bullet, and when I point it at you I mean thatif 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 thatif you pull that trigger you'll blow it to bits and ruin the onlyperfect specimen of that gun I ever saw!"

"And I tell _you_, " said Philo Gubb sternly, "that I can't shoot youwhilst you're rubbing your nose right into this gun. Go back therewhere I can shoot you. "

"I won't!" said Mr. Witzel angrily. 

Philo Gubb was slow to anger, but he was sorely pressed now, and histemper failed him. 

"Look here, " he said to Mr. Witzel. "If you don't go back where I canget 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 equalanger, "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 roomto sight along the long barrel. Unfortunately the trunk was justbehind him and as he stepped back he tripped over it and fellbackward, doubling up like a jack-knife. But he kept his presence ofmind. The long barrel of the Briggs & Bolton protruded from betweenthe 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 withit, 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 herecase, " said Philo Gubb grimly. "It won't be nonsense for you when youget 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 byshifting one waving foot. "There is no need to pretend to playinnocent. Where is the body?"

"My dear Mr. Detective Gubb!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "I know nothingabout 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 himtogether?'"

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 custodyfor the murder and disappearing bodyliness of Mister Custer Master. Turn your back and keep your hands up until I get from behind thistrunk, 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 thepriceless (or, more properly) seventy-five-dollar Briggs & Bolton. 

"Mr. Gubb, " he said, "you are making a serious mistake. I am adetective. "

"You ain't!" said Philo Gubb. "I searched all your things and youain't got a silver badge nor a false mustache nowhere. I'm going toturn you right over to the police to-morrow morning. "

"To the police!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "Don't do that! Whatever youdo, don't do that!" And suddenly, like a nervous dyspeptic suddenlyoverwrought, Mr. Witzel broke down and, falling on the cot, began tosob. Philo Gubb looked at him a moment with amazement. Then he dug apair of handcuffs out of his trunk and, walking to where Mr. Witzellay, prodded him in the back with the muzzle of the pistol. Mr. Witzelturned quickly, rolling over like an eel. 

"Stop it! You're tickling me. I can't stand tickling!" he cried. "I--Ican't stand lots of things. I'm--I'm the most sensitive man in theworld. I--I can't stand cold water at all. "

"Well, nobody is cold-watering you, " said Philo Gubb. "Handcuffs ain'tcold water. "

"But cold water is, " said Mr. Witzel. "Cold water kills me! It makesme shiver, and turn blue, and goose-fleshy, and gives me cramps in thepalms of my hands and the soles of my feet. I--listen: my doctor sayscold 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 besuicide! So--so I knew Billy Gribble. Didn't I set him up in businesshere, 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 ColdBaths, 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 agrammatical form that would sound right, "for information as towhich five thousand dollars reward is offered!"

"Exactly!" said Mr. Master. "And I will make it six thousand if you donot 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. Itwas typewritten and headed "Secret Stipulation Regarding Custer MasterClause 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, "butice-water baths are my shortest road to a future state, and I'm notready for that yet. Still, I did not like to give up $450, 000. ToBilly Gribble, " he added, with a meaning smile, "all baths are coldbaths. I hold a mortgage on his laundry machinery. "

"And so you came up here to my office to hide whilst bathing inso-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, " saidPhilo Gubb simply, "you can give me a check for the whole amount inthe morning, but if you go to take the bullet out of this pistolyou'll have to get an auger. I made the bullet myself and it was toobig, and I had to pound it into the gun with a hammer andscrew-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 loadedit being the first beginning time I ever loaded a pistol. In loading aBriggs & Bolton, I have since subsequently learned, the powder oughtto go into it first, and the bullet second. I put the bullet infirst. "

"Well, bless my stars!" exclaimed Mr. Master. "Bless my stars! If thatis the case--if that is the case, I'm going to bed again. I have toget 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 RiverbankNational Bank told him the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock was notworth 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 ofeven unconscious duplicity, and when Mr. Master paid him the sixthousand and seventy-five dollars Mr. Gubb decided that only threethousand dollars of it should pass immediately into Mr. Medderbrook'shands. Mr. Gubb put two thousand dollars in the bank and invested thebalance in furniture for his office and in articles and instrumentsthat were needed for his detective career. The three thousand dollarshe took to Mr. Medderbrook and paid it to him, leaving only eightthousand 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 onthis way you'll soon be all paid up, but you don't want to let thatworry you, for I'm having a brand-new lot of stock in a brand-new mineprinted, and I'll sell you a whole lot of it as soon as we aresquare. 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 lotis paid up completely full, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"That's all right, " said Mr. Medderbrook. "I haven't given the printerfinal orders yet and if you prefer something else I'll make itOil-Well stock. It is all the same to me. The property will producejust 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 ahalf's worth. "

The telegram, which Mr. Medderbrook permitted Mr. Gubb to read afterhe 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 thepresent moment of time Miss Syrilla has only got left a remainder ofsix double chins out of seven, dear little one!" And he went back tohis office feeling that it would not be long now before the apple ofhis eye was released from her side-show contract. 

The next day Mr. Gubb had begun his labors on a new and interestingcase when the door opened. 

"Gubb, come across the hall here!"

Gubb looked up from the labor in which he was engaged and blinked atLawyer 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 tobe engaged at the next thing I have to do. I shouldn't wish to assumeto 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 meanshe ain't receiving callers on no account. "

"That's all right, " said Higgins briskly, "but this is business. I'vegot 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 aman, 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 Gubbearnestly. "I'm investigating clues at the present time and moment. "

Higgins stepped inside the door. He walked to where Philo Gubb sat atan elaborate mahogany desk, and looked at the apparatus Mr. Gubb wasusing. 

"What the dickens?" he asked. 

On the slide of the desk were grouped a number of small articles, anda large and powerful microscope. Through the lens of the microscopeMr. Gubb was inspecting something that looked like frayed yellow-brownwool yarn. 

"You don't expect to find your missing party in that wad of wool, doyou, Gubb?" asked Mr. Higgins jestingly. 

"Maybe I do, and maybe the operations of the deteckative mind are noneof your particular affair when conducted in the private seclusion ofmy laboratory, " said Gubb. 

"Now, don't get mad, " said Higgins. "It just struck me as funny. Looksas 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 amoment before found a flea in the wool he was examining, and thewool was indeed a wisp of dog hair. The party Mr. Gubb had beenengaged to find was a dog, and Mr. Gubb was--by the inductive methodof detecting--trying to reason out the location of the dog. By the aidof the microscope, Mr. Gubb was searching for the slight indicationsthat mean so much to detectives. Unfortunately, however, Mr. Gubb hadnot yet found anything from which he could deduce anything whatever, unless the flea in the wool might lead to the conclusion that the dognow, or once, had fleas. 

"Tell you what I want, " said Mr. Higgins: "I want you to findMustard. "

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 hiswill so that my client couldn't get her rights at once he did a meantrick, 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 orless, and it strikes me you ought to take a job when it's offered toyou. You signed the will as a witness, and this man Bilton, commonlyknown as Mustard on account of his yellow complexion and hair, was theother witness, wasn't he? Now, if you can't give us the information wewant, and Mustard can, it looks to me as if it was your duty, as afellow witness, to hunt him up. But we don't ask that. We're willingto pay you if you find him. "

"Are you prepared to contract to say you'll pay me just for huntingfor him?" asked Mr. Gubb. 

"We'll give you two hundred dollars if you can produce Mustard here inRiverbank, " said Higgins. 

"The job I've took on to hunt up another missing party will occupy mefor quite a while, I guess, " said Gubb, "but maybe I might put in whatextra time I can spare looking for your party. "

"Do it!" said Higgins. "I don't say you're the best detective in theworld, Gubb, but you do have luck. You must have a magic talisman. "

"The operation of the deteckative mind is always like magic to thecommon folks, " said Gubb gravely. 

"All right, then, " said Higgins. "Two hundred if you find him. Andnow, will you just come across the hall for one minute?"

Gubb left his microscope reluctantly. He was sick and tired of theO'Hara will, but he followed Mr. Higgins. 

The second floor of the Opera House Block was laid out in smalloffices arranged on two sides of a corridor. One of these offices hadbeen for many years the office of Haddon O'Hara, who specialized incommercial law, collections, and jokes, and he had accumulated a snuglittle fortune. It was said he could draw a contract no one couldbreak except himself. 

On the streets and in his home and at his office--except when at workon some especially difficult case--his face always wore a quizzicalsmile. O'Hara seemed to enjoy himself every moment. Walking along thestreet he would suddenly stop some citizen, enunciate a dozen ortwenty cryptic words, laugh, and proceed on his way, leaving thecitizen 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 citizenand utter ten more words, the key to the cryptic joke. Then, chuckling, he would hurry away. He had a lot of fun. His keen brainfelt equal to making fun of the whole town and not letting the townknow it. Money came to him easily; he had no wife; his pleasure was inhis books--and he was probably a happy man. But he died. He died andleft a will. 

For some years O'Hara lived with his niece, an orphan. She waseighteen, and there might have been some gossip, but O'Haraforestalled it by hiring old Mrs. Mullarky. 

O'Hara bought his niece a pup and had a dog-house built and put in theyard. He christened the pup himself, naming it Waffles, because, hesaid, the minute he saw the pup it reminded him of Dolly. The pup wasjust 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 lovedthe dog from the first minute. Then, just as the dog had outgrownpuppyhood, O'Hara died. 

His will was found in the safe in his office. Old Judge Mackinnon, whoshared the office with O'Hara, found the will the day after O'Haradied. It was in a white legal envelope endorsed, "My Will, HaddonO'Hara. " The Judge opened the envelope--it was not sealed--and tookout the will. The will was not filled in on a printed form--it was aholograph will, written in O'Hara's own hand. It began in the usualformal manner and there were two bequests. The first read: "To myniece, Dorothy O'Hara, since she is so extremely fond of her dogWaffles, I give and bequeath the dog-house now on my property at 342Locust Street, Riverbank, Iowa. " The second read: "Secondly, to mycousin Ardelia Doblin I bequeath the entire remainder and residue ofmy estate, " etc. 

Judge Mackinnon frowned as he read these two bequests. He knew ArdeliaDoblin as a spiteful, scandal-mongering woman. To cut off Dolly O'Harawith a dog-house and give his entire estate to Ardelia Doblin might beO'Hara's idea of a joke, but the Judge did not like it. He read thefinal clause, appointing him sole executor without bond. O'Hara'ssignature was correctly appended. The will was dated July 1, 1913. Itwas witnessed by Philo Gubb and Max Bilton. The Judge knew bothwitnesses. Gubb was the eccentric paper-hanger who thought he was adetective because he had taken a correspondence course, and Bilton wasa jaundiced loafer, commonly called Mustard. The good old man sighedand was about to put the will back in the envelope when he noticedthree 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. " TheJudge 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 theobverse. Word for word it was the same. Line for line, punctuationmark for punctuation mark, the two wills on the opposite sides of thesheet were identical except for two words. In the will the Judge wasnow reading, the name Sarah P. Kinsey was substituted for the nameArdelia Doblin. The date was the same. The witnesses were the same. There were two wills, one written on one side of the sheet and theother written on the other side of the sheet, of the same date, withthe same signature, and with the same witnesses. O'Hara had joked tothe last. 

"This is a dickens of a joke!" exclaimed Judge Mackinnon. "O'Harashould not have done this!"

He saw the property of Haddon O'Hara being dissipated in lawsuits overthis remarkable will. He knew Sarah P. Kinsey as well as he knewArdelia Doblin, and she was just such another mean cantankerousindividual. 

"A joke's a joke, but you shouldn't have done this, O'Hara!" said theJudge. 

There was nothing to do but notify the parties concerned. He went tosee Dolly O'Hara first and told her, as gently as he could, about thewill. She cried a little, softly, at first, and then she smiledbravely. 

"You mustn't worry about it, Judge Mackinnon, " she said. "I--of courseI never thought what Uncle Haddon would do with his money. And--and weused to joke about the dog-house. He always said he would leave it tome 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 adifferent spirit. Mrs. Doblin could hardly wait until Judge Mackinnonwas 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 puton her hat in his presence, so eager was she to hurry down to seeLawyer Burch. 

Ten hours later the O'Hara will was the one matter talked about inRiverbank. Evidently there must be some clue leading to the solutionof the mystery--some well-hidden, cleverly planned key such as HaddonO'Hara would undoubtedly have left in perpetrating such a joke. Commonsense was sufficient to tell any one that O'Hara could not havewritten both wills simultaneously, that he had written one will on oneside of the paper, after which he had turned the paper over and hadwritten the other will on the other side of the paper. The difficultywas to tell which side he had written last. 

Lawyer Higgins, Lawyer Burch, and Judge Mackinnon went over both sidesof the paper with a microscope. The same ink had been used on bothsides. O'Hara's writing was the same on both sides. Often, in writingas many words as occupied both sides of the paper in question, a man'shand grows involuntarily weary. There was nothing of this sort. Thereseemed to be absolutely nothing on which the greatest penmanshipexpert 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 thepaper on which the wills were written were subjected to the minutestscrutiny. 

Each will was witnessed by the same pair of witnesses, and these werePhilo Gubb and Max Bilton. It was no trouble to get Philo Gubb to tellabout signing the will. Judge Mackinnon crossed the hall and broughtPhilo Gubb to the office. 

"Yes, sir, " said Mr. Gubb. "I signed my signature onto that documenttwo times as requested so to do by the late deceased. He come over tomy official deteckative headquarters and asked me to step across anddo him the pleasure of a small favor and I done so. Yes, sir, that'smy 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 tosign your signature onto it as a witness. ' So he put the paper infront of me. 'Where'll I sign it?' I says. 'Sign it right here underMr. Bilton's name, ' he says. So I signed my signature like he toldme. "

"Yes, " said the Judge, "and Mr. O'Hara blotted it with a piece ofblotting-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 itwasn't located nowhere to have an under to it. Mr. Bilton hadn'tsigned on that side yet. "

There was an instant sensation. 

"Bilton hadn't signed that side?" said Mr. Higgins. "Which side hadn'the 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 thatmentions Mrs. Kinsey? Which was it?"

Mr. Gubb took the paper and examined it carefully. He turned it overand 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 signedboth these wills as witness, but you have no idea which you signedlast, Mr. Gubb. "

"E-zactly so!" said Mr. Gubb with emphasis. 

"Now, just a minute, " said Mr. Burch. "One of these Bilton signaturesis 'M. Bilton' and the other is 'Max Bilton. ' You don't recall whichwas on the paper when you signed, do you?"

"Mr. Burch, " said Mr. Gubb, "I wasn't taking no extra time to find outif a no-account feller like Mustard Bilton signed his name M. Or Maxor 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 turnedto Gubb again. 

"And did Mr. O'Hara say anything more on the occasion when you signedthe will?" asked the Judge. 

"He said, 'Thank you, '" said Mr. Gubb. "He said, 'Thank you, SherlockHolmes. '"

Higgins and Burch laughed, and even the Judge smiled, and they toldMr. Gubb he could go. 

An hour or three quarters of an hour after he had been called toidentify his signature to the wills, a gentle tap at Mr. Gubb's doorcaused him to look up from the pamphlet--Lesson Four, Rising SunDetective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting--he was reading. 

"Come on right in, " he called, and in answer the door opened and ayoung woman entered. She was a sweet-faced, modest-appearing girl, andwhen she pushed back her veil, Mr. Gubb saw she had been weeping, forher eyes were red. Mr. Gubb hastily pulled out his desk chair. 

"Take a seat and set down, ma'am, " he said politely. "Is thereanything 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, orstolen, and--"

Emotion choked her words. 

"I know it sounds foolish to ask a detective to look for a dog, " shesaid with a poor attempt at a smile, "but--"

"In the deteckative line nothing sounds foolish, " said Mr. Gubb withpoliteness. 

"But Uncle Haddon told me once that if ever I needed a--a detective Ishould come to you, " the young woman continued. "You knew UncleHaddon, 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 shookhands gravely. 

"He gave me my dog, " said Miss O'Hara. "He gave him to me when the dogwas just a puppy, and he called him Waffles. He used to joke about myloving 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 myheart 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. Heis all I'll have to remember Uncle Haddon by. And then--to havehim--go!"

