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PHILO GUBB
Correspondence-School Detective





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“IN THE DETECKATIVE LINE NOTHING SOUNDS FOOLISH"
(page 218)


PHILO GUBE
Correspondence-Schau!
Detective
கங்கைpைisவவண்மைண்டிகள்
BY
ELLIS PIRKER BETLER
RISOR

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Che Riverside Preng Cambridge
HOUGHTON MIFFRIN CON



STEN
JAN
MAMALAN
SOM MAN
lu
UKAI.LiNE NOTHING SOUNDS FOOLISH"
1). 213)


PHILO GUBB
Correspondence-School
Detective
BY
ELLIS PARKER BUTLER
WITH ILLUSTRATIONS

BOSTON AND NEW YORK
HOUGHTON MIFFLIN COMPANY
Che Riverside press Cambridge


COPYRIGHT, 1913, 1914, AND 1915, BY THE RED BOOK CORPORATION
COPYRIGHT, 1918, BY ELLIS PARKER BUTLER
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Published September 1978


Librarian
Houghton
828
to-16-35
3obog
B9858p w
CONTENTS
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THE HARD-BOILED EGG . .
THE PET . . . . . .
THE EAGLE's Claws
THE OUBLIETTE
THE UN-BURGLARS . . .
THE TWO-CENT STAMP . .
THE CHICKEN . . . .
THE DRAGON'S EYE . . .
THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER
THE MISSING MR. MASTER
WAFFLES AND MUSTARD . .
THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
THE HALF OF A THOUSAND .
DIETZ's 7462 BESSIE JOHN .
HENRY . . . . . .
BURIED BONES . . . .
PHILO GUBB's GREATEST CASE
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. 138
. 156
. 171
. 185
. 205
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. 266
. 288
. 307
. 329
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ILLUSTRATIONS
"In the deteckative line nothing sounds fool-
ish" Frontispiece
"This shell game is easy enough when you know
how" 8
Mr. Winterberry did not seem to be con-
cealed AMONG THEM 30
a head silhouetted against one of the glow-
ing 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 AD-
MISSION 252
vii


ILLUSTRATIONS
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 OUGHT N'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 DE-
TECT · · · · · · · · · · · 340


PHILO GUBB
Correspondence-School Detective





PHILO GUBB
THE CORRESPONDENCE-SCHOOL
DETECTIVE
THE HARD-BOILED EGG
Walking close along the wall, to avoid the creaking
floor boards, Philo Gubb, paper-hanger and student
of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspond-
ence School of Detecting, tiptoed to the door of the
bedroom he shared with the mysterious Mr. Critz.
In appearance Mr. Gubb was tall and gaunt, re-
minding one of a modern Don Quixote or a human
flamingo; by nature Mr. Gubb was the gentlest and
most simple-minded of men. Now, bending his long,
angular body almost double, he placed his eye to a
crack in the door panel and stared into the room.
Within, just out of the limited area of Mr. Gubb's
vision, Roscoe Critz paused in his work and lis-
tened carefully. He heard the sharp whistle of Mr.
Gubb's breath as it cut against the sharp edge of the
crack in the panel, and he knew he was being spied
upon. He placed his chubby hands on his knees
and smiled at the door, while a red flush of triumph
spread over his face.
Through the crack in the door Mr. Gubb could
3