"I should take it a pleasure to be employed upon a case to fetch himback, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"Oh, would you?" cried Miss O'Hara. "I'm so glad! I was afraid a--areal detective might not want to bother with a dog. Of course I'llpay--"

"The remuneration will be minimum on account of the smallness of thecrime under the statutes made and provided, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"But you must let me pay!" urged Miss O'Hara. "One of the things UncleHaddon said was, 'If you ever lose that dog, Dolly, hire DetectiveGubb. Understand? He's a wonderful detective. He'll leave no stoneunturned. He'll find your dog. He'll pry the roof off the dog-house tofind a flea, and when he's found the flea he'll hunt up a blond dog tomatch 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 youto hunt a dog, " said Miss O'Hara. "How much will you charge to findWaffles, 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 hewas purloined away from you?"

Philo Gubb secured a complete history of the dog. Miss O'Hara hadbrought, also, two photographs of Waffles in pleasing poses, and whenshe left, Mr. Gubb accompanied her to the late home of Waffles. It wasthere he gathered the clues over which he was poring with hismicroscope when Mr. Higgins came to ask him to step across the halland to offer him two hundred dollars if he could produce MustardBilton. Mr. Gubb went across the hall. 

"Gubb, " said Judge Mackinnon, when he had introduced the detective toMrs. Kinsey and Mrs. Doblin, "was Mustard Bilton in this office whenyou signed your name to these wills?"

"No, sir, he was not present in person, " said Mr. Gubb. "He waselsewhere. "

"Well, ladies, " said the Judge, "it seems to me that until we can findMustard we cannot proceed. Mr. O'Hara's last will--whichever itis--must be probated. If I took this will to the courthouse, whicheverside happened to be uppermost would be probated first and the otherside would naturally appear on the record as the latest will. It is aresponsibility I do not care to undertake. If you will not agree tocompromise 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'ttalk--find him. Bring Mustard to Judge Mackinnon's office and I'll puttwo hundred dollars in your hand! That's all!"

Detective Gubb returned to his office and resumed his work on his lostdog clues. One by one he submitted the clues to inspection under themicroscope. He tried the five processes of the Sherlock Holmesinductive method on them. By some strange quirk, quite out of keepingwith 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 thelocation of the dog. They were blind clues. Mr. Gubb swept them intoan 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 hadit, " said the Judge with a chuckle. "You should have been in that roomjust now. Cat fights? Those two women all but jumped on each otherwith 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 amproceeding on my way at the present time to help discover where thedog is. "

"Hope you find the poor child's pet, " said the Judge as he turned offin the opposite direction. 

Mr. Gubb proceeded to the late home of Haddon O'Hara. He followed thebrick walk to the back of the house. He was already familiar with thepremises. 

The dog-house--the only recently painted structure in theneighborhood--stood opposite the kitchen door. It was perhaps threefeet in height and four feet long, with a pointed roof. As a door ithad an open arch, and at one side of this was a staple to which achain could be attached. The grass in front of the dog-house was wornaway, leaving the soil packed hard. The detective, arriving at thedog-house, walked around it, gazing at it closely. 

The inductive method had failed--as it always failed for Mr. Gubb--andhe meant now to try following a clue in person, if he could find aclue to follow. Mr. Gubb dropped to his hands and knees and creptaround the dog-house, seeking a clue hidden in the grass. When hereached the front of the dog-house he paused. 

"Ye look that like a dog I was thinkin' ye'd howl for a bone, " saidMrs. 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 saidhaughtily. "Those not understanding them should be seen and notheard. "

"An' hear the man!" cried Mrs. Mullarky. "Does a dog-house drive allof 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 yewish! 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 andexamined the floor of the house. There was straw on it, but nothingeven remotely suggesting a clue. No dog thief had left a glove there. Mr. Gubb began to back out, and as he backed his head touchedsomething softer than a pine board. He craned his long neck and lookedupward. Tacked to the inside of the roof of the house was a longenvelope. Mr. Gubb put up his hand and pulled it loose. Then he backedinto the daylight. He sat on the bare spot before the dog-house andexamined 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 ofMrs. Mullarky, Philo Gubb jumped to his feet and made for the Illinoisside of the long bridge as rapidly as his long legs could carry him. He reached the old cattle-shed and there he found Mustard Biltonseated at the door, smoking a cob pipe in lazy comfort. 

"Come for the dog?" asked Mustard carelessly. "Sort of thought you'dcome for him about now. Been expectin' you the last couple o' days. "

"Expecting me?" said Philo Gubb. "I've been doing deteckative work onthis case--"

"Yes, Had' O'Hara reckoned you'd detect around awhile before you gottrack of me, " said Mustard without emotion. "He says, when I'd signedthat 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 thecattle-shed on the Illinoy side, ' he says, 'and keep him there untilGubb comes for him. Take a day or so, maybe, ' he says, 'for Dolly toremember I told her to get Gubb, and take Gubb a day or two to scroogeround 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 youGubb would want to see what was inside the empty can before he'd startout to find the feller. You just sit quiet an' wait till Gubb snoopsround enough, ' he says, 'and he'll come. '"

"You have possession of the Waffles dog at the present time?" askedDetective Gubb. 

"In yonder, " said Mustard, pointing over his shoulder. "Say, what'sthe 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'llremunerate you to twenty dollars also. Fetch the dog. "

Mr. Gubb, quite properly, left Mustard and Waffles in his own officewhile he visited Mr. Higgins and Mr. Burch, collecting two hundreddollars from each. Then he turned Mr. Mustard Bilton over to them. 

"You signed those wills of O'Hara's, " said Mr. Burch when all hadgathered in Judge Mackinnon's office. "Do you know which you signedlast?"

"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 towardhim. 

"It wasn't this one, " he said positively. 

"Ah, ha!" cried Lawyer Higgins, turning the paper over. "Then it wasthis one you signed last!"

"No, " said Mustard, glancing at the Doblin side of the paper. "Isigned this'n the same time as I signed the other side of it. I signedboth these the first day of the month. The one I signed last I signedon the second of the month. "

"Ah, yes!" said Judge Mackinnon, looking at a document he had takenfrom 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'Haraevery 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--sameday O'Hara hired me to steal the dog. Well, I guess I'll be takin' thedog 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 aprofessional secret if you told us how you found this document?"

"In the pursuit of following my deteckative profession, " saidDetective Gubb, "according to Lesson Six, Page Thirty-two. "

THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE

Any one reading a history of the detective work of Philo Gubb, thepaper-hanger detective, might imagine that crime stalked abroadendlessly in Riverbank and that criminals crowded the streets, butthis would be mere imagination. For weeks before he took on the caseof the Anonymous Wiggle, he had been obliged to revert to hisside-line of paper-hanging and decorating. 

Four hundred of the dollars he had earned by solving the mystery ofthe missing Mustard and Waffles he had paid to Mr. Medderbrook, together with five dollars for a telegram Mr. Medderbrook had receivedfrom Syrilla. This telegram was a great satisfaction to Mr. Gubb. Itbrought the day when she might be his nearer, and showed that the faircreature 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 gladlyMiss Petunia Scroggs when she came to his office in the Opera HouseBlock and said: "Mr. Gubb? Mr. Philo Gubb, the detective? Well, myname is Miss Petunia Scroggs, and I want to talk to you aboutdetecting 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 sodone gladly and in good shape. At the present moment of time, I'mengaged upon a job of kitchen paper for Mrs. Horton up on EleventhStreet, but the same will not occupy long, as she wants it hung overwhat is already on the wall, to minimize the cost of the expense. "

"Different people, different ways, " said Miss Scroggs, smilingsweetly. "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 akitchen 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 ratesain't too high. Now, first off, I ain't ever been married; I'm amaiden 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, " saidMiss 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 MissPetunia gently. "You ought to be ashamed of it. "

"Yes, ma'am, " said Philo Gubb, "but you was conversationally speakingof 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 ofmind I have had, but I won't have it much longer if this AnonymousWiggle keeps on writing me letters. "

"Somebody named with that cognomen is writing letters to you like aBlack Hand would?" asked Mr. Gubb eagerly. 

"Cognomen or not, " said Miss Scroggs, "that's what I call him or heror whoever it is. Snake would be a better name, " she added, "but Imust 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 writtenin a hand evidently disguised by slanting the letters backward, andhad been mailed at the Riverbank post-office. 

"Hum!" said Mr. Gubb. "Lesson Nine of the Rising Sun DeteckativeAgency's Correspondence School of Deteckating gives the full rulesand regulations for to elucidate the mystery of threatening letters, scurrilous letters, et cetery. Now, is this a threatening letter or ascurrilous letter?"

"Well, it may be threatening, and it may not be threatening, " saidMiss Scroggs. "If it is a threat, I must say I never heard of a threatjust like it. And if it is scurrilous, I must say I never heard ofanything that scurriled in the words used. Read it. "

Philo Gubb pulled the letter from the envelope and read it. It ranthus:--

 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. Insome respects it did resemble an angle-worm. 

Philo Gubb frowned. "The advice of the inditer that wrote this letterseemingly appears to be sort of unexact, " he said. "'Most every bookis 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 tomyself I did until I started to open a book. I went to the book-caseand 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 openedmy Bible and turned to page fourteen there wasn't any page fourteen init. Page fourteen is part of the 'Brief Foreword from the Translatorsto the Reader, ' so I thought maybe it had got lost and never beenmissed. So I took up another book. I took up Emerson's Essays, VolumeTwo. "

"And what did you read?" asked Philo Gubb. 

"Nothing, " said Miss Scroggs, "because I couldn't. Page fourteen wastore out of the book. So I went through all my books, and every pagefourteen was tore out of every book. There was only one book in thehouse 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 ofwater, 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, justto 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 upand 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. Gubbstudied 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 facethat no Scroggs ever lived wherever that says they didn't live, " saidMiss 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 ofthreatening 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 theletter on top of those he had previously read. It was signed with thewiggle like the others. 

"Speaking as a deteckative, " he said, "I don't see anything into theseletters yet that would fetch the writer into the grasp of the law. Arethey all like this?"

"If you mean do they say they are going to murder me, or do they callme names, " said Miss Scroggs, "they don't. Here, take them!"

Mr. Gubb took the remaining letters and read them. There were about adozen of them. While peculiar epistles to write to a maiden lady offorty-five years, they were not what one might call violent. Theywere, 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 readthem all. "I don't see much of a deteckative case into them. If I wasto get letters like these I wouldn't worry much about them. I'd letthem come. "

"You may say that, " said Miss Petunia, "because you are a man, and bigand strong and brave-like. But when a person is a woman, and livesalone, and has some money laid by that some folks would be glad enoughto 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 moreand more nervous. If they said, 'Give me five thousand dollars or Iwill kill you, ' I would know what to do, but when a letter comes thatsays, like that one does, 'Swedish iron is largely used in themanufacture of upholstery tacks, ' I don't know what to think or whatto do. "

"I can see to understand that it might worry you some, " said Mr. Gubbsympathetically. "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 outa 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 Ilive in and a farm I rent. Pa left me money and property worth aboutten 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 yourneighbors 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 aregetting at, but on one side I have no neighbors at all, and on theother side is Mrs. Canterby. I guess she comes to my house oftenerthan anybody else. "

"I am acquainted with Mrs. Canterby, " said Mr. Gubb. "I did a job ofpaper-hanging there only last week. "

"Did you, indeed?" said Miss Scroggs politely. "She's a real nicelady. "

"I don't give opinions on deteckative matters until I'm sure, " saidMr. Gubb. "She seems nice enough to the naked eye. I don't want to getyou to suspicion her or nobody, Miss Scroggs, but about the only clueI can grab hold of is that first letter you got. It said to look onpage fourteen, and all the pages by that number was torn out of yourbooks--"

"Except my cook-book, " said Miss Petunia. 

"And a person naturally wouldn't go to think of a cook-book as a realbook, " said Mr. Gubb. "If you stop to think, you'll see that whoeverwrote that letter must have beforehand tore out all the page fourteensfrom the books into your house, for some reason. "

"Why, yes!" exclaimed Miss Scroggs, clapping her hands together. "Howwise you are!"

"Deteckative work fetches deteckative wisdom, " said Mr. Gubb modestly. "I don't want to throw suspicion at Mrs. Canterby, but Letter NumberOne points at her first of all. "

"O--h, yes! O--h my! And I never even thought of that!" cried MissPetunia admiringly. 

"Us deteckatives have to think of things, " said Philo Gubb. "And so wewill say, just for cod, like, that Mrs. Canterby got at your books andripped out the pages. She'd think: 'What will Miss Petunia do when shefinds she hasn't any page fourteens to look at? She'll rush out toborrow a book to look at. ' Now, where would you rush out to borrow abook 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 youlooked 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. Gubbtriumphantly. "So, then what? If I was in her place and I had writtena letter to you, meaning to give you a threat in a roundabout way, andit went dead, I'd write some foolish letters to you to make you thinkthe whole thing was just foolishness. I'd write you letters aboutweather and tacks and cats and lime and trout, and such things, tothrow you off the scent. Maybe, " said Mr. Gubb, with a smile, "I'djust copy bits out of a newspaper. "

"How wonderfully wonderful!" exclaimed Miss Petunia. 

"That is what us deteckatives spend the midnight oil learning theRising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School lessons for, "said Mr. Gubb. "So, if my theory is right, what you want to do whenyou get back home is to rush over to Mrs. Canterby's and ask to borrowa 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 doorfor her. He felt particularly gracious. Never in his career had hebeen able to apply the inductive system before, and he was wellpleased with himself. His somewhat melancholy eyes almost beamed onMiss Petunia, and he felt a warm glow in his heart for the poor littlething who had come to him in her trouble. As he stood waiting for MissScroggs to gather up her feather boa and her parasol and her blackhand-bag, he felt the dangerous pity of the strong for the weak. 

Miss Petunia held out her hand with a pretty gesture. She was fullyforty-five, but she was kittenish for her age. There was somethingalmost girlish in her manner, and the long, dancing brown curls thathung below her very youthful hat added to the effect. When she hadshaken Mr. Gubb's hand she half-skipped, half-minced out of hisoffice. 

"An admirable creature, " said Mr. Gubb to himself, and he turned tohis microscope and began to study the ink of the letters under thatinstrument. His next work must be to find the identical ink and theidentical 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 astrong blue in other places, with grainy blue specks. He decided, rightly, that this "ink" had been made of laundry blue. The paper wasplain note-paper, glossy of surface and with blue lines, and, in theupper left corner, the maker's impress. This was composed of threefeathers with the word "Excellent" beneath. The envelopes were of theproper size to receive the letters. They bore an unmistakable odor oftoilet 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 weretightening around Mrs. Canterby, and Mr. Gubb put on his hat and wentout. He went to Hod Dusenberry's store. Mr. Dusenberry sat behind thecounter. 

"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 thirdcall for ink I've had in less'n two months. I been meanin' to lay inmore ink right along and it allus slips my mind. I told Miss Scroggswhen she asked for ink--"

"And what did you tell Mrs. Canterby when she asked for ink?" askedMr. 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, " saidDetective Gubb seriously. "What did Mrs. Canterby say when she askedfor ink and you didn't have none?"

"She didn't say nothin', " said Mr. Dusenberry, "because she neverasked me for no ink, never! She don't trade here. That's all aboutMrs. Canterby. "

The Correspondence School detective had been leaning on the show-case, and with the shrewdness of his kind had let his eyes search itscontents. In the show-case was writing-paper of the very sort theAnonymous Wiggle letters had been written on--also envelopes strangelysimilar 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 offyou 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 thisinto 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 marriedalready I dare say 'Tunie would have worried me into matrimony beforenow. 'Tunie's trouble is that everybody knows her too well--men allkeep out of her way. But she's a dandy, 'Tunie is. They tell me thatwhen 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 newplumbing put in her house, just so's the feller would have to comewithin 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 tellme she don't do nothin' much now but set around the house and think upnew ways to git acquainted with men that ain't heard enough of her tostay 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 nowthat 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. Witha timid bachelor's extreme fear of designing women, Mr. Gubb dreadedanother meeting with Miss Scroggs. Only his faithfulness to hisCorrespondence School diploma had power to keep him at work on theAnonymous Wiggle case, and he walked thoughtfully toward the home ofMrs. 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 thatpaper 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 toMiss Scroggs--"

"Is she here?" asked Mr. Gubb with a hasty glance toward his avenuesof escape. 

"She just run in to borrow a book to read, " said Mrs. Canterby, "andshe's having some trouble finding one to suit her taste. She's in mylib'ry sort of glancing through some books. "

"Does--does she glance through to about near to page fourteen?" askedMr. Gubb nervously. 

"Now that you call it to mind, " said Mrs. Canterby, "that's about howfar 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 realdisappointed I didn't have it. "

Mr. Gubb wiped the perspiration from his face. He too would have likedat that moment to have seen a copy of "Weldon Shirmer, " and to haveread what stood at the top of page fourteen. 

"If it ain't too much trouble, Mrs. Canterby, " he said, "I wish youwould sort of fetch that Myra book out here without Miss Scroggs'sknowing you done so. I got a special reason for it, in my deteckativecapacity. And I wish you wouldn't mention to Miss Scroggs about mybeing here. "

"Land sakes!" said Mrs. Canterby. "What's up now? Miss Scroggs she'sright interested in you, too. She made inquiries of me about you whenyou was working here. She says she thinks you are a real handsomegentleman. "

Mrs. Canterby laughed coyly and went out, and Mr. Gubb dropped into achair and wiped his face again nervously. His eye, falling on thekitchen table, noted a sheet of writing-paper. It was the same styleof paper as that on which the Anonymous Wiggle letters had beenwritten. He bent forward and glanced at it. In blue ink evidently madeof indigo dissolved in water, was written on the sheet a recipe. Thewriting, although undisguised and slanting properly, was beyond doubtthe same as that of the Wiggle letters. When Mrs. Canterby returnedto 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 whomwrote this?"

"Petunia wrote it, " said Mrs. Canterby promptly, "and whatever are youbeing so mysterious for? There's no mystery about that, for it's hermince-meat recipe. "

"There is often mystery hidden into mince-meat recipes when leastexpected, " said Mr. Gubb. "I see you got the book. "

He took it and turned to page fourteen. At the top of the page werethe words, completing a sentence, "--without turning a hair of hishead. " Then followed the first complete sentence. It ran: "'A womanlike 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 andaffection in fiction tales, " he said. 

"Fond of!" exclaimed Mrs. Canterby. "Far be it from me to say anythingabout a neighbor lady, but if Petunia Scroggs ain't crazy over loveand marriage I don't know what. She'd do anything in the world to geta husband. I recall about Tim Wentworth--Furnaces Put In andRepaired--and how hungry Petunia used to look after him when he wentby in his wagon, but she couldn't get after him because she hasn't afurnace in her house, but the minute he hung up the sign 'ChimneysCleaned, ' she was down to his shop and had him up to the place, and Iknow 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 whenhe went to the roof to clean the chimney she stuck her head in thefireplace and talked up the flue at him. "

"Goodness!" said Mr. Gubb again. "I guess I'll go on my way and lookat 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'svoice calling Mrs. Canterby, and coming nearer and nearer, and hefled. 

At Higgins's book-store he stopped and asked to see a copy of "WeldonShirmer, " and turned to page fourteen. "'Fate, '" ran the first fullsentence, "'has decreed that you wed a solver of mysteries. '" Mr. Gubbshivered. This was the mysterious passage Miss Scroggs had meant tobring to his eyes in an impressive manner. He was sure of one thing:whatever Fate had decreed in the case of the heroine of "WeldonShirmer, " Philo Gubb had no intention of allowing Fate to decree thatone particular Correspondence School solver of mysteries should marryMiss Petunia Scroggs. He hurried to his office. 

At the office door he paused to take his key from his pocket, but whenhe tried it in the lock he found the door had been left unlocked andhe opened the door hastily and hurried inside. Miss Petunia Scroggswas sitting in his desk-chair, a winning smile on her lips and "Myra'sLover, or The Hidden Secret, " in her lap. 

"Dear, wonderful Mr. Gubb!" she said sweetly. "It was just as you saidit 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 livesuch thrilling lives! Ah, me!" she sighed. "When I think of how nobleand how strong and how protective such as you are--"

Mr. Gubb kept his bird-like eyes fixed on Miss Petunia's face, but hepawed 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 heturned the key. His feet hurried to the stairs and down to the neareststreet almost falling over Silas Washington, seated on the loweststep. 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 youhear 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 toher: '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 ladyis, 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 largegreen volume open on his knees, reading a paragraph of some ten lines. He had read this paragraph twenty times before, but he never tired ofreading 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 belengthened by at least one line, which would say that he had "_m_. Syrilla Medderbrook, " and since his escape from Petunia Scroggs andher wiles, and the latest telegram from Syrilla, he had reason for thehope. As Mr. Gubb had not tried to collect the one hundred dollars duehim from Miss Scroggs, he had nothing with which to pay Mr. Medderbrook more on account of the Utterly Hopeless mining stock, butunder his agreement with Mr. Medderbrook he had paid that gentlemanthirty-seven dollars and fifty cents for the last telegram fromSyrilla. 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 thatcontained the short but interesting reference to himself. 

The book with the green cover was "Iowa's Prominent Citizens, " sixthedition, 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 inreading there how great he was. We all do. We are never so sure we aregreat 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 andSiluria Botts, 1897, " and that he is not yet "_d. _" There are some ofus who are never sure we are not "_d. _" except when we see our namesin the current volume of "Who's Who, " "Who's It, " or "Iowa's ProminentCitizens. "

Outside Philo Gubb's door a man was standing, studying that part of"Iowa's Prominent Citizens" devoted to the town of Riverbank. The manwas not as young as he appeared to be. His garments were of a youthfulcut and cloth, being of the sort generally known as "College YouthStyle, " but they were themselves no longer youthful. In fact, the manlooked seedy. 

Notwithstanding this he had an air--a something--that attracted andheld the attention. A cane gave some of it. The extreme good style ofhis Panama hat gave some of it. His carriage and the gold-rimmedeyeglasses with the black silk neck-ribbon gave still more. When, however, he removed his hat, one saw that he was partly bald and thathis reddish hair was combed carefully to cover the bald spot. 

The book in his hand was a small memorandum book, and in this he hadpasted the various notices cut from "Iowa's Prominent Citizens" andone--only--cut from "Who's Who, " relating to citizens of Riverbank. Hehad done this for convenience as well as for safety, for thus he hadall the Riverbank prominents in compact form, and avoided thenecessity 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" asThe Bald Impostor. 

The Bald Impostor, to explain him briefly, was a professionalrelative. 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, ofone of the great mentioned in "Who's Who. " He was as variable as achameleon. Sometimes he was a son, cousin, or nephew of some onebeginning with _A_, and sometimes of some one beginning with _Z_, butusually of some one with about twelve to fourteen lines in "Who'sWho. "

The great theory he had established and which was the basis of all hisoperations was this: "Every Who's Who is proud of every other Who'sWho, " and "No Who's Who can refuse the son, cousin, or nephew of anyother Who's Who five dollars when asked for one dollar and eightycents. "

The Bald Impostor's operation was simple in the extreme. He went toRiverbank. He found, let us say, the name of Judge Orley Morvis in"Who's Who. " Then he looked up Chief Justice Bassio Bates in thelatest "Who's Who, " gathered a few facts regarding him from thatuseful volume, and called on Judge Orley Morvis. Having a judge toimpose upon he began by introducing himself as the favorite nephew ofChief Justice Bassio Bates. 

"Being in town, " he would say, when the Judge was mellowed by thethought that a nephew of Bassio Bates was before him, "I rememberedthat you were located here. My uncle has often spoken to me of youradmirable decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer calf case. "

The Higgins-Hoopmeyer case is mentioned in "Who's Who. " The Judgecan't help being pleased to learn that Chief Justice Bassio Batesapproved of his decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer case. 

"My uncle has often regretted that you have never met, " says the BaldImpostor. "If he had known I was to be in Riverbank he would have senthis copy of your work, 'Liens and Torts, ' to be autographed. "

"Liens and Torts" is the one volume written by Judge Orley Morvismentioned in "Who's Who. " The Judge becomes mellower than ever. 

"Ah, yes!" says the Judge, tickled, "and how is your uncle, may Iask?"

"In excellent health considering his age. You know he isninety-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 hisage, you know. Such things heal slowly. "

"No! I didn't hear of that, " says the Judge, intensely interested. Heis going to get some intimate details. 

"Oh, it was quite dreadful!" says the Bald Impostor. "He dropped avolume 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 leadsall others. Even as he invents details of the sore toe, you see, heintroduces 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 soretoe and advising the mother to try the Denver climate. And the nextthing the Judge knows the Bald Impostor is telling that he is now onhis way back from Denver to Chicago. 

So then it comes out. The Bald Impostor sits on the edge of his chairand becomes nervous and perspires. Perspiring is a sure sign a man isunaccustomed to asking a loan, and the Bald Impostor is entitled tostart the first School of Free Perspiring in America. He can perspirein December, when the furnace is out and the windows are open. All hishead pores have self-sprinklers or something of the sort. He is asfree with beads of perspiration as the early Indian traders were withbeads of glass. He mops them with a white silk handkerchief. 

So he perspires, and out comes the cruel admission. He needs just onedollar and eighty cents! As a matter of fact, he has stopped atRiverbank because his uncle had so often spoken of Judge OrleyMorvis--and really, one dollar and eighty cents would see him throughnicely. 

"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 enoughto make up the fare, with one-eighty added. And I couldn't ask you topay 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 whathe did say), "I couldn't think of the nephew of a Chief Justice of theUnited 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 onedollar and eighty cents I gave him five dollars and an autographedcopy of one of my books. He was to send the five back by money-orderthe next day. Unfortunately he seems to have no idea of the flight oftime. For him to-morrow never seems to arrive. For me it is the fivethat does not arrive. The great body of us consider those who give himmore than five to be purse-proud plutocrats. But then we sometimesgive him autographed copies of our books or other touching souvenirs. And write in them, "_In memory of a pleasant visit_. " I _do_ wonderwhat he did with my book!

Judge Orley Morvis was the only Who's Whoer in Riverbank, but the townwas well represented in "Iowa's Prominent Citizens, " and aftercollecting twenty dollars from the Judge the Bald Impostor proceededto 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 aboutBurns. I'm his cousin. Let me see--I'm Jared Burns. Of Chicago. Andmother has been to Denver for the air. " He took out the memorandumbook 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 stepinside 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. Heleaned forward, ready to begin with the words, "Mr. Gubb, my name isJared Burns. Mr. William J. Burns is my cousin--" when there cameanother rap at the door. Mr. Gubb's visitor moved uneasily in hischair, and Mr. Gubb went to the door, dropping an open lettercarelessly on the desk-slide before the Bald Impostor. The new visitorwas an Italian selling oranges, and as Mr. Gubb had fairly to push theItalian out of the door, the Bald Impostor had time to read the letterand, quite a little ahead of time, began wiping perspiration from hisforehead. 

The letter was from the Headquarters of the Rising Sun DetectiveAgency, and was brutally frank in denouncing the Bald Impostor as animpostor, and painfully plain in describing him as bald. It describedin the simplest terms his mode of getting money and it warned Mr. Gubbto be on the outlook for him "as he is supposed to be working in yourdistrict at present. " The Bald Impostor gasped. "A number of victimshave organized, " continued the letter, "what they call the Easy Marks'Association of America and have posted a reward of fifty dollars forthe arrest of the fraud. "

The Bald Impostor glanced toward Philo Gubb and hastily turned theletter upside down. When Mr. Gubb returned, the Bald Impostor wasrubbing the palms of his hands together and smiling. 

"My name, Mr. Gubb, " he said, "is Allwood Burns. I am a detective. Ihave heard of your wonderful work in the so-called Muffins-Mustardcase. "

"Waffles-Mustard, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"I should say Waffles, " said the Bald Impostor hastily. "I consider itone of the most remarkable cases of detective acumen on record. We inthe Rising Sun Detective Agency were delighted. It was a proof thatthe methods of our Correspondence School of Detecting were not shortof the best. "

Philo Gubb stared at his visitor with unconcealed admiration. 

"Are you out from the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency yourself?" heasked. 

The Bald Impostor smiled. 

"I wrote you a letter yesterday, " he said. "If you have not receivedit yet you will soon, but I can give you the contents here and now. Acertain impostor is going about the country--"

Philo Gubb picked up the letter and glanced at the signature. It wasindeed signed "Allwood Burns. " Mr. Gubb extended his hand again andonce more shook the hand of his visitor--this time far more heartily. 

"Most glad, indeed, to meet your acquaintance, Mr. Burns, " said PhiloGubb heartily. "It is a pleasure to meet anybody from the offices ofthe Rising Sun Deteckative Agency. And if you ever see the man thatwrote 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, andagain 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 referto Lesson Seven, 'Petty Thievery, Detecting Same, Charges Therefor. ' Ihave 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 theparagraph with his long forefinger, "'should be not less than tendollars 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-thiefdetecting, and I had to detect for two diems to do it, and that wouldbe twenty dollars, wouldn't it?"

"It would, " said the Bald Impostor. 

"Which is fair and proper, " said Philo Gubb, "but the old gentwouldn't pay it. So I ask you if you'd be kindly willing to go to himalong with me in company and tell him I charged right and according torates 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 manyou'll be glad to meet. He's a prominent citizen gentleman of thetown. His name is Judge Orley Morvis. "

The Bald Impostor gasped. Every free-acting pore on his head workedimmediately. 

"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, tocertify your identical identity. "

He picked up the warning letter from the Rising Sun Agency, and stoodwaiting for the Bald Impostor to arise. But the Bald Impostor did notarise. For once at least he was flabbergasted. He opened and shut hismouth, like a fish out of water. His head seemed to exude millions ofmoist beads. He saw a smile of triumph on Philo Gubb's face. Mr. Gubbwas smiling triumphantly because he was able now to show Judge OrleyMorvis a thing or two, but the Bald Impostor was sure Philo Gubb knewhe was the Bald Impostor. He was caught and he knew it. So hesurrendered. 

"All right!" he said nervously. "You've got me. I won't give you anytrouble. "

"It's me that's being a troubling nuisance to you, Mr. Burns, " saidPhilo Gubb. 

The paper-hanger detective stopped short. A look of shame passedacross his face. 

"I hope you will humbly pardon me, Mr. Burns, " he said contritely. "Iam ashamed of myself. To think of me starting to get you to attend tomy business when prob'ly you have business much more important thatfetched you to Riverbank. "

A sudden light seemed to break upon Philo Gubb. 

"Of a certain course!" he exclaimed. "What you come about wasthis--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, gaspedlike a fish once more. He saw Philo Gubb finish reading thedescription of the Bald Impostor, and then Philo Gubb looked up andlooked the Bald Impostor full in the face. He looked the Bald Impostorover, from bald spot to shoes, and looked back again at thedescription. Item by item he compared the description in the letterwith the appearance of the man before him, while the Impostorcontinued 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. "Quiteidentical 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 mostmarvelously similar in likeness to the description in the letter. Ifyou will take the complimentary flattery of a student, Mr. Burns, Iwill say I never seen no better disguise got up in the world. You area 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 inthe most complimentary tones, "I'd have thought you were this heredescriptioned Bald Impostor himself. "

His visitor moistened his lips to speak, but Mr. Gubb did not give himan opportunity. 

"I presume, " said Mr. Gubb, "you have so done because you are workingupon 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 foryou to call upon me. Us deteckatives don't usually visit around indisguises. "

The visitor moistened his lips again. 

"I wanted to see, " he said, but the words were so hoarse they couldhardly be heard, --"I wanted to see--"

"Well, now, " said Philo Gubb contritely, "you mustn't feel bad that Ididn't take you for that fraud feller right away off. I hadn't readthe letter through down to the description quite. If I had I wouldhave mistook you for him at once. The resemblance is most remarkablyunique. "

"Thank you!" said the Bald Impostor, regaining more of his usualconfidence. "And it was a hard disguise for me to assume. I'm notnaturally reddish like this. My hair is long. And black. And--and mytaste in clothes is quiet--mostly blacks or dark blues. Now the reasonI 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 hadmade one leap and was hidden behind the office desk, for a voice hadcalled, impatiently, "Gubb!" and it was the voice of Judge OrleyMorvis. When Detective Gubb had greeted his new visitor he turned tointroduce 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 placein the room capable of concealing a full-grown human being, and thatwas the space behind the desk. He placed a chair for the Judge exactlyin front of the desk and himself stood in a negligent attitude withone elbow on the top of the desk. In this position he was able to turnhis head and, by craning his neck a little, look down upon the falseMr. Burns. Mr. Burns made violent gestures, urging secrecy. Mr. Gubballayed his fears. 