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
see the top of the washstand beside which Mr. Critz
was sitting, but he could not see Mr. Critz. As he
stared, however, he saw a plump hand appear and
pick up, one by one, the articles lying on the wash-
stand. They were: First, seven or eight half shells of
English walnuts; second, a rubber shoe heel out of
which a piece had been cut; third, a small rubber ball
no larger than a pea; fourth, a paper-bound book;
and lastly, a large and glittering brick of yellow gold.
As the hand withdrew the golden brick, Mr. Gubb
pressed his face closer against the door in his effort
to see more, and suddenly the door flew open and
Mr. Gubb sprawled on his hands and knees on the
worn carpet of the bedroom.
"There, now!" said Mr. Critz. "There, now!
Serves you right. Hope you hurt chuself!"
Mr. Gubb arose slowly, like a giraffe, and brushed
his knees.
"Why?" he asked.
"Snoopin' an' sneakin' like that!" said Mr. Critz
crossly. "Scarin' me to fits, a'most. How'd I know
who't was? If you want to come in, why don't you
come right in, 'stead of snoopin' an' sneakin' an'
fallin' in that way?"
As he talked, Mr. Critz replaced the shells and the
rubber heel and the rubber pea and the gold-brick
on the washstand. He was a plump little man with a
shiny bald head and a white goatee. As he talked,
he bent his head down, so that he might look above
the glasses of his spectacles; and in spite of his pre-
4


THE HARD-BOILED EGG
tended anger he looked like nothing so much as a
kindly, benevolent old gentleman — the sort of old
gentleman that keeps a small store in a small village
and sells writing-paper that smells of soap, and candy
sticks out of a glass jar with a glass cover.
"How'd I know but what you was a detective?"
he asked, in a gentler tone.
"I am," said Mr. Gubb soberly, seating himself
on one of the two beds. "I'm putty near a detecka-
tive, 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 de-
tective."
"Well, now, Mr. Critz," said Mr. Gubb, "I don't
want you should feel that way."
"Knowin' you are a detective makes me all
nervous," complained Mr. Critz; "and a man in my
business has to have a steady hand, don't he?"
"You ain't told me what your business is," said
Mr. Gubb.
"You need n't pretend you don't know," said
Mr. Critz. "Any detective that saw that stuff on
the washstand would know."
"Well, of course," said Mr. Gubb, "I ain't a full
deteckative yet. You can't look for me to guess
things as quick as a full deteckative would. Of
course that brick sort of looks like a gold-brick —"
"It is a gold-brick," said Mr. Critz.
"Yes," said Mr. Gubb. "But —I don't mean
no offense, Mr. Critz — from the way you look —
5


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
I sort of thought — well, that it was a gold-brick
you'd bought."
Mr. Critz turned very red.
"Well, what if I did buy it?" he said. "That ain't
any reason I can't sell it, is it? Just because a man
buys eggs once — or twice — ain't any reason he
should n't go into the business of egg-selling, is it?
Just because I've bought one or two gold-bricks in
my day ain't any reason I shouldn't go to sellin'
'em, is it?"
Mr. Gubb stared at Mr. Critz with unconcealed
surprise.
"You ain't, — you ain't a con' man, are you, Mr.
Critz?" he asked.
"If I ain't yet, that's no sign I ain't goin' to be,"
said Mr. Critz firmly. "One man has as good a
right to try his hand at it as another, especially
when a man has had my experience in it. Mr. Gubb,
there ain't hardly a con' game I ain't been conned
with. I been confidenced long enough; from now on
I'm goin' to confidence other folks. That's what
I'm goin' to do; and I won't be bothered by no de-
tective livin' in the same room with me. Detectives
and con' men don't mix noways! No, sir!"
"Well, sir," said Mr. Gubb, "I can see the sense
of that. But you don't need to move right away.
I don't aim to start in deteckating in earnest for a
couple of months yet. I got a couple of jobs of
paper-hanging and decorating to finish up, and I
can't start in sleuthing until I get my star, anyway.
6


THE HARD-BOILED EGG
And I don't get my star until I get one more lesson,
and learn it, and send in the examination paper, and
five dollars extra for the diploma. Then I'm goin'
at it as a reg'lar business. It's a good business.
Every day there's more crooks — excuse me, I
did n't mean to say that."
"That's all right," said Mr. Critz kindly. "Call
a spade a spade. If I ain't a crook yet, I hope to be
soon."
"I did n't know how you'd feel about it," ex-
plained Mr. Gubb. "Tactfulness is strongly ad-
vised into the lessons of the Rising Sun Deteckative
Agency Correspondence School of Deteckating —"
"Slocum, Ohio?" asked Mr. Critz quickly. "You
did n't see the ad. in the 'Hearthstone and Farm-
side,' did you?"
"Yes, Slocum, Ohio," said Mr. Gubb, "and that
is the paper I saw the ad. into; 'Big Money in De-
teckating. Be a Sleuth. We can make you the equal
of Sherlock Holmes in twelve lessons.' Why?"
"Well, sir," said Mr. Critz, "that's funny. That
ad. was right atop of the one I saw, and I studied
quite considerable before I could make up my mind
whether't would be best for me to be a detective
and go out and get square with the fellers that sold
me gold-bricks and things by putting them in jail,
or to even things up by sending for this book that
was advertised right under the 'Rising Sun Corre-
spondence School.' How come I settled to do as
I done was that I had a sort of stock to start with,


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
with a fust-class gold-brick, and some green goods
I'd bought; and this book only cost a quatter of a
dollar. And she's a hummer for a quatter of a dollar!
A hummer!"
He pulled the paper-covered book from his pocket
and handed it to Mr. Gubb. The title of the book
was "The Complete Con' Man, by the King of the
Grafters. Price 25 cents."
"That there book," said Mr. Critz proudly, as if
he himself had written it, "tells everything a man
need to know to work every con' game there is.
Once I get it by heart, I won't be afraid to try any
of-them. Of course, I got to start in small. I can't
hope to pull off a wire-tapping game right at the
start, because that has to have a gang. You don't
know anybody you could recommend for a gang,
do you?"
"Not right offhand," said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully.
"If you was n't goin' into the detective business,"
said Mr. Critz, "you'd be just the feller for me.
You look sort of honest and not as if you was too
bright, and that counts a lot. Even in this here
simple little shell game I got to have a podner.
I got to have a podner I can trust, so I can let him
look like he was winnin' money off of me. You see,"
he explained, moving to the washstand, "this shell
game is easy enough when you know how. I put
three shells down like this, on a stand, and I put
the little rubber pea on the stand, and then I take
up the three shells like this, two in one hand and
8



“THIS SHELL GAME IS EASY ENOUGH WHEN YOU KNOW
HOW"





THE HARD-BOILED EGG
one in the other, and I wave 'em around over the
pea, and maybe push the pea around a little, and
I say, 'Come on! Come on! The hand is quicker
than the eye!' And all of a suddent I put the shells
down, and you think the pea is under one of them,
like that—"
"I don't think the pea is under one of 'em,"
said Mr. Gubb. "I seen it roll onto the floor."
"It did roll onto the floor that time," said Mr.
Critz apologetically. "It most generally does for me,
yet. I ain't got it down to perfection yet. This is
the way it ought to work — oh, pshaw! there she
goes onto the floor again! Went under the bed that
time. Here she is! Now, the way she ought to work
is — there she goes again!"
"You got to practice that game a lot before you
try it onto folks in public, Mr. Critz," said Mr.
Gubb seriously.
"Don't I know that?" said Mr. Critz rather im-
patiently. "Same as you've got to practice snoop-
in', Mr. Gubb. Maybe you thought I did n't know
you was snoopin' after me wherever I went last
night."
"Did you?" asked Mr. Gubb, with surprise
plainly written on his face.
"I seen you every moment from nine p.m. till
eleven!" said Mr. Critz. "I did n't like it, neither."
"I did n't think to annoy you," apologized Mr.
Gubb. "I was practicin' Lesson Four. You was n't
supposed to know I was there at all."
9