"I'm glad you come just now, Judge, " he said, "because we can say afew or more words together, there being nobody here but you and me. Ipresume 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 priceis correctly O. K. , " said Mr. Gubb, "because the leading head of theRising Sun Deteckative Agency is right in town to-day, and as soon ashe gets done with a job he has on hand he's going up to see you. Maybeyou've heard of Allwood Burns. He wrote the 'Twelve CorrespondenceLessons in Deteckating' by which I graduated out of the DeteckativeCorrespondence School. "

"Never heard of him in my life, " said the Judge. 

"This here, " said Mr. Gubb, not without pride, "is a personal letter Igot 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 toread it with a certain irritating superciliousness. Almost immediatelyhe began to turn red behind the ears. Then his ears turned red. Thenhis 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 Gubbeagerly. 

"Me? Nonsense!" exclaimed the Judge violently. "Do you think I wouldbe 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 fakerlike 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 thistown, sir!" he exclaimed. 

He slammed the door, and then the Bald Impostor slowly raised his headabove 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 businessof the per diem charge per day fixed up right here. I was going tointroduce him to you. "

"Yes--going to introduce him to me, " said the Bald Impostor. "That wasit. That was why I hid. You were going to introduce him to me, don'tyou 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 youintroduced 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. TheBald Impostor _did_ call on him. "

"Honest?"

"I was there, " said the Bald Impostor. "The Judge gave him twentydollars and a copy of some book or other he had written, and he wrotehis autograph in the book. Remember that. The Judge wrote hisautograph in a book--and gave it to the fellow. I'm telling you thisso you can tell the Judge. Tell him I told you. Tell him the fellow'smother is much better now. Tell him Judge Bassio Bates's toe is quitewell. And then ask him for the twenty dollars he owes you. You'll getit. "

"And you was there?" asked Philo Gubb, amazed. 

"Out of sight, but there, " said the false Mr. Burns glibly. "Justready to put my hand on the fellow--but I couldn't. I hadn't the heartto do it. I thought of the ridicule it would bring down on the poorold 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 thirdsister's adopted child--I am an adopted nephew. And of course youknow he would never have anything to do with his sister after shemarried--ah--General Winston Wells. Not a thing! It was what killed mypoor 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 oldman by arresting the Impostor in his house--by showing that the goodold 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 inDerlingport. "

"In Derlingport?" queried Philo Gubb. 

"In Derlingport, " said the Bald Impostor nervously, "for that is wherehe went. I'll get him there. But half of the thousand dollars isrightfully yours, and you shall have it. "

"Thousand dollars?" queried Philo Gubb in amazement. 

"The reward has been increased, " said the false Mr. Burns. "The--thepublishers of 'Who's Who' increased it to a thousand because the BaldImpostor 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 inDerlingport this afternoon if--if I can get there in time. And ofcourse I _should_ have arrested him here in Riverbank where you areour correspondent and thus entitled to half the reward earned by anyone 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 minuteI get back to Chicago. I'll pick up the Bald Impostor at Derlingportthis afternoon--if--Mr. Gubb, I am ashamed to make an admission toyou. I--"

The Bald Impostor sat on the edge of his chair and pearls ofperspiration came upon his brow. He took out his silk handkerchief andwiped 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 ofcash. I need just one dollar and eighty cents to get to Derlingport!"

"Why, of course!" said Philo Gubb heartily. "All of us get intosimilar or like predicaments at various often times, Mr. Burns. It isa pleasure to be able to help out a feller deteckative in such a timeand manner. Only--"

"Yes?" said the Bald Impostor nervously. 

"Only I couldn't think of giving you only the bare mere sum to get toDerlingport, " said the graduate of the Rising Sun Detective Agency'sCorrespondence School of Detecting, generously. "I couldn't think ofletting 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 thedining-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, chewingthe bite long and well, and then swallowing it with a wonderful up anddown gliding of his knobby Adam's apple. From time to time he turnedhis head and looked at the walls of the dining-room. The time wasSaturday noon, and but one wall was covered with the new wall-paper, anatural forest tapestry paper, with lifelike representations of leafytrees. He had promised to have the Pilker dining-room completed bySaturday night. It seemed quite impossible to Philo Gubb that he couldfinish the Pilker dining-room before dark, and it worried him. 

Other matters, even closer to his heart, worried Mr. Gubb. He had hada great quarrel with Mr. Medderbrook, the father of the fair Fat Ladyof the World's Greatest Combined Shows. Judge Orley Morvis had paidMr. Gubb twenty dollars for certain detective work, but Mr. Gubb hadnot turned all this over to Mr. Medderbrook, and Mr. Medderbrook hadresented this. He told Mr. Gubb he was a cheap, tank-town sport. 

"I worked hard, " said Mr. Medderbrook, "to sell you that UtterlyHopeless Gold-Mine stock and now you hold out on me. That's not theway 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 ofpoliteness, "an easy-mark. In high financial circles the term is shortfor 'easy-market-investor, ' meaning one who never buys stocks unlesshe 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, butthe next day Mr. Medderbrook's colored butler came to Mr. Gubb'soffice with a telegram for which he demanded thirty-six dollars andfifty cents. 

Mr. Gubb trembled with emotion as he paid, for it meant that Syrillawas still losing flesh and that Mr. Dorgan must surely cancel hiscontract 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 anothertelegram. 

"Fifty dollars, please, sah, " he said. 

"What!" cried Mr. Gubb. 

"Yes, sah, " said the negro. "That's the amount Mistah Meddahbrook donesay. "

Mr. Gubb could hardly believe it, but he wrote his check for the fiftydollars 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, thecolored butler again appeared and asked for fifty dollars Mr. Gubb wasworried. 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, onwhich he collected seven dollars and fifty cents. This telegramcontained 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 wouldrapidly recover a part of her lost weight, but he felt as if at themoment he had lost Syrilla. He could not picture her as a sylph of onehundred and fifty pounds. He was worried, indeed, as he sat eating hislunch 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 lookedlike Napoleon Bonaparte gone to seed. 

"If the party you are looking for to seek, " said Mr. Gubb withsomewhat offended pride, "is Mister P. Gubb, him and me are one andthe same party. My name is P. Gubb, deteckative and paper-hanger. "

"Well, youse is the party I'm looking for, " said the stranger. "I gota hunch from Horton, the wall-paper-store feller, that youse was uphere and that youse wanted a helper. Does youse?"

"If you know paper-hanging as a trade and profession and can go towork immediately at once, I could use you, " said Mr. Gubb. "I've gotmore 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 Ibutted in here and saw that there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John on thewall--"

"That what?" asked Philo Gubb. 

"That there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John, on the wall there, " explainedthe stranger. "Don't youse even know the right name of thatwall-paper there, that's been a Six Best Seller for the last threeyears?"

"It is a forest tapestry, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"Sure, Mike!" said the stranger. "And one of the finest youse everseen. Looks like youse could walk right into it and pick hickory nutsoff 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 rollof the tapestry paper in his hand and unrolled a few feet. He pointedto the margin of the printed side of the paper with his oilyforefinger. "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 herepaper, don't he? And that there 7462 is the number of this here foresttap. Pattern, see? And B J--that's Bessie John--that tells youse whatthe coloring is, see? Bessie John is the regular nature coloring, see?They got one with pink trees and yeller sky, for bood-u-wars andbedrooms. That's M S--Mary Sam. "

"It is a very ingenious way to proceed to do, " said Philo Gubb, "andif regular union wages is all right you can take that straight-edgeand trim all them Bessie John letters off this bundle of 7462 BessieJohn 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 oftrimmings and set to work. When Mr. Gubb had completed his modestluncheon he asked his name. 

"Youse might as well call me Greasy, " said the new employee. "I'mgreasier than anything. Got it off'n my motor-boat. "

During the afternoon Philo Gubb learned something of his assistant'simmediate 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 theMississippi. "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 hementioned the Silver Sides. Then he swore in a manner that suited hispiratical countenance exactly. 

He had been floating peacefully down the river with the current, hispower shut off and himself asleep in the bottom of the boat, doing noharm to any one, when along came the Silver Sides, and without givinghim 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, butto fix her up would take more money than he had. So he had hunted ajob in his own line, and found Philo Gubb. 

The Silver Sides, Captain Brooks, owner, was a small packet plyingbetween Derlingport and Bardenton, stopping at Riverbank, which wasmidway between the two. No one knowing Captain Brooks would havesuspected him of running down anything whatever. He was a kind, stout, gray-haired old gentleman. He had a nice, motherly old wife and eightchildren, mainly girls, and they made their home on the Silver Sides. Mrs. Brooks and the girls cooked for the crew and kept the boat asneat as a new pin. Captain Brooks occupied the pilot-house; Tom Brooksserved as first mate, and Bill Brooks acted as purser. Altogether theywere a delightfully good-natured and well-meaning family. It was hardto believe they would run down a helpless motor-boat in mid-river, butGreasy swore to it, and about it. 

During the next few weeks Greasy and the detective worked side byside. Greasy had every night and all Sunday for his own purposes. OnceMr. Gubb met Greasy carrying a large bundle of canvas, and Mr. Gubbimagined Greasy was fitting a mast and sail to the motor-boat. 

On July 15 the Independent Horde of Kalmucks gave a moonlightexcursion on the Mississippi, chartering the Silver Sides for thepurpose. The Kalmucks were the leading lodge of the town, and leadersalso in social affairs. They gave frequent dramatic entertainments--intheir hall in winter, and outdoors in the big yard back of KalmuckTemple in the summer. In the entire history of the lodge there hadnever been so much as an untoward incident, but at eleven o'clock onthe night of July 15 something frightful did occur. It spread itacross the top of the first page of the "Daily Eagle" in the oneshocking word--PIRATES!

The Silver Star had started on the return trip and had reached a pointabout two miles below Towhead Island when a rifle or revolver bulletcrashed through the glass window on the western side of thepilot-house. Uncle Jerry--as most people called Captain Brooks--turnedhis head, stared out at the moonlit waters of the river, and sawbearing down upon him from the northwest a long, low craft. Four menstood in the forward part of the boat, and a fifth sat beside themotor. In the bright moonlight, Captain Brooks could see that all themen wore black masks. He also saw that all were armed, and that fromthe staff at the stern of the boat floated a jet-black flag on whichwas painted in white the skull and cross-bones that have always beenthe insignia of pirates. Even as he looked one of the men in themotor-boat raised his arm: Uncle Jerry saw a flash of fire, andanother 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 pirateswere aboard the barge, lining up the dancers at the points of theirpistols, and preparing to take away their ice-cream money. 

And they did take it. They began at the bow of the barge and walkedto the stern, making one after another of the excursionists deliverhis valuables, and then slipped quietly over the stern of the barge;the pirate craft began to spit and sputter furiously; and the nextmoment it was tearing through the water like a streak of lightning. 

To chase a speed-boat in an elderly river packet would have beennonsense. Uncle Jerry signaled full speed ahead and kept to thechannel, 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' totell 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 youthought it wa'n't nothin', to be pirated right here in the forepart ofthe twentieth century in the middle of the Mississippi River in broaddaylight--"

"'Tain't daylight, " said Uncle Jerry shortly. "It's midnight, andit's goin' to be long past midnight before we git ashore. A man can'tget even part of a night's rest no more. Everybody pirootin' round, stoppin' boats an' stealin' ice-cream money! Makes me 'tarnel mad, itdo. "

"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 comeup because I thought maybe you'd want to hire him right off to findout who was them pirates, and if--"

"Me? Hire a fool detective?" snapped Mr. Brooks. "Why'n't you come upand ask me to throw my money into the river?"

Philo Gubb, although not a dancer, had been on the barge when it wasattacked, because he was a lover of ice-cream. He too had been linedup and robbed. He had been robbed not only of forty perfectly goodcents, but his pirate had seen his opal scarf-pin and had rudely takenit 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. Gubbpressed 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 tryto do some deteckative work onto this case. "

"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" Miss Philomela cried. "And _do_ you think you'll doany good?"

"In the deteckative business, " said Mr. Gubb sternly, "we try to doall the good we can do, whether we can do it or not. " And he turnedaway and sought a more secluded spot. 

The affair of the pirate craft caused a tremendous sensation inRiverbank. Before eight o'clock the next morning every one inRiverbank seemed to have heard of the affair, and when, at eighto'clock, Philo Gubb entered the vacant Himmeldinger house, which hewas decorating, he started with surprise to see Greasy already there. He had not expected to see him at all. But there he was, trimming theedge of a roll of Dietz's 7462 Bessie John, and as he turned to greetMr. Gubb, the detective saw in Greasy's greasy tie what seemed to behis own opal scarf-pin. 

"That there, " said Mr. Gubb sternly, "is a nice scarf-pin you've gotinto your tie. "

"Ain't it?" said Greasy proudly. "Me new lady-friend give it to melast 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 wastedwhile the Chief of Police and the County Sheriff tried to discoverwhich was compelled by law to fight pirates, but the Chief of Policefinally put the job on the Sheriff's hands, and the old Fourth of Julycannon was loaded with powder and nails and put on the bow of thegood ferry-boat Haddon P. Rogers, a posse of about three hundred menwith shotguns and army muskets was crowded aboard, and thepirate-catcher got under way. 

This was, of course, Monday, and Monday the Silver Sides made herusual down-river trip to Bardenton, leaving in the morning andreturning late at night. It was usually two o'clock at night when shetied up at the Riverbank levee, but this time two o'clock came withoutthe Silver Sides. There was a good reason. As the packet neared HogIsland, about two miles below the Towhead, on her return trip, UncleJerry heard the sputter of a gas engine and saw dart out from belowHog Island the same low black craft that had carried the piratesbefore. Even before the craft was within range, the revolvers began tospit at the Silver Sides. 

"Well, dang them pirates to the dickens!" exclaimed Uncle Jerry. "Ifthey be goin' to keep up this nonsense I'm goin' to get down-right madat 'em. " But he signaled the engine-room to slow down, as if it wasgetting to be a habit with him. One of the upper panes, just above hisline of vision, clattered down as he pulled the bell-rope. 

At the first volley, Ma Brooks and her daughters dashed into thegalley and slammed the door. The remainder of the male Brookses madetwo jumps to the coal bins and began burrowing into the coal, and thethree non-Brooks members of the crew dived into openings between thesmall piles of cargo stuff and tried to become invisible. When thepirates clambered aboard the Silver Star they seemed to be boarding adeserted vessel. They worked quickly and thoroughly. Piece by piecethey threw the cargo of the Silver Sides into the motor-boat untilthey uncovered the three members of the crew, who leaped from theirhiding-place like startled rabbits and loped wildly to places ofgreater safety. Half a dozen revolver shots followed them. The piratesthen leisurely reëmbarked, fired a parting salute, and glided away. 

The next morning Greasy appeared at work with his pocket full ofSultana raisins, and offered some to Mr. Gubb. 

"Thank you, " said Mr. Gubb; "raisins are one of my foremostfondnesses. Nice ones like these are hard to find obtainable. "

"You're right they are, " said Greasy. "Me lady-friend give me theselast 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 beenpirated again, and he had learned that a half-dozen boxes of Sultanaraisins had formed part of the cargo of the Silver Sides. He looked atGreasy severely. 

"Your lady-friend is considerably generous in giving things, ain'tshe?" he said, trying to hide the guile of his questions in anindifferent tone. "You ain't cared to mention her name to me as yetto this time. "

"Ain't I?" said Greasy carelessly. "Well, I ain't ashamed of her. Hername is Maggie Tiffkins. She's some girl!"

"You spend most of your evenings with or about her, I presume tosuppose?" asked Mr. Gubb carelessly. 

"You bet!" said Greasy. "Me and her is going to get married beforelong, 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 Isort of hired a barn to do it in, and so long as I had to have thebarn 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'tknow when. "

"I presume you ain't spent much time on your motor-boat of latetimes, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"Ain't had no time, " said Greasy briefly. 