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Well, I don't like it," said Mr. Critz. '4,T was
all right last night, for I did n't have nothin' im-
portant on hand, but if I'd been workin' up a con'
game, the feller I was after would have thought it
mighty strange to see a man follerin' me everywhere
like that. If you went about it quiet and unob-
trusive, I would n't mind; but if I'd had a customer
on hand and he'd seen you it would make him nerv-
ous. He'd think there was a—a crazy man follerin'
us."
"I was just practicin'," apologized Mr. Gubb. "It
won't be so bad when I get the hang of it. We all
got to be beginners sometime."
"I guess so," said Mr. Critz, rearranging the shells
and the little rubber pea. "Well, I put the pea down
like this, and I dare you to bet which shell she's
goin' to be under, and you don't bet, see? So I put
the shells down, and you're willin' to bet you see me
put the first shell over the pea like this. So you keep
your eye on that shell, and I move the shells around
like this—"
"She's under the same shell," said Mr. Gubb.
"Well, yes, she is," said Mr. Critz placidly, "but
she had n't ought to be. By rights she ought to sort
of ooze out from under whilst I'm movin' the shells
around, and I'd ought to sort of catch her in be-
tween my fingers and hold her there so you don't
see her. Then when you say which shell she's under,
she ain't under any shell; she's between my fingers.
So when you put down your money I tell you to pick
10


THE HARD-BOILED EGG
up that shell and there ain't anything under it. And
before you can pick up the other shells I pick one up,
and let the pea fall on the stand like it had been
under that shell all the time. That's the game, only
up to now I ain't got the hang of it. She won't ooze
out from under, and she won't stick between my
fingers, and when she does stick, she won't drop at
the right time."
"Except for that, you've got her all right, have
you?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"Except for that," said Mr. Critz; "and I'd
have that, only my fingers are stubby."
"What was it you thought of having me do if I
was n't a deteckative?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"The work you'd have to do would be capping
work," said Mr. Critz. "Capper — that's the pro-
fessional name for it. You'd guess which shell the
ball was under —"
"That would be easy, the way you do it now,"
said Mr. Gubb.
"I told you I'd got to learn it better, did n't I?"
asked Mr. Critz impatiently. "You'd be capper,
and you'd guess which shell the pea was under. No
matter which you guessed, I'd leave it under that
one, so'd you'd win, and you'd win ten dollars every
time you bet — but not for keeps. That's why I've
got to have an honest capper."
"I can see that," said Mr. Gubb; "but what's
the uselettin' me win it if I've got to bring it back?"
"That starts the boobs bettin'," said Mr. Critz.
II


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"The boobs see how you look to be winnin', and
they want to win too. But they don't. When they
bet, I win."
"That ain't a square game," said Mr. Gubb
seriously, "is it?"
"A crook ain't expected to be square," said Mr.
Critz. "It stands to reason, if a crook wants to be a
crook, he's got to be crooked, ain't he?"
"Yes, of course," said Mr. Gubb. "I hadn't
looked at it that way."
"As far as I can see," said Mr. Critz, "the more I
know how a detective acts, the better off I 'll be when
I start in doin' real business. Ain't that so? I guess,
till I get the hang of things better, I'll stay right
here."
"I'm glad to hear you say so, Mr. Critz," said
Mr. Gubb with relief. "I like you, and I like your
looks, and there's no tellin' who I might get for a
roommate next time. I might get some one that
was n't honest."
So it was agreed, and Mr. Critz stood over the
washstand and manipulated the little rubber pea
and the three shells, while Mr. Gubb sat on the edge
of the bed and studied Lesson Eleven of the " Rising
Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of
Detecting."
When, presently, Mr. Critz learned to work the
little pea neatly, he urged Mr. Gubb to take the
part of capper, and each time Mr. Gubb won he
gave him a five-dollar bill. Then Mr. Gubb posed
12