Detective Gubb, as he pasted paper on the walls of the Himmeldingerhouse, turned various matters over and over in his mind. His cluespointed as clearly to Greasy as the Great Dipper points to the NorthStar. He had decided to join the posse on the Haddon P. Rogers whenshe set out on her next voyage of vengeance, but now he changed hismind. 

A barn, large and vacant, would be an excellent place in which to hidethe proceeds of a pirate raid. Lest--possibly--the barn shouldrecognize him and hide itself, Mr. Gubb first went to his office inthe Opera House Building, disguised himself as a hostler, with cowhideboots, a cob pipe, a battered straw hat, and blue jean trousers. Lesthis face be recognized by the barn he wore a set of red under-chinwhiskers, which would have been more natural had they been a palershade of scarlet. Thus disguised, he crept softly down the Opera HouseBuilding stairs and ran full into Billy Getz, Riverbank's best exampleof 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 Irecognize you, Mr. Gubb. Now, about this pirate business--it has tostop. "

"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 happeningon my Mississippi River. I hate to see the dear old river get a badname, Mr. Gubb. I'm just organizing the Dear Old River Anti-PirateLeague--to suppress pirates, you know. And we want you as our officialdetective. 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 theKalmuck summer show. You go straight up this street--or no, _you'd_ goin the opposite direction, and three miles into the country, and backacross the cemetery, as advised in Lesson Thirteen, wouldn't you?"

"There are only twelve lessons, " said Mr. Gubb haughtily and stalkedaway. He went, however, to Hampton's barn, climbed in through thealley window, and searched the place. 

The barn contained nothing of interest. A cot stood at one end of thehay-loft; and stretched across the wall at the other end was a canvason which was a partly completed scene of a ruined castle, withmountains in the distance. On the floor were pails and brushes, bundles of dry colors, glue, and the various articles needed by ascene-painter. Mr. Gubb looked behind the canvas. No loot wasconcealed 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 returnfrom Derlingport. The next morning Mr. Gubb awaited Greasy's comingimpatiently, 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 ofhis'n, " he said crossly. "He's gettin' worse and worse. Them first twoscenes I painted he kicked enough about: said the forest scene lookedlike a roast-beef sandwich, and asked me if the parlor scene was abar-room or a cow-pasture, but when I do a first-class old bum castleand he wants to know if it's a lib'ry interior, I get hot. And sowould youse. "

 * * * * *

For three nights the Silver Sides, now protected by the presence ofpart of the armed posse, was not disturbed, but on the fourth nightthe low, black pirate craft boldly attacked the steamer, carrying on arunning fight. The pirates did not venture to board her, but thepiratical business was getting to be an unbearable nuisance to UncleJerry Brooks. A dozen small craft were armed and patrolled the river. On the fourteenth night, when the Silver Sides was up-river on herDerlingport trip, the Jane P. , the opposition steamer making the sameports, was boldly attacked by the pirates and lost the most preciouspart of her cargo. It was then determined to exterminate the piratesat any cost. 

Once only had a steamer been attacked above the town, and this seemedto indicate that the pirates had their nest below Riverbank, and thiswas the more likely as the river below town gave far greateropportunities for hiding the pirate boat during the day. There wereseveral sloughs or bayous and many indentations of the shore-line, while above the town there was none. Above the town the shores slopedback from the river's edge, and even a skiff on the shore could beseen from across the river. The search for the pirate vessel wastherefore 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 ofthe Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting. He was in a condition bordering on despair. Each day he donned adisguise and visited the barn, and saw nothing but scenery and morescenery. 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 himwhether he was the pirate, or at least go to Maggie and ask her whereshe had obtained the scarf-pin and the raisins. And that would nothave been detecting. Nothing like it was mentioned in the twelvelessons. 

A reward of One Hundred Dollars (rewards are always in capitalletters) had been offered by the Business Men's Association for thecapture of the pirate craft, but no one seemed likely to earn thereward. 

"Say, honest!" said Greasy, "if my boat was workin' I'd go out alonein 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 groceryfeller where Mag gets them raisins you liked, and I tried to trade herfor a ring to Calloway, the jewelry man what Mag got my opal scarf-pinof, but I can't get rid of her nohow. If I had her workin' I'd findthem 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 andMr. Calloway. The one admitted selling Mag the raisins, and the otherthe pin, and thus two perfectly good clues went bad. Mr. Gubb turnedtoward 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 onalong. "

Billy Getz escorted him aboard the Haddon P. Rogers and led himstraight 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 manysolicitations he has consented to accompany us. We will have thepirate 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 theposse on the upper deck on either side, scanning the shores carefully. Occasionally the ferry-boat backed and ran closer to shore to permit anearer inspection of some skiff or to view some log left on the shoreby 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 betweenan island and the Illinois shore. The wooded bank of the island rosedirectly from the water, some of the water-elms dipping their rootsinto the river. There was no place where a boat could be hidden, andthe ferry steamed slowly along. Billy Getz poked solemn-faced fun atMr. Gubb in the most serious manner, and Mr. Gubb was sternly haughty, knowing he was being made sport of. His eyes rested with bird-likeintensity on the wooded shore of the island. 

"Now, this combination of paper-hanging and detecting has itsadvantages, " said Billy Getz, with a wink at the Sheriff. "When aman--"

Philo Gubb was not hearing him. 

"The remarkableness of the similarity of nature to art is quite oftenremarkable to observe, " he said to the Sheriff, "and is seeming togrow more so now and then from time to time. That piece of section ofwoods right there is so naturally grown you might say it was tornright 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 verduresain't _like_ 7462 Bessie John; they _are_ 7462 Bessie John. "

The Sheriff stared keenly at the spot indicated by Detective Gubb'sextended hand and, turning suddenly, said a word to the pilot in thehouse at his side. The ferry veered and ran in toward the island. Notuntil the boat was nearer the shore than a front row of the orchestraseats to the back drop of a theater did the others on the boatunderstand. Then the trick was seen and understood. The trees of theshore were not all trees. One group was a painted canvas, copiedcarefully by Greasy from Dietz's 7462 Bessie John at the behest ofBilly Getz. Stretched across a small indentation of the shore it madea safe screen, unrecognizable a few rods from the shore, and behindthis bit of painted forest they found the long, low, black piratecraft--Billy Getz's motor-boat. 

When the Sheriff had torn down the canvas and his men had hoisted andheaved the pirate craft to the broad deck of the ferry, Billy Getz wasgone. Riverbank never saw him again, and a half-dozen of hisroistering companions also disappeared completely. 

"Sometimes occasionally, " said Philo Gubb, as the ferry turned towardtown, "the combination of paper-hanging and deteckative work isdetrimental to one or both, as the case may be, but at otheroccasional times they are worth one hundred dollars. "

"That's right!" said the Sheriff suddenly. "You get that reward, don'tyou?"

"Most certainly sure, " said Philo Gubb. 

HENRY

Philo Gubb entered his office and placed on his cutting-table theexpress package he had found leaning against his door. With histrimming-knife he cut the cord that bound the package. It contained, he knew, the new disguise for which he had sent twenty-five dollars tothe Rising Sun Detective Agency's Supply Bureau, and he was eager toexamine his purchase, which, in the catalogue, was known as "No. 34. French Count, with beard and wig complete. List, $40. 00. Special priceto our graduates, $25. 00, express paid. "

Mr. Gubb wore a face more solemn than usual, for he had just had badnews. He had hidden his distrust of Mr. Medderbrook, the father of hisbeloved Syrilla, and had carried that gentleman the one hundreddollars 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 deeplyaffected was shown by the fact that he did not ask Mr. Gubb to pay anypart 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 theexaggeratedly thin-waisted frock coat from the package, but there camea tap on the door and he hastily covered the coat with the wrappingpaper 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 closingthe 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 commandat your service, " admitted Mr. Gubb. "Won't you take a seat onto achair?"

"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 forgetting it back--you'd take a job like that and say nothing about itto 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 businessbut yours and mine, would it? It would be a quiet little deal betweenyou and me, and nobody would know anything about it. Hey?"

"Exactly sure, " said Philo Gubb. "The deteckative business isconducted 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 handedme a man ever had handed him. I was coming along down one of thesealleys between streets this morning and--"

He stopped short and turned to the door. Some one had tapped on thepanels. Mr. Smith opened the door the merest crack and peered out. Heclosed it again instantly. 

"Somebody to see you, " he whispered. "What I've got to say I want keptprivate. I'll be back. "

He opened the door and slipped out, and as he went a second visitorentered. The newcomer was somewhat tall and thin, and his hair waslong, so long it fell upon his shoulders in greasy curls. He wore arather ancient frock coat and a black slouch hat, and a touch of stylewas added by his gray kid gloves, although the weather was averagesummer weather. His face was thin and adorned by a silky brown beard, divided at the chin and falling in two carefully arranged points. Heclosed 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 familiarwith. I am Alibaba Singh. "

"Pleased to meet your acquaintance, " said Mr. Gubb. "What can I aim todo for you?"

Mr. Alibaba Singh brought a chair close to Mr. Gubb's desk and seatedhimself. He leaned close to Mr. Gubb--so close that Mr. Gubb scentedthe rank odor of cheap hair-oil--and whispered. 

"Everything is to be strictly confidential--most strictlyconfidential. That's understood?"

"Most absolutely sure. "

"Of course! Now, you must have heard of me--I've made quite a stirhere in Riverbank since I came. Theosophical lectures--first lessonsin 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 havebeen unusually successful in Riverbank. " He stopped short and lookedat Philo Gubb suspiciously. "You don't believe in transmigration, doyou?" 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 soulsof the bad enter lower forms of life. If you were a bad man and diedyou would become a--a dog, or a horse, or--or something. You don'tbelieve that, do you?"

"Most certainly not at all!" said Mr. Gubb. 

"I--I teach it, " said Alibaba Singh uneasily. "It is part of myteaching. "

"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. Allthis is strictly confidential, of course? Thanks. I can speak rightout, Mr. Gubb? I have in the past taught some things I did notabsolutely believe. "

"Quite likely true, " admitted Philo Gubb. 

"We--we occulists get carried on by our eloquence, " said AlibabaSingh. "We--we go too far sometimes. Far too far! I admit it. I admitthat 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. Iwouldn't say that. But we--we lead them farther than we have goneourselves, perhaps. You understand?"

"Almost absolutely, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"Just so! Mr. Gubb, one of my clients was greatly interested intransmigration of souls--greatly interested. She was interested in allthings mystical--in reincarnation; in the return of the spirits of thedead; in everything like that. I--really, Mr. Gubb, it was hard for meto keep up with her. "

"And you proceeded to go ahead and teach her about this transmigrationof souls that you don't believe into yourself, " said Mr. Gubbhelpfully. 

"And when she found out you was a faker she set out to sue you for hermoney back. "

"No. Not that!" said Alibaba Singh energetically. "That's not it. Shedoesn't want her money back. She--she's _almost_ satisfied. She'swilling to accept what had happened philosophically. She's almostcontent. Mr. Gubb, the reason I came to you was that I did not wanther to land in--"

Alibaba Singh looked carefully around. 

"I don't want her to land in jail, " he whispered. "It would maketrouble 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'sliable to be arrested for stealing a--"

Alibaba Singh stopped short and arose hastily. Some one had knocked onMr. Gubb's door. Alibaba Singh moved toward the door. 

"I don't want to talk about this with anybody around, " he saidnervously. "I'll come back later. Not a word about it!"

He brushed past Mr. Gubb's new visitor as he went out, and Mr. Gubbarose to greet the newcomer. 

This third visitor was a large, red-faced man with an extremely loudvest. He wore a high hat of gray beaver, and a large but questionablediamond sparkled on his finger. He walked directly up to Mr. Gubb andshook 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 Stevefor short--Three-Finger Steve, " he added, holding up his right hand toshow that one finger was missing. "I'm in the show business. Ever hearof John, the Educated Horse? Ever hear of Hogo, the Human Trilobite?Ever hear of Henry, the Educated Pig? Well, them are me! That's myshow. 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 loosefrom my side-show tent, and when they found him he had eat about halfof the marble cornerstone out from under the Dawkins Building. He'scrazy after white marble. It's like candy to him. So Dawkins attachesmy show and sends the Sheriff with an execution to grab the wholebusiness unless I pay for a new cornerstone. Said it would cost twohundred 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 wholecaboodle. _Ex_-cept Henry, the Educated Pig. That's why I'm here. ThatSheriff's attachment is out against that pig; it was a felony toremove that pig from Derling County while that attachment was outagainst 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 fromDerling County. It was stole from me. Greasy Gus stole it. Augustus P. Smith, my bally-hoo man, stole Henry, the Educated Pig, and made aget-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, "andthat'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 backto the Sheriff in Derling County. See?"

"Do you want I should arrest Greasy Augustus P. Smith?" asked PhiloGubb. 

"Not on your life!" said Three-Finger vigorously. "No arrests! Youjust 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 toofat, and that's a fact. I've been thinking right along I'd have todiet 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 countyfair. 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 piginto a farm wagon at Derlingport, and I thought Gus was trying tosalvage the pig for me, like one feller will help out another in timeof trouble. So I come down to Riverbank on the train, expecting Guswould show up at the hotel and tell me where the pig was hid. Allright! Gus shows up. 'Gus, ' I says, 'where's Henry?' Gus lets on to beworried. 'Stolen!' he says. 'Some guy lifted him when I wasn'tlooking. ' 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 toyou, but after you have talked to me like that I'll never give himback. 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 aboutHenry 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, " saidThree-Finger, "you can send Henry back to the Sheriff. But I won'thave 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 fifteenminutes before Mr. Gus P. Smith, who must have been waiting across thestreet, came in. He closed the door and locked it. 

"I saw old Three-Finger come out of this building, " he said. "What didhe want?"

"He came upon confidential business which can't be mentioned, " saidMr. Gubb. 

"Just so!" said Mr. Smith. "He wanted you to find Henry, the EducatedPig. Now, listen to me. I skipped out with that pig to doThree-Finger a favor and save part of his show for him, and that's thetruth, but he don't believe it--not him! He called me a thief andworse, he did. He had the nerve to say I wanted that pig myself, tostart in business with, and that's a lie. No man can insult me likethat, Mr. Gubb. Look at this--"

He took from his pocket a couple of feet of whipcord and handed it toPhilo Gubb. 

"What is this?" asked Mr. Gubb. 

"That's all that's left of Henry, " said Greasy Gus. "That's his totalremains up to date. That's the rope I led Henry with after I quit thewagon of a farmer that rode us out of Derlingport. That cord was tiedto Henry's left hind foot. Look at the end without the knot--was thatcut 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 wascut. No matter. The main thing I want is for you to find Henry. How'sthat?"

"Under them certain specifications, " said Philo Gubb, "I can take upthe 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 usfrom his wagon I hitched this whipcord to Henry's leg and drove himalong the road. After while I hit this town of Riverbank. I thoughtmaybe the police would be looking for Henry. So I took to an alleyinstead of a regular street, and along we came. We came down thealley, and of a sudden I began to wonder what I'd do with Henry nowI'd got him into town. It would look kind of suspicious for me andHenry to go to a hotel. 'I know what I'll do, ' I says to myself: 'WhatI want to do is to go alone and rent a barn and say I'm thinking ofbuying 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 staplein it, and I tied one end of the whipcord to the staple and went downthe alley to find a barn I could put Henry in. About the fifth barn Itried I found a place for Henry and then I went back to get him, andhe was gone!"

"And no clue?" asked Mr. Gubb. 

"This tag end of the rope, " said Greasy Gus. "And that's all I knowabout where Henry went, but my idee is somebody come along and seenhim 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 fourfive-dollar bills. I'm no millionaire, but I'll blow that much forthe satisfaction of getting back at Three-Finger Watts. Is it a go?"

"Under them certain specifications, " said Mr. Gubb, using the exactwords he had used before, "I can take up the case and get right towork onto it. "

Mr. Smith shook hands to bind the bargain and departed. 

He had hardly disappeared before Mr. Alibaba Singh opened the doorcautiously, put his head inside and then entered. 

"I thought that man would stay forever, " he said with annoyance. "Heisn'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 areinterested into in the slightest form or manner, " Mr. Gubb assuredhim, 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 togethersharply. 

"It isn't _possible_!" he exclaimed with irritation and with noconnection 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 almostwept. 

"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 bepossible! I haven't the power. I know I haven't the power. "

"You'd ought to try to explain yourself more plain to yourdeteckative, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"I'll tell you everything!" said Alibaba Singh in a sudden burst ofconfidence. "Mr. Gubb, I am an impostor. I am a fraud. I am not aHindoo. My name is Guffins, James Guffins. I did sleight-of-hand stuffin a Bowery show. I took up this mystic, yogi, Hindoo stuff because Ithought it would pay and it was easy to fool the dames. They fell forit fast enough, and I made good money. But I'm no yogi. I'm no miracleman. I couldn't bring a man back to life in his own form or any otherform, could I?"

"Undoubtedly hardly so, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"Glad to hear you say it, " said Mr. Guffins with relief. "A man getsso interested in his work--and there is a lot you can learn in booksabout this Hindoo mumbo-jumbo business--but of course I couldn't bringMr. Lippett back. I'm no spiritualistic medium. I couldn't materializethe spirit of a pig. "

As he said the word, Mr. Guffins shuddered. It had come outunintentionally, 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. Sheformed a class to study yogi philosophy. We went deep into it. I hadto read up one week what I taught them the next. The lights turned lowand my Hindoo costume helped, of course. Air of mystery, strangeperfumes, 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 ahearty eater. Rather--rather an over-hearty eater. He must have livedto eat. "

Mr. Guffins sighed again. 

"Of course there was remuneration, " Mr. Guffins went on. "For me, Imean. To pay for my time. Mrs. Lippett was most generous. I _told_her, " he said angrily, "I couldn't guarantee to materialize her deadhusband. I said to her: 'Mrs. Lippett, we had better not try it. Mypower 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 hislife was not all it should have been on earth? What if his spirit haspassed into a lower form as a punishment for misdeeds? You will pardonme for speaking so of him, but men are weak, ' I said, 'and he may nowbe a--a bird of the air. It would be a shock, ' I said, 'to see himchanged into a bird of the air. '"

Mr. Guffins paused and groaned. 

"But she would have it, " he went on. "She would have me make theattempt. 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'swhy I came to you. Everybody knows you are a detective. I want youto--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, " saidpoor Mr. Guffins; "as if you had received word that I was a fraud, andthat 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 itcouldn't be. "

"That what couldn't be?" asked Mr. Gubb. 

"The room was darkish, " said Mr. Guffins. "The lights were dim. Istood in the light of the red globe, and it gave me a weird look. Iheld 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 thebell 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 herchair, breathless with emotion. The curtains were drawn across thedoor at the back of the room. You could have heard a pin drop. We werealone, just we two. I felt creepy myself. I turned toward thecurtains. 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 countyfairs--came under the curtains and grunted twice. It stood there andraised its head and grunted twice. "

Mr. Guffins wrung his hands nervously. 

"It--it surprised me, " he said, --"but only for a minute. I said, 'Getout, you beast!' and was going to kick it, but Mrs. Lippett roseslowly from her chair. She half-tottered for an instant, and then shecovered her face with her hands. She began to weep. 'I knew it!' shesobbed; '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 forfood. It was awful! Mrs. Lippett couldn't stand it. She wept. 'He wasalways so hungry in his other life, ' she said. 'I can't begin to bestern with him now. To-morrow, but not when he has just come back tome. Come, Henry!'

"She went into the dining-room, " continued Mr. Guffins, "and Henry--orthe pig, for it _couldn't_ have been Henry--followed her. And what doyou think it did?"

"What?" asked Mr. Gubb. 

"It went right to the dining-room table and climbed into a chair. Pigsdon't do that, do they? But you don't believe it could have beenHenry, do you? It got up in the chair and _sat_ in it, and put itsfront feet on the table and grunted. And Mrs. Lippett hurried aboutsaying, 'Oh, Henry! Oh, poor, dear Henry!' and brought a plate offried hominy and sliced apple and set it before him. And he wouldn'ttouch it! He wouldn't eat. So Mrs. Lippett wept harder and got anapkin and tied it around the pig's neck. Then the pig ate. He almostclimbed into the plate, and gobbled the food down. And then he gruntedfor more. And Mrs. Lippett wept and said: 'It's Henry! He always didtie a napkin around his neck--he spilled his soup so. It's Henry! Itacts just like Henry. He never did anything at the table but eat andgrunt. ' And so, " said Mr. Guffins sadly, "she thinks it's Henry. She'sfixed 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 GUESTBEDROOM 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? Shesays 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, inhis store. He was coming down the back stairs in the dark, and hisfoot caught in a piece of rope and he fell. And--this pig came intothe 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 hadleft. The two ends joined perfectly. 

"I'll get you out of this fix, and fix it so Mrs. Lippett won't havethat pig onto her hands, " he said. "I'll go tell her what a fraud of afaker 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 ifreading the words from the end of the whipcord, "it was tied to thealley fence. Tied to an iron staple, " he said, "by a short, stoutishman with a ruddish face. " He took up the other piece of cord andlooked at it closely. "And the pig jerked the cord in two and wentinto the yard and in at the open door and into the room. And what ismoreover also, the pig is an educated show-pig, and its name isHenry, and--"

"And what?" asked Mr. Guffins eagerly. 

"If you want to get rid of the pig out of Mrs. Lippett's house, allyou have to do is to write to the Sheriff of Derling County, Derlingport, Iowa, and you needn't trouble yourself into it nofurther. "

"Great Scott!" cried Mr. Guffins. "And you can tell all that from thatpiece 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 ourdiplomas. The deteckative mind is educated up to such things. "

BURIED BONES

When Mr. Gubb went to the house of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook to pay himthe money he had received for solving the mystery of Henry, theEducated Pig, he found the house closed, locked and deserted, and onthe door was pinned a card that said simply, and in a neathandwriting:--

 Gone to Patagonia. Will be back in one hundred years. Please wait. 

This was signed "Jonas Medderbrook, " but not until the next day didMr. Gubb learn from the "Riverbank Eagle" that Mr. Medderbrook haddecamped after selling his friends and neighbors an immense amount ofstock in the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine, of which Mr. Gubb had a verylarge and entirely worthless quantity. 

The departure of Mr. Medderbrook was a great shock to Mr. Gubb, as itseemed to indicate that serious complications in his wooing of Syrillamight result from it, especially as he had only heard from Syrillathrough Mr. Medderbrook, but, disturbed as he was by this fear, he waseven 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 anylover who loved a half-ton of beauty only to have her shrink to fivepounds less than nothing. For several days he remained locked in hisoffice, hardly touching food, and then, with a sad heart he resumedhis customary occupations. He would never have learned the truth aboutSyrilla had it not been for a tramp called Chi Foxy. 

Chi Foxy made the long walk from Derlingport, and night found him onthe outskirts of Riverbank. He begged a hand-out from one of the smallhouses and hunted a place to spend the night. He found it underneath atool-house alongside the railway tracks, and that it had been used assleeping-quarters by other tramps was shown by the heap of crushedstraw, 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 backfor a comfortable smoke. 

Just outside the rear of his sleeping quarters ran the wireright-of-way fence, which was also the back fence of a small piece ofproperty on which stood a rickety old house. The house was devoid ofpaint, but it was a cheerful sight from where Chi Foxy reclined. Hehad a clear view of the kitchen window, from which the light came in ayellow glow, and he could see a woman cooking something in afrying-pan on a kitchen stove. A man sat beside the stove, his elbowson his knees, waiting for supper. 

Chi Foxy almost decided to climb the fence and knock at the door ofthe 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 waitand to use the house as his breakfasting-place. This required nolittle strength of character, for the perfume of fried veal chops waswafted to his nostrils, but he held himself in hand, and when he hadburned his pipeful of tobacco he curled down and went to sleep. 

He was awakened by the sound of voices near at hand, and peered outbetween the ties. The night was not dark. The voices had come from aman and a woman, and as Chi Foxy watched them the man began digging inthe sandy soil with a spade. He made quite a hole in the soil andturned to the woman. 

"Hand me the bag, " he said. 

The woman dragged a heavy gunny-sack to the edge of the hole. The manuntwisted the neck of the bag and up-ended it over the hole. Therefollowed the rattle of bones, one striking against the other, and theman handed the bag back to the woman. Chi Foxy peered eagerly at thehole. He saw bones. He looked up at the stars and saw it must be wellafter midnight. He saw the man hastily spade the soft soil over thebones, saw him scatter loose dry top-sand over the completed job, andsaw the man and woman hurry back to the dark house. 

The next morning Chi Foxy left his resting-place and climbed over thewire fence. He looked curiously at the spot where the weird burial hadtaken place, and went on toward the house. He knocked on the door, andit was opened by the man--a tall, lanky, coarse-bearded specimen. 

"Say, friend, how about givin' a feller some breakfast?" asked ChiFoxy. 

"How 'bout it, ma?" asked the man, turning his head. "Got somebreakfast 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 somemeat, if that'll do him, " she said, and Chi Foxy seated himself. Thebreakfast she brought him on a chipped plate was all he could havedesired. There was a half of a veal cutlet, browned to a nicety, aportion of fried potatoes, a thick slice of bread without butter, anda cup of coffee. Chi Foxy ate and drank. 

"Thanks, folks, " he said. "I won't forgit you. " And he continued onhis way toward Riverbank. 

"So you're here, " said the first policeman he met. "Right on time withthe first frosty breeze, ain't you? Well, my friend, you can blow outof town on the breeze, just like you blew in. No more free board andgentle stone-pile massage in this town. Drift along, bo!"

He turned up the first cross-street. He went from house to housebegging a hand-out, but the residents were colder than the weather. Atthe twelfth house he knocked on the back door, but he was beginning tofeel hopeless. A thin streamer of smoke was issuing from the kitchenchimney, and where there is smoke there is food; but here, instead ofa hard-faced woman coming to the door, a man put his face to thekitchen window and looked out. It was the face of a tall, thin manwith a long neck and prominent Adam's-apple, and as the man peered outof the window he looked something like a flamingo. He opened the door. 

"Come right into the inside, " said Philo Gubb pleasantly, "and heatyourself up warm. The temperature is full of cold weather to-day. "

Chi Foxy entered. He looked around the kitchen. There was a brisk firein the stove, but no sign of food. 

"Say, pard, " he said, "how about giving me a bite? I haven't had abite 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 oftime before there is any eats here, for what's burning into that stoveis the unvalueless trimmings off of wall-paper. I'm not the regularresider 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 isMister P. Gubb, graduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency'sCorrespondence School of Deteckating in twelve lessons. Andpaper-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 famousestgum-shoe fellers in the world. Me and this here great detectivefeller--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 allthem 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 meand 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 hewas--took after his father like a cat after fish, he did. Me and oldShermlock we used to hide things--candy and--and oranges--and letlittle Shermlock go and detect where they was. He was a great littlecodger, he was. "

He noticed that Mr. Gubb was looking at him sharply. He looked down athis ragged garments. 

"Disguise, " he said briefly. "Nobody'd know a swell dresser like I amin this rig, would he? Say, pard, how about giving me a half-dollar toget 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 wasevident that P. Gubb doubted the authenticity of the tramp-detective. 

"In times of necessary need, " he said slowly, "I often assume onto methe disguise of a tramp, but I don't assume it onto me so completethat I go asking for money to buy breakfast. "

"You don't, hey?" said Chi Foxy scornfully. "Well, you must be a swelldetective, you must. When I get into a tramp disguise I'm a tramp allthrough. "

"Most certainly, " said P. Gubb. "And so am I. But there's a differenceinto the way you are doing it now. You ain't deteckating now. You arecoming at me as one deteckative unto another. "

Chi Foxy laughed. 

"Say, " he said, "I'd like to see this here Correspondence School yougraduated 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 mewas _never_ to be anything but what I was disguised to be as long as Iwas disguised to be it. That's right. Maybe I'd be disguised as atramp 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 swelldinner. 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 andhim was like twins, we was, and yet when I was in this tramp disguiseand 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 wouldturn and say, 'Watson, throw this tramp downstairs. ' And Watson woulddo it. Yes, sir! I've been so sore and bruised from being throwndownstairs when I went to report to Shermlock that sometimes I'd haveto 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 andShermlock, when we had on tramp disguises we _were_ tramps. Why, Iused to go home and my valet would throw me downstairs. I was sothoroughly disguised, and I kept actin' so trampish while I had thedisguise on, that he used to come at me with a golluf stick and whackme on the head. And when I got into my own room I kept right on beinga tramp. Took off my clothes--still a tramp. Took off my falsewhiskers--still a tramp. I'd be there stark naked and I'd still be atramp. Yes, sir. That's the kind of detective disguising I did. Andthen I'd take a bath. Then I was myself again. Yes, sir. When I'dscrubbed myself in the bathtub I figured I'd got rid of the trampdisguise right down into the skin, and I'd be myself again--and notuntil 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 theDook'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 andtook my bath and rigged all up in swell clothes, and called mylimmy-seen automobile, and when the feller I hired to drive thelimmy-seen come to open the door of the car at the Dook's palace Idodged. Yes, sir, I dodged like I thought he was going to hit mebecause I hadn't no business in my own limmy-seen automobile. That wasfunny, wasn't it? So I went up the steps into the Dook's palace, andthe gentleman he had to open the door opened the door, and he calledout my name and up come the Dookess--Mrs. Dook of Sluff, as they callher, but I always called her Maggie, like she called me Mike. So shesays to me, 'Mike, I'm mighty glad to see you here. We're going to havea swell party. ' And I started to say back something pleasant, but whatI 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 withinterest. 

"That's what worried me, " said Chi Foxy. "I didn't mean to say it. Ijust said it against my will, as you might say. But I guess shethought I was tryin' to be smart, for she just says, 'Naughty, naughty, Mike, ' and whistled to the Dook to come and blow me off tothe feeds. So the Dook come and led me into the dining-room, andstacked me up against the table for a stand-up feed. Swell feed, bo!Samwiches till you couldn't rest--ham samwiches and chicken samwichesand tongue samwiches and club samwiches and--and all kinds ofsamwiches. And what did I do? I grabbed half a dozen of them samwichesand 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 meon the back and said, 'Good joke, ol' chap, good joke!' So that passedoff all right. Then I went into the jool room, because the Dook hadtold me his son, the Dookette, or what you might call the littleDookerino, was in there. So in I went, and the first thing I knew Iwas hiding one of the Dook's gold crowns inside my vest. In a minutein 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, " saidPhilo Gubb. 

"Pshaw, that was nothing but the appetizer, " said Chi Foxy. "Well, inhe 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 therough edges of the bulge it wasn't samwiches because them dookalsamwiches is all boneless. So he puts his hand on my shoulder and hesays, 'Mike, ain't you carryin' the joke a bit too far?' That's whathe says, and I wish you could have heard how sad his voice was. Hesays, 'You know me, Mike, and you know that anything I've got isyours--_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 andI 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 myfavorite crown bulging out your vest. ' 'I don't mean that, Dook, oldchap, ' I says; 'I mean take me up to your bood-u-war or the bathroomand give me the twice-over. Something's wrong with me, and I don'tknow what, but some of my tramp disguise must be sticking to mesomewhere. ' So we went up to the bathroom and he went over me withthis one-eyed monocule he always wore, and then he went over me with areading-glass, and then he went over me with a microscope, but hecouldn't see a speck of tramp disguise on me. Not a speck. 'Keeplookin'!' I says. 'It must be there somewhere, Dook, ' I says, 'or Iwouldn't act so pernicious. ' So he begun again, and all at once I hearhim 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 trampwhiskers that had got in my ear, and the minute he pulled it out I wasall right again and no more tramp than he was. So you see that's theway I keep acting tramp as long as I have even one hair of trampdisguise about me. Come on, be a good feller and let me have half adollar to get some feeds with. "

P. Gubb put his hand in his pocket and withdrew it again. "I muchadmire 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 centsit's nothing but part of the disguise, ain't it?"