THE HARD-BOILED EGG
as a "boob" and Mr. Critz won all the money back
again, beaming over bis spectacle rims, and chuck-
ling again and again until he burst into a fit of
coughing that made him red in the face, and did not
cease until he had taken a big drink of water out of
the wash-pitcher. Never had he seemed more like
a kindly old gentleman from behind the candy coun-
ter of a small village. He hung over the washstand,
manipulating the little rubber pea as if fascinated.
"Ain't it curyus how a feller catches onto a thing
like that all to once?" he said after a while. "If it
had n't been that I was so anxious, I might have
fooled with that for weeks and weeks and not got
anywheres with it. I do wisht you could be my
capper a while anyway, until I could get one."
"I need all my time to study," said Mr. Gubb.
"It ain't easy to learn deteckating by mail."
"Pshaw, now!" said Mr. Critz. "I'm real sorry!
Maybe if I was to pay you for your time and trouble
five dollars a night? How say?"
Mr. Gubb considered. "Well, I dunno!" he said
slowly. "I sort of hate to take money for doin' a
favor like that."
"Now, there ain't no need to feel that way,"
said Mr. Critz. "Your time's wuth somethin' to me
— it's wuth a lot to me to get the hang of this gold-
brick game. Once I get the hang of it, it won't be
no trouble for me to sell gold-bricks like this one
for all the way from a thousand dollars up. I paid
fifteen hundred for this one myself, and got it cheap.
13


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
That's a good profit, for this brick ain't wuth a cent
over one hundred dollars, and I know, for I took it
to the bank after I bought it, and that's what they
was willin' to pay me for it. So it's easy wuth a few
dollars for me to have help whilst I'm learnin*. I
can easy afford to pay you a few dollars, and to pay
a friend of yours the same."
"Well, now," said Mr. Gubb, "I don't know but
what I might as well make a little that way as any
other. I got a friend—" He stopped short. "You
don't aim to sell the gold-brick to him, do you?"
Mr. Critz's eyes opened wide behind their spec-
tacles.
"Land's sakes, no!" he said.
"Well, I got a friend may be willing to help out,"
said Mr. Gubb. "What'd he have to do?"
"You or him," said Mr. Critz, "would be the
'come-on,' and pretend to buy the brick. And you or
him would pretend to help me to sell it. Maybe you
better have the brick, because you can look stupid,
and the feller that's got the brick has got to look
that."
"I can look anyway a'most," said Mr. Gubb with
pride.
"Do tell!" said Mr. Critz, and so it was arranged
that the first rehearsal of the gold-brick game should
take place the next evening, but as Mr. Gubb
turned away Mr. Critz deftly slipped something
into the student detective's coat pocket.
It was toward noon the next day that Mr. Critz,
14


THE HARD-BOILED EGG
peering over his spectacles and avoiding as best he
could the pails of paste, entered the parlor of the
vacant house where Mr. Gubb was at work.
"I just come around," said Mr. Critz, rather
reluctantly, "to say you better not say nothing to
your friend. I guess that deal's off."
"Pshaw, now!" said Mr. Gubb. "You don't
mean so!"
"I don't mean nothing in the way of aspersions,
you mind," said Mr. Critz with reluctance, "but I
guess we better call it off. Of course, so far as I
know, you are all right —"
"I don't know what you're gettin' at," said Mr.
Gubb. "Why don't you say it?"
"Well, I been buncoed so often," said Mr. Critz.
"Seem's like any one can get money from me any
time and any way, and I got to thinkin' it over.
I don't know anything about you, do I? And here
I am, going to give you a gold-brick that cost me
fifteen hundred dollars, and let you go out and wait
until I come for it with your friend, and — well,
what's to stop you from just goin' away with that
brick and never comin' back?"
Mr. Gubb looked at Mr. Critz blankly.
"I've went and told my friend," he said. "He's
all ready to start in."
"I hate it, to have to say it," said Mr. Critz, "but
when I come to count over them bills I lent you to cap
the shell game with, there was a five-dollar one short."
"I know," said Gubb, turning red. "And if you
15


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
go over there to my coat, you 'll find it in my pocket,
all ready to hand back to you. I don't know how I
come to keep it in my pocket. Must ha' missed it,
when I handed you back the rest."
"Well, I had a notion it was that way," said Mr.
Critz kindly. "You look like you was honest, Mr.
Gubb. But a thousand-dollar gold-brick, that any
bank will pay a hundred dollars for — I got to get
out of this way of trustin' everybody —"
Mr. Critz was evidently distressed.
"If't was anybody else but you," he said with
an effort, "I'd make him put up a hundred dollars
to cover the cost of a brick like that whilst he had
it. There! I Ve said it, and I guess you're mad!"
"I ain't mad," protested Mr. Gubb, "'long as
you're goin' to pay me and Pete, and it's busi-
ness; I ain't so set against puttin' up what the brick
is worth."
Mr. Critz heaved a deep sigh of relief.
"You don't know how good that makes me feel,"
he said. "I was almost losin' what faith in mankind
I had left."
Mr. Gubb ate his frugal evening meals at the Pie
Wagon, on Willow Street, just off Main, where, by
day, Pie-Wagon Pete dispensed light viands; and
Pie-Wagon Pete was the friend he had invited
to share Mr. Critz's generosity. The seal of secrecy
had been put on Pie-Wagon Pete's lips before Mr.
Gubb offered him the opportunity to accept or de-
cline; and when Mr. Gubb stopped for his evening
16


THE HARD-BOILED EGG
meal, Pie-Wagon Pete — now off duty — was wait-
ing for him. The story of Mr. Critz and his ama-
teur con' business had amused Pie-Wagon Pete.
He could hardly believe such utter innocence existed.
Perhaps he did not believe it existed, for he had
come from the city, and he had had shady com-
panions before he landed in Riverbank. He was a
sharp-eyed, red-headed fellow, with a hard fist, and
a scar across his face, and when Mr. Gubb had told
him of Mr. Critz and his affairs, he had seen an
opportunity to shear a country lamb.
"How goes it for to-night, Philo?" he asked Mr.
Gubb, taking the stool next to Mr. Gubb, while the
night man drew a cup of coffee.
"Quite well," said Mr. Gubb. "Everything is
arranged satisfactory. I'm to be on the old house-
boat by the wharf-house on the levee at nine, with
it." He glanced at the night man's back and lowered
his voice. "And Mr. Critz will bring you there."
"Nine, eh?" said Pie-Wagon. "I meet him at
your room, do I?"
"You meet him at the Riverbank Hotel at eight-
forty-five," said Mr. Gubb. "Like it was the real
thing. I'm goin' over to my room now, and give
him the money —"
"What money?" asked Pie-Wagon Pete quickly.
"Well, you see," said Mr. Gubb, "he sort of
hated to trust the — trust it out of his hands without
a deposit. It's the only one he has. So I thought
I'd put up a hundred dollars. He's all right —"
17


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Oh, sure!" said Pie-Wagon. "A hundred
dollars, eh?"
He looked at Mr. Gubb, who was eating a piece
of apple pie hand-to-mouth fashion, and studied him
in a new light.
"One hundred dollars, eh?" he repeated thought-
fully. "You give him a hundred-dollar deposit now
and he meets you at nine, and me at eight-forty-five,
and the train leaves for Chicago at eight-forty-three,
halfway between the house-boat and the hotel!
Say, Gubby, what does this old guy look like?"
Mr. Gubb, albeit with a tongue unused to de-
scription, delineated Mr. Critz as best he could,
and as he proceeded, Pie-Wagon Pete became inter-
ested.
"Pinkish, and bald? Top of his head like a hard-
boiled egg? He ain't got a scar across his face? The
dickens he has! Short and plump, and a reg'lar
old nice grandpa? Blue eyes? Say, did he have a
coughin' spell and choke red in the face? Well, sir,
for a brand-new detective, you've done well.
Listen, Jim: Gubby's got the Hard-Boiled Egg!"
The night man almost dropped his cup of coffee.
"Go'way!" he said. "Old Hard-Boiled? Him-
self?"
"That's right! And caught him with the goods.
Say, listen, Gubby!"
For five minutes Pie-Wagon Pete talked, while
Mr. Gubb sat with his mouth wide open. • i
"See?" said Pie-Wagon at last. "And don't you
18