"Now, see here, bo!" said Chi Foxy earnestly. "Don't you go andmisunderstand me. I didn't mean to be mistook that way. I _do_ wantfifty 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 itbetter. "

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 agood feller. "

"A deteckative like you are oughtn't to need twenty-five cents so badas that, " said P. Gubb. "A deteckative acquainted with the knowing ofa Dook and of Sherlock Holmes don't have to beg. "

Chi Foxy actually gritted his teeth. He was angry with himself. He hadtalked too well. He had proved so thoroughly that he was a detectivethat P. Gubb would not believe he was hungry. 

"See here, bo, " he said suddenly, "is this straight about you being adetective, or is that a bluff, too?"

Philo Gubb showed Chi Foxy the badge he had received upon completionof his correspondence course of twelve lessons. 

"I'm the most celebrated and only deteckative in the town ofRiverbank, Iowa, " he said seriously, "and you can ask the Sheriff orthe Chief of Police if you don't believe me. I'm working right nowonto 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 thinkI'm a deteckative you can ask Farmer Hopper. He hired me for to getthe 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, whenlodged in jail, would be fed, and he was hungry and getting hungrierevery 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. Idetected it myself, because nobody else could. Even my old friendShermlock Hollums couldn't detect it, but I did. I'm a--a murderer, Iam. 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'vetried. I'm a fugitive, that's what I am, and right behind me, nomatter 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 getaway 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 comeback 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 NEEDTWENTY-FIVE CENTS SO BAD AS THAT"]

"That's what I did, " said Chi Foxy. "I did it here. Take me down tothe lock-up. Me and you can hold me all right. "

"It's somewhat out of the ordinary common run for a feller to be adeteckative and the criminal murderer he's chasing both at once, " saidP. Gubb doubtfully. 

"That's so, ain't it?" agreed Chi Foxy. "It looks that way. But factsare 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 explainthem. You see, bo, I was a young feller when I murdered this oldmiser--"

"What did you say his name was?" asked P. Gubb. 

"Smith, " said Chi Foxy promptly. "John J. Smith, and he lived righthere in this town. And I murdered the old feller and got away. Nobodycared much whether the old feller was murdered or not, and nothin'much might have been said of it except that the old feller had anephew. 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 wasone of them unsolved mystery cases--one of them cases that never getsolved because no detective is smart enough to solve it. Nobody knewwho killed old John J. Smith but me, and I wasn't going around tellingit. "

"I should think not, " said P. Gubb. 

"No, sir!" said Chi Foxy. "So I was as safe as a babe unborn. Iskipped up the river to Minneapolis, and nobody thought of lookin' forme, 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 allright--nice trip--until we got to Dubuque, and then what happened? Theold steamboat blew up. I went sailin' up in the air like one of thesehere 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 knockedmy senses out of me. When I come to I didn't know what had happened. Ididn't remember a thing out of my past--not a thing. I was like anewborn babe. I didn't have an idea or a memory left in me. When theypicked 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'dbeen or anything. So some kind folks took me and sent me tokinder-garden, and I started in to learn my A-B-C's and things likethat. I learned fast, and pretty soon I was in the high school, andpretty soon I graduated, and the name I graduated under was MikeHiggs, Higgs being the name of the family that adopted me. "

"Mike Higgs?" repeated P. Gubb, trying to remember a celebrateddetective of that name. 

"Yes, " said Chi Foxy, "they named me Mike after the old gran'pa of thefamily. He was a butcher, and they wanted me to be a butcher, but Iwanted to be a detective. So Gran'pa Higgs he lent me enough money togo to London and take lessons in detecting from Shermlock Hollums, andI did. He says to me, when I'd finished the course, 'Mike, I hate tosay it, but I can't call you a rival. You're so far ahead of me indetective 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 tosolve The Great Mystery?'

"'What's that?' I says. 

"'Why, the greatest unsolved mystery of the world, ' he says. 'Themystery of the Riverbank, Iowa, miser. '

"So he told me what he knew about it, " continued Chi Foxy, "and I setto work. I come here to Riverbank to hunt up a clue, and I found justone 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, wherehe had been killed. I picked up the speck of red pepper andmicroscoped 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 ita breeze come and blowed it away, and I never saw it again, but thatwas enough for me. 'Red pepper, ' I says, 'partly burned, ' and I beganto tremble. 'Cause why? 'Cause I never was able to get smoking tobaccostrong enough to suit me, and to make it taste snappy I always put alittle red pepper in my pipe. I turned as white as a sheet. 'Redpepper partly burned!' I says to myself. 'Nobody in the world but meputs red pepper in his tobacco. '

"Well, sir, I started tracing myself back and I found out I was themurderer. And I was the detective after the murderer. I was everybodyconcerned. In a moment I was overcome by criminal fear and I fled. Ifled all over Europe, Asia, and Africa, and wherever I went I wasright after myself, ready to arrest me. "

Chi Foxy paused and glanced at P. Gubb questioningly. With a solemnface the great Correspondence School detective blinked his bird-likeeyes 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 arrestyourself, but it is against the instructions in Lesson Six of theRising Sun Correspondence School of Deteckating for a graduate toarrest a man without a good clue, and the only clue you had was blowedaway. "

For a moment this seemed to annoy Chi Foxy, but his face suddenlybrightened. 

"Clue?" he said. "Say, friend, I wouldn't ask you to arrest me on anysuch clue as a speck of red pepper. No, sir! But I've got a cluethat'll mean something. I can tell you right where I buried that oldmiser's bones, I can. You go up the river road until you come to atool-house on the railway, and just back of the tool-house is adwellin'-house--old and unpainted. All right! Right in that yard, close to the railway fence, the bones is buried. Now, you turn me overto the law, and you go up there--"

"We'd best go up there immediately first before anything else, " saidPhilo Gubb, starting to remove his paper-hanger's apron. "Putting offclues until sometime else is against Paragraph Four, Lesson One. Ifyou come up there with me--"

"Look here, " said Chi Foxy, "will you buy me a feed on the way up if Igo with you?"

"Quite certainly sure, " said P. Gubb, and so it was agreed. 

The paper-hanger detective and the criminal-detective stopped atHank's restaurant and Chi Foxy ate a heavy meal, and then led the wayto the tool-house, and pointed over the wire fence to the spot wherethe bones of the murdered miser were supposed to repose. 

"Right there!" he said, but when P. Gubb had climbed the fence and hadturned 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 noticedthat the ground at his feet had lately been spaded. He stooped to lookat it, and then walked to the weather-beaten house and knocked. Alanky, 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 Itrouble 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 stilltraces of soft, sandy soil. Mr. Gubb walked to the rear of the yardand jabbed the spade into the soft soil. It struck something hard. Ina moment or two Mr. Gubb had the evidences of crime completelyuncovered. There were bones buried there--many bones. Mr. Gubb lookedup and wiped his brow. Then he looked down at the bones. One was askull. Mr. Gubb stared at it. It was indeed a skull, but it was theskull of a calf. All the bones were calf bones--not bones of the humancalf, but bones of the veal calf. Mr. Gubb turned his head and saw thelong lanky man approaching. 

"All right, " said the long, lanky man, "I give up. You've got me. Isurrender. 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 afterI've owned up. You know as well as I do--I'm the man that stole FarmerHopper'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 wishyou'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 thecriminal classes, " he said with oracular yet modest simplicity. 

 * * * * *

The next day, when Mr. Gubb returned to his paper-hanging job he foundChi Foxy waiting for him. 

"Boss, " he said with a laugh, "I showed you where that murdered man'sbones 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 livingskeleton. I'm so hungry that a square meal would make me feel likeSyrilla, that Fat Lady I seen at Derlingport a couple of days ago. "

"What's that you remarked about?" asked Mr. Gubb, pinning Chi Foxywith his eye. "Did I understand the meaning of what you said was thatyou saw a Fat Lady named Syrilla?"

"At Derlingport, " said Chi Foxy. "A swell guy named Medderbrook giveme a meal and a ticket to the big show. It was a performance _deluxe_, so to say. Special attraction, bo. You'd have laughed your headoff. This here Syrilla Fat Lady got married to the Living Skeleton inthe 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 thatwas the headquarters of his business of paper-hanging and decoratingas well as the office of his detective business, and opened the door acrack. It was still early in the morning, but Mr. Gubb was a modestman, and, lest any one should see him in his scanty attire, he peeredthrough the crack of the door before he stepped hastily into the halland captured his copy of the "Riverbank Daily Eagle. " When he hadsecured the still damp newspaper, he returned to his cot bed andspread himself out to read comfortably. 

It was a hot Iowa morning. Business was so slack that if Mr. Gubb hadnot taken out his set of eight varieties of false whiskers daily andbrushed them carefully, the moths would have been able to devour themat leisure. 

P. Gubb opened the "Eagle. " The first words that met his eye causedhim to sit upright on his cot. At the top of the first column of thefirst 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 withthe most intense interest. Foul play meant the possibility of anopportunity to put to use once more the precepts of the Course ofTwelve Lessons, and with them fresh in his mind Detective Gubb waseager to undertake the solution of any mystery that Riverbank couldfurnish. 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 MississippiRiver until dead. "

He propped the paper against the foot of the cot bed and was stillreading when some one knocked on his door. He wrapped his bathrobecarefully about him and opened the door. A young woman withtear-dimmed eyes stood in the doorway. 

"Mr. P. Gubb?" she asked. "I'm sorry to disturb you so early in themorning, Mr. Gubb, but I couldn't sleep all night. I came on a matterof business, as you might say. There's a couple of things I want youto do. "

"Paper-hanging or deteckating?" asked P. Gubb. 

"Both, " said the young woman. "My name is Smitz--Emily Smitz. Myhusband--"

"I'm aware of the knowledge of your loss, ma'am, " said thepaper-hanger detective gently. 

"Lots of people know of it, " said Mrs. Smitz. "I guess everybody knowsof it--I told the police to try to find Henry, so it is no secret. AndI want you to come up as soon as you get dressed, and paper mybedroom. "

Mr. Gubb looked at the young woman as if he thought she had goneinsane under the burden of her woe. 

"And then I want you to find Henry, " she said, "because I've heard youcan do so well in the detecting line. "

Mr. Gubb suddenly realized that the poor creature did not yet know thefull extent of her loss. He gazed down upon her with pity in hisbird-like eyes. 

"I know you'll think it strange, " the young woman went on, "that Ishould ask you to paper a bedroom first, when my husband is lost; butif he is gone it is because I was a mean, stubborn thing. We neverquarreled in our lives, Mr. Gubb, until I picked out the wall-paperfor our bedroom, and Henry said parrots and birds-of-paradise andtropical flowers that were as big as umbrellas would look awful on ourbedroom wall. So I said he hadn't anything but Low Dutch taste, andhe got mad. 'All right, have it your own way, ' he said, and I went andhad Mr. Skaggs put the paper on the wall, and the next day Henrydidn't come home at all. 

"If I'd thought Henry would take it that way, I'd rather had the wallbare, Mr. Gubb. I've cried and cried, and last night I made up my mindit was all my fault and that when Henry came home he'd find a decentpaper on the wall. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Gubb, that when thepaper was on the wall it looked worse than it looked in the roll. Itlooked crazy. "

"Yes'm, " said Mr. Gubb, "it often does. But, however, there'ssomething you'd ought to know right away about Henry. "

The young woman stared wide-eyed at Mr. Gubb for a moment; she turnedas white as her shirtwaist. 

"Henry is dead!" she cried, and collapsed into Mr. Gubb's long, thinarms. 

Mr. Gubb, the inert form of the young woman in his arms, glancedaround with a startled gaze. He stood miserably, not knowing what todo, when suddenly he saw Policeman O'Toole coming toward him down thehall. Policeman O'Toole was leading by the arm a man whose wrists boreclanking handcuffs. 

"What's this now?" asked the policeman none too gently, as he saw thebathrobed Mr. Gubb holding the fainting woman in his arms. 

"I am exceedingly glad you have come, " said Mr. Gubb. "The onlymeaning into it, is that this is Mrs. H. Smitz, widow-lady, faintedonto 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 meansof escape, O'Toole pushed his prisoner into the room and took the limpform of Mrs. Smitz from Mr. Gubb, who entered the room and closed thedoor. 

"I may as well say what I want to say right now, " said the handcuffedman as soon as he was alone with Mr. Gubb. "I've heard of DetectiveGubb, off and on, many a time, and as soon as I got into this troubleI said, 'Gubb's the man that can get me out if any one can. ' My nameis Herman Wiggins. "

"Glad to meet you, " said Mr. Gubb, slipping his long legs into histrousers. 

"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 hisbony shoulders, looked at Mr. Wiggins with keen eyes. 

"Well, just because him and me had words in fun, " said Mr. Wiggins, "Ileave 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 allhe says. When I went and told Hen Smitz I'd murder him as sure asgreen apples grow on a tree, I was just fooling. But this foolpoliceman--"

"Mr. O'Toole?"

"Yes. They gave him this Hen Smitz case to look into, and the firstthing 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 widerand assisted Mrs. Smitz to a chair. She was still limp, but she was abrave little woman and was trying to control her sobs. 

"Through?" O'Toole asked Wiggins. "If you are, come along back tojail. "

"Now, don't talk to me in that tone of voice, " said Mr. Wigginsangrily. "No, I'm not through. You don't know how to treat a gentlemanlike 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 HenSmitz, and I didn't murder him and I want you to take my case and getme out of jail. "

"Ah, stuff!" exclaimed O'Toole. "You murdered him and you know youdid. What's the use talkin'?"

Mrs. Smitz leaned forward in her chair. 

"Murdered Henry?" she cried. "He never murdered Henry. I murderedhim. "

"Now, ma'am, " said O'Toole politely, "I hate to contradict a lady, butyou never murdered him at all. This man here murdered him, and I'vegot the proof on him. "

"I murdered him!" cried Mrs. Smitz again. "I drove him out of hisright mind and made him kill himself. "

"Nothing of the sort, " declared O'Toole. "This man Wiggins murderedhim. "

"I did not!" exclaimed Mr. Wiggins indignantly. "Some other man didit. "

It seemed a deadlock, for each was quite positive. Mr. Gubb lookedfrom one to the other doubtfully. 

"All right, take me back to jail, " said Mr. Wiggins. "You look up thecase, Mr. Gubb; that's all I came here for. Will you do it? Dig intoit, hey?"

"I most certainly shall be glad to so do, " said Mr. Gubb, "at theregular terms. "

O'Toole led his prisoner away. 

For a few minutes Mrs. Smitz sat silent, her hands clasped, staring atthe floor. Then she looked up into Mr. Gubb's eyes. 

"You will work on this case, Mr. Gubb, won't you?" she begged. "I havea little money--I'll give it all to have you do your best. It iscruel--cruel to have that poor man suffer under the charge of murderwhen 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. Itfinds a clue or clues and follows them to where they lead to. That Ishall be willing to do. "

"That is all I could ask, " said Mrs. Smitz gratefully. 

Arising from her seat with difficulty, she walked tremblingly to thedoor. Mr. Gubb assisted her down the stairs, and it was not until shewas gone that he remembered that she did not know the body of herhusband had been found--sewed in a sack and at the bottom of theriver. Young husbands have been known to quarrel with their wives overmatters as trivial as bedroom wall-paper; they have even been known toleave home for several days at a time when angry; in extreme casesthey have even been known to seek death at their own hands; but it isnot at all usual for a young husband to leave home for several daysand 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; inthe second place a man can jump into the river with perfect easewithout going to the trouble of sewing himself in a sack; and in thethird place it is exceedingly difficult for a man to sew himself intoa sack. It is almost impossible. 

To sew himself into a sack a man must have no little skill, and hemust 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 pullsit up over his head; he then reaches above his head, holding the mouthof 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 justdecided that the most appropriate disguise would be "Number 13, Undertaker, " and had picked up the close black wig, and long, droopingmustache, when he had another thought. Given a bag sufficiently looseto permit free motion of the hands and arms, and a man, even in hotanger, might sew himself in. A man, intent on suicidally bagginghimself, would sew the mouth of the bag shut and would then cut a slitin the front of the bag large enough to crawl into. He would thencrawl into the bag and sew up the slit, which would be immediately infront of his hands. It could be done! Philo Gubb chose from hiswardrobe 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 silkhat could be nothing but distressingly uncomfortable. Between his doorand the corner, eight various citizens spoke to Philo Gubb, callinghim by name. In fact, Riverbank was as accustomed to seeing P. Gubb indisguise as out of disguise, and while a few children might beinterested by the sight of Detective Gubb in disguise, the oldercitizens thought no more of it, as a rule, than of seeing BankerJennings appear in a pink shirt one day and a blue striped one thenext. No one ever accused Banker Jennings of trying to hide hisidentity by a change of shirts, and no one imagined that P. Gubb wastrying to disguise himself when he put on a disguise. They consideredit a mere business custom, just as a butcher tied on a white apronbefore he went behind his counter. 