THE HARD-BOILED EGG
mention me at all. Don't mention no one. Just
say to the Chief: 'And havin' trailed him this far,
Mr. Wittaker, and arranged to have him took with
the goods, it'sup to you?' See? And as soon as you
say that, have him send a couple of bulls with you,
and if they can do it, they'll nab Old Hard-Boiled
just as he takes your cash. And Old Sleuth and
Sherlock Holmes won't be in it with you when to-
morrow mornin's papers come out. Get it?"
Mr. Gubb got it. When he entered his bedroom,
Mr. Critz was waiting for him. It was slightly after
eight o'clock; perhaps eight-fifteen. Mr. Critz had
what appeared to be the gold-brick neatly wrapped
in newspaper, and he looked up with his kindly blue
eyes. He had been reading the "Complete Con'
Man," and had pushed his spectacles up on his
forehead as Mr. Gubb entered.
"I done that brick up for you," he said, indicating
it with his hand, "so's it would n't glitter whilst you
was goin' through the street. If word got passed
around there was a gold-brick in town, folks might
sort of get suspicious-like. Nice night for goin' out,
ain't it? Got a letter from my wife this aft'noon,"
he chuckled. "She says she hopes I'm doin' well.
Sally'd have a fit if she knew what business I was
goin' into. Well, time's gettin' along —"
"I brung the money," said Mr. Gubb, drawing
it from his pocket.
"Don't seem hardly necess'ry, does it?" said Mr.
Critz mildly. "But I s'pose it's just as well.
19


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Thankee, Mister Gubb. I'll just pile into my
coat—"
Mr. Gubb had picked up the gold-brick, and now
he let it fall. Once more the door flew open, but this
time it opened for three stalwart policemen, whose
revolvers pointed unwaveringly at Mr. Critz. The
plump little man gave one glance, and put up his
hands.
"All right, boys, you've got me," he said in quite
another voice, and allowed them to seize his arms.
He paid no attention to the police, but at Mr. Gubb,
who was tearing the wrapper from what proved to be
but a common vitrified paving-brick, he looked long
and hard.
"Say," said Mr. Critz to Mr. Gubb, "I'm the
goat. You stung me all right. You worked me to a
finish. I thought I knew all of you from Burns
down, but you're a new one to me. Who are you,
anyway?"
Mr. Gubb looked up.
"Me?" he said with pride. "Why — why —
I'm Gubb, the foremost deteckative of Riverbank,
Iowa."


THE PET
On the morning following his capture of the Hard-
Boiled Egg, the " Riverbank Eagle" printed two full
columns in praise of Detective Gubb and compli-
mented Riverbank on having a superior to Sherlock
Holmes in its midst.
"Mr. Philo Gubb,".said the "Eagle," "has thus
far received only eleven of the twelve lessons from
the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence
School of Detecting, and we look for great things
from him when he finally receives his diploma and
badge. He informed us to-day that he hopes to
begin work on the dynamite case soon. With the
money he will receive for capturing the Hard-Boiled
Egg, Mr. Gubb intends to purchase eighteen com-
plete disguises from the Supply Department of the
Rising Sun Detective Agency, Slocum, Ohio. Mr.
Gubb wishes us to announce that until the disguises
arrive he will continue to do paper-hanging, decorat-
ing, and interior painting at reasonable rates."
Unfortunately there were no calls for Mr. Gubb's
detective services for some time after he received his
disguises and diploma, but while waiting he devoted
his spare time to the dynamite mystery, a remark-
able case on which many detectives had been work-
ing for many weeks. This led only to his being
21