This was why, instead of wondering who the tall, dark-garbed strangermight be, Banker Jennings greeted Philo Gubb cheerfully. 

"Ah, Gubb!" he said. "So you are going to work on this Smitz case, areyou? Glad of it, and wish you luck. Hope you place the crime on theright man and get him the full penalty. Let me tell you there'snothing in this rumor of Smitz being short of money. We did lend himmoney, but we never pressed him for it. We never even asked him forinterest. I told him a dozen times he could have as much more from usas he wanted, within reason, whenever he wanted it, and that he couldpay 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 itis 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 onHerman Wiggins or some of his crew, understand? Don't say I said aword, --I don't want to be brought into this, --but Smitz was afraid ofWiggins and his crew. He told me so. He said Wiggins had threatened tomurder him. "

"Mr. Wiggins is at present in the custody of the county jail forkilling H. Smitz with intent to murder him, " said Mr. Gubb. 

"Oh, then--then it's all settled, " said the banker. "They've proved iton him. I thought they would. Well, I suppose you've got to do yourlittle bit of detecting just the same. Got to air the camphor out ofthe false hair, eh?"

The banker waved a cheerful hand at P. Gubb and passed into hisbanking institution. 

Detective Gubb, cordially greeted by his many friends and admirers, passed on down the main street, and by the time he reached the streetthat led to the river he was followed by a large and growing groupintent 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 reachedRiver Street and his false mustache fell off, the interest of theaudience stopped short three paces behind him and stood until he hadrescued 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 morerespectful gallery. 

On the edge of the river, Mr. Gubb found Long Sam Fliggis, the musseldredger, seated on an empty tar-barrel with his own audience rangedbefore him listening while he told, for the fortieth time, the storyof his finding of the body of H. Smitz. As Philo Gubb approached, LongSam ceased speaking, and his audience and Mr. Gubb's gallery mergedinto 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 ONWATCHING A DETECTIVE DETECT]

"Suicide?" said Long Sam scoffingly. "Why, he wan't no more a suicidethan I am right now. He was murdered or wan't nothin'! I've dredged upsome suicides in my day, and some of 'em had stones tied to 'em, tomake sure they'd sink, and some thought they'd sink without noballast, but nary one of 'em ever sewed himself into a bag, and I givemy word, " he said positively, "that Hen Smitz couldn't have sewedhimself into that burlap bag unless some one done the sewing. Then thefeller that did it was an assistant-suicide, and the way I look atit is that an assistant-suicide is jest the same as a murderer. "

The crowd murmured approval, but Mr. Gubb held up his hand forsilence. 

"In certain kinds of burlap bags it is possibly probable a man couldsew himself into it, " said Mr. Gubb, and the crowd, seeing the logicof the remark applauded gently but feelingly. 

"You ain't seen the way he was sewed up, " said Long Sam, "or youwouldn't talk like that. "

"I haven't yet took a look, " admitted Mr. Gubb, "but I aim so to doimmediately after I find a clue onto which to work up my case. An A-1deteckative can't set forth to work until he has a clue, that being arule of the game. "

"What kind of a clue was you lookin' for?" asked Long Sam. "What's aclue, anyway?"

"A clue, " said P. Gubb, "is almost anything connected with the latelamented, but generally something that nobody but a deteckative wouldthink had anything to do with anything whatsoever. Not infrequentlyoften it is a button. "

"Well, I've got no button except them that is sewed onto me, " saidLong Sam, "but if this here sack-needle will do any good--"

He brought from his pocket the point of a heavy sack-needle and laidit in Philo Gubb's palm. Mr. Gubb looked at it carefully. In the eyeof the needle still remained a few inches of twine. 

"I cut that off'n the burlap he was sewed up in, " volunteered LongSam, "I thought I'd keep it as a sort of nice little souvenir. I'dlike it back again when you don't need it for a clue no more. "

"Certainly sure, " agreed Mr. Gubb, and he examined the needlecarefully. 

There are two kinds of sack-needles in general use. In both, the pointof the needle is curved to facilitate pushing it into and out of aclosely filled sack; in both, the curved portion is somewhat flattenedso that the thumb and finger may secure a firm grasp to pull theneedle through; but in one style the eye is at the end of the shaftwhile 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 endand the curved portions were not flattened. Mr. Gubb noticed anotherthing--the twine was not the ordinary loosely twisted hemp twine, buta hard, smooth cotton cord, like carpet warp. 

"Thank you, " said Mr. Gubb, "and now I will go elsewhere toinvestigate to a further extent, and it is not necessarily imperativethat everybody should accompany along with me if they don't want to. "

But everybody did want to, it seemed. Long Sam and his audience joinedMr. Gubb's gallery and, with a dozen or so newcomers, they followedMr. Gubb at a decent distance as he walked toward the plant of theBrownson Packing Company, which stood on the riverbank some two blocksaway. 

It was here Henry Smitz had worked. Six or eight buildings of varioussizes, 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 appearedat the gate the watchman there stood aside to let him enter. 

"Good-morning, Mr. Gubb, " he said pleasantly. "I been sort ofexpecting 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 ofWiggins's crew in the main building, and I guess they'll tell you justwhat 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. "ThatWiggins told Hen he'd do for him if he lost them their jobs like hesaid he would. That's the truth. "

Mr. Gubb--his admiring followers were halted at the gate by thewatchman--entered the large building and inquired his way to Mr. Wiggins's department. He found it on the side of the building towardthe river and on the ground floor. On one side the vast room led intothe refrigerating room of the company; on the other it opened upon along but narrow dock that ran the width of the building. 

Along the outer edge of the dock were tied two barges, and into thesebarges some of Wiggins's crew were dumping mutton--not legs of muttonbut entire sheep, neatly sewed in burlap. The large room was thepacking and shipping room, and the work of Wiggins's crew was that ofsewing the slaughtered and refrigerated sheep carcasses in burlap forshipment. Bales of burlap stood against one wall; strands of hemptwine ready for the needle hung from pegs in the wall and the poststhat supported the floor above. The contiguity of the refrigeratingroom gave the room a pleasantly cool atmosphere. 

Mr. Gubb glanced sharply around. Here was the burlap, here wereneedles, here was twine. Yonder was the river into which Hen Smitz hadbeen thrown. He glanced across the narrow dock at the blue river. Ashis eye returned he noticed one of the men carefully sweeping the dockwith a broom--sweeping fragments of glass into the river. As the menin the room watched him curiously, Mr. Gubb picked up a piece ofburlap and put it in his pocket, wrapped a strand of twine around hisfinger and pocketed the twine, examined the needles stuck inimprovised needle-holders made by boring gimlet holes in the wall, andthen walked to the dock and picked up one of the pieces of glass. 

"Clues, " he remarked, and gave his attention to the work ofquestioning the men. 

Although manifestly reluctant, they honestly admitted that Wiggins hadmore than once threatened Hen Smitz--that he hated Hen Smitz with thehatred 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 entirebuilding--a sort of autocrat with, as Wiggins's crew informed him, aneasy job. He had only to see that the crews in the building turned outmore work this year than they did last year. "'Ficiency" had been hismotto, they said, and they hated "'Ficiency. "

Mr. Gubb's gallery was awaiting him at the gate, and its members werein a heated discussion as to what Mr. Gubb had been doing. They ceasedat once when he appeared and fell in behind him as he walked away fromthe packing house and toward the undertaking establishment of Mr. Holworthy Bartman, on the main street. Here, joining the curious groupalready assembled, the gallery was forced to wait while Mr. Gubbentered. His task was an unpleasant but necessary one. He must visitthe little "morgue" at the back of Mr. Bartman's establishment. 

The body of poor Hen Smitz had not yet been removed from the bag inwhich it had been found, and it was to the bag Mr. Gubb gave hisclosest attention. The bag--in order that the body might beidentified--had not been ripped, but had been cut, and not a stitchhad been severed. It did not take Mr. Gubb a moment to see that HenSmitz had not been sewed in a bag at all. He had been sewed inburlap--burlap "yard goods, " to use a shopkeeper's term--and it wasburlap identical with that used by Mr. Wiggins and his crew. It was noloose bag of burlap--but a close-fitting wrapping of burlap; a cocoonof burlap that had been drawn tight around the body, as burlap isdrawn tight around the carcass of sheep for shipment, like a mummy'swrappings. 

It would have been utterly impossible for Hen Smitz to have sewedhimself into the casing, not only because it bound his arms tight tohis sides, but because the burlap was lapped over and sewed from theoutside. This, once and for all, ended the suicide theory. Thequestion was: Who was the murderer?

As Philo Gubb turned away from the bier, Undertaker Bartman enteredthe morgue. 

"The crowd outside is getting impatient, Mr. Gubb, " he said in hissoft, undertakery voice. "It is getting on toward their lunch hour, and they want to crowd into my front office to find out what you'velearned. I'm afraid they'll break my plate-glass windows, they'repushing so hard against them. I don't want to hurry you, but if youwould go out and tell them Wiggins is the murderer they'll go away. Ofcourse there's no doubt about Wiggins being the murderer, since he hasadmitted 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 wesliced it open, " said Bartman. "Matter of fact, we found it in Hen'shand. O'Toole took it for a clue and I guess it fixes the murder onWiggins beyond all doubt. The stock-keeper says Wiggins got it fromhim. "

"And what does Wiggins remark on that subject?" asked Mr. Gubb. 

"Not a word, " said Bartman. "His lawyer told him not to open hismouth, 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 sewedan electric-light bulb in with the corpse for. "

"In the first place, " said Mr. Bartman, "he didn't sew it in with anycorpse, because Hen Smitz wasn't a corpse when he was sewed in thatburlap, unless Wiggins drowned him first, for Dr. Mortimer says HenSmitz died of drowning; and in the second place, if you had a live manto sew in burlap, and had to hold him while you sewed him, you'd beliable to sew anything in with him. 

"My idea is that Wiggins and some of his crew jumped on Hen Smitz andthrew him down, and some of them held him while the others sewed himin. My idea is that Wiggins got that electric-light bulb to replaceone that had burned out, and that he met Hen Smitz and had words withhim, and they clinched, and Hen Smitz grabbed the bulb, and then theothers came, and they sewed him into the burlap and dumped him intothe river. 

"So all you've got to do is to go out and tell that crowd that Wigginsdid it and that you'll let them know who helped him as soon as youfind out. And you better do it before they break my windows. "

Detective Gubb turned and went out of the morgue. As he left theundertaker's establishment the crowd gave a slight cheer, but Mr. Gubbwalked hurriedly toward the jail. He found Policeman O'Toole there andquestioned him about the bulb; and O'Toole, proud to be the center ofso large and interested a gathering of his fellow citizens, pulled thebulb from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Gubb, while he repeated inmore detail the facts given by Mr. Bartman. Mr. Gubb looked at thebulb. 

"I presume to suppose, " he said, "that Mr. Wiggins asked thestock-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 andexamined it curiously. 

"That's odd, ain't it?" he said. 

"It might so seem to the non-deteckative mind, " said Mr. Gubb, "but tothe deteckative mind, nothing is odd. "

"No, no, this ain't so odd, either, " said O'Toole, "for whether HenSmitz grabbed the bulb before Wiggins changed the new one for the oldone, or after he changed it, don't make so much difference, when youcome to think of it. "

"To the deteckative mind, " said Mr. Gubb, "it makes the differencethat this ain't the bulb you thought it was, and hence consequently itain't the bulb Mister Wiggins got from the stock-keeper. "

 * * * * *

Mr. Gubb started away. The crowd followed him. He did not go in searchof the original bulb at once. He returned first to his room, where hechanged his undertaker disguise for Number Six, that of a bluewoolen-shirted laboring-man with a long brown beard. Then he led theway back to the packing house. 

Again the crowd was halted at the gate, but again P. Gubb passedinside, and he found the stock-keeper eating his luncheon out of a tinpail. The stock-keeper was perfectly willing to talk. 

"It was like this, " said the stock-keeper. "We've been workingovertime in some departments down here, and Wiggins and his crew hadto work overtime the night Hen Smitz was murdered. Hen and Wiggins wasat outs, or anyway I heard Hen tell Wiggins he'd better be huntinganother job because he wouldn't have this one long, and Wiggins toldHen 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 thetime. But Hen was working overtime too. He'd been working nights up inthat little room of his on the second floor for quite some time, andthis night Wiggins come to me and he says Hen had asked him for afresh thirty-two-candle-power bulb. So I give it to Wiggins, and thenI went home. And, come to find out, Wiggins sewed that bulb up withHen. "

"Perhaps maybe you have sack-needles like this into your stock-room, "said P. Gubb, producing the needle Long Sam had given him. Thestock-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 theburlap with Henry Smitz wasn't a new bulb, and if Mr. Wiggins hadgiven the new bulb to Henry, and if Henry had changed the new bulb foran old one, where would he have changed it at?"

"Up in his room, where he was always tinkering at that machine ofhis, " said the stock-keeper. 

"Could I have the pleasure of taking a look into that there room for amoment of time?" asked Mr. Gubb. 

The stock-keeper arose, returned the remnants of his luncheon to hisdinner-pail and led the way up the stairs. He opened the door of theroom Henry Smitz had used as a work-room, and P. Gubb walked in. Theroom was in some confusion, but, except in one or two particulars, nomore than a work-room is apt to be. A rather cumbrous machine--theinvention on which Henry Smitz had been working--stood as the murderedman had left it, all its levers, wheels, arms, and cogs intact. Achair, tipped over, lay on the floor. A roll of burlap stood on aroller by the machine. Looking up, Mr. Gubb saw, on the ceiling, thelighting fixture of the room, and in it was a clean, shiningthirty-two-candle-power bulb. Where another similar bulb might havebeen in the other socket was a plug from which an insulated wire, evidently to furnish power, ran to the small motor connected with themachine 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 andthe sash itself. But Mr. Gubb was not interested in this. He wasgazing at the electric bulb and thinking of Part Two, Lesson Six ofthe Course of Twelve Lessons--"How to Identify by Finger-Prints, withGeneral Remarks on the Bertillon System. " He looked about for somemeans of reaching the bulb above his head. His eye lit on the fallenchair. By placing the chair upright and placing one foot on the frameof Henry Smitz's machine and the other on the chair-back, he couldreach the bulb. He righted the chair and stepped onto its seat. He putone foot on the frame of Henry Smitz's machine; very carefully he putthe other foot on the top of the chair-back. He reached upward andunscrewed 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 beganto revolve rapidly. Two strong, steel arms flopped down and heldDetective Gubb to the table, clamping his arms to his side. The rollof burlap unrolled, and as it unrolled, the loose end was seized andslipped under Mr. Gubb and wrapped around him and drawn taut, bundlinghim as a sheep's carcass is bundled. An arm reached down and back andforth, with a sewing motion, and passed from Mr. Gubb's head to hisfeet. As it reached his feet a knife sliced the burlap in which he waswrapped from the burlap on the roll. 

And then a most surprising thing happened. As if the board on which helay had been a catapult, it suddenly and unexpectedly raised PhiloGubb and tossed him through the open window. The stock-keeper heard amuffled scream and then a great splash, but when he ran to the window, the great paper-hanger detective had disappeared in the bosom of theMississippi. 

Like Henry Smitz he had tried to reach the ceiling by standing on thechair-back; like Henry Smitz he had fallen upon the newly inventedburlaping and loading machine; like Henry Smitz he had been wrappedand thrown through the window into the river; but, unlike Henry Smitz, he had not been sewn into the burlap, because Philo Gubb had thedouble-pointed shuttle-action needle in his pocket. 

Page Seventeen of Lesson Eleven of the Rising Sun Detective Agency'sCorrespondence 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 sewnin a sack and drowned in a river without committing willful suicide orbeing 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 andintent.