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
beaten up twice by Joseph Henry, one of the men
he shadowed.
The arrival in Riverbank of the World's Monster
Combined Shows the day after Mr. Gubb received
his diploma seemed to offer an opportunity for his
detective talents, as a circus is usually accompanied
by crooks, and early in the morning Mr. Gubb
donned disguise Number Sixteen, which was cata-
logued as "Negro Hack-Driver, Complete, $22.00";
but, while looking for crooks while watching the
circus unload, his eyes alighted on Syrilla, known
as "Half a Ton of Beauty," the Fat Lady of the
Side-Show.
As Syrilla descended from the car, aided by the
Living Skeleton and the Strong Man, the fair crea-
ture wore a low-neck evening gown. Her arms and
shoulders were snowy white (except for a peculiar
mark on one arm). Not only had Mr. Gubb never
seen such white arms and shoulders, but he had never
seen so much arm and shoulder on one woman, and
from that moment he was deeply and hopelessly in
love. Like one hypnotized he followed her to the
side-show tent, paid his admission, and stood all
day before her platform. He was still there when the
tent was taken down that night.
Mr. Gubb was not the only man in Riverbank to
fall in love with Syrilla. When the ladies of the
Riverbank Social Service League heard that the
circus was coming to town they were distressed to
think how narrow the intellectual life of the side-
22


THE PET
show freaks must be and they instructed their Field
Secretary, Mr. Horace Winterberry, to go to the
side-show and organize the freaks into an Ibsen
Literary and Debating Society. This Mr. Winter-
berry did and the Tasmanian Wild Man was made
President, but so deeply did Mr. Winterberry fall
in love with Syrilla that he begged Mr. Dorgan, the
manager of the side-show, to let him join the side-
show, and this Mr. Dorgan did, putting him in a
cage as Waw-Waw, the Mexican Hairless Dog-Man,
as Mr. Winterberry was exceedingly bald.
At the very next stop made by the circus a strong,
heavy-fisted woman entered the side-show and
dragged Mr. Winterberry away. This was his wife.
Of this the ladies of the Riverbank Social Service
League knew nothing, however. They believed
Mr. Winterberry had been stolen by the circus and
that he was doubtless being forced to learn to swing
on a trapeze or ride a bareback horse, and they
decided to hire Detective Gubb to find and return
him.
At the very moment when the ladies were decid-
ing to retain Mr. Gubb's services the paper-hanger
detective was on his way to do a job of paper-hang-
ing, thinking of the fair Syrilla he might never see
again, when suddenly he put down the pail of paste
he was carrying and grasped the handle of his paste-
brush more firmly. He stared with amazement and
fright at a remarkable creature that came toward
him from a small thicket near the railway tracks.
23


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Mr. Gubb's first and correct impression was that this
was some remarkable creature escaped from the
circus. The horrid thing loping toward him was,
indeed, the Tasmanian Wild Man!
As the Wild Man approached, Philo Gubb pre-
pared to defend himself. He was prepared to defend
himself to his last drop of blood.
When halfway across the field, the Tasmanian
Wild Man glanced back over his shoulder and, as
if fearing pursuit, increased his speed and came
toward Philo Gubb in great leaps and bounds. The
Correspondence School detective waved his paste-
brush more frantically than ever. The Tasmanian
Wild Man stopped short within six feet of him.
Viewed thus closely, the Wild Man was a sight to
curdle the blood. Remnants of chains hung from his
wrists and ankles; his long hair was matted about
his face; and his finger nails were long and claw-like.
His face was daubed with ochre and red, with black
rings around the eyes, and the circles within the
rings were painted white, giving him an air of wild-
ness possessed by but few wild men. His only gar-
ments were a pair of very short trunks and the skin
of some wild animal, bound about his body with
ropes of horse-hair.
Philo Gubb bent to receive the leap he felt the
Tasmanian Wild Man was about to make, but to
his surprise the Wild Man held up one hand in token
of amity, and with the other removed the matted
hair from his head, revealing an under-crop of taffy
24


THE PET
yellow, neatly parted in the middle and smoothed
back carefully.
"I say, old chap," he said in a pleasant and well-
bred tone, "stop waving that dangerous-looking
weapon at me, will you? My intentions are most
kindly, I assure you. Can you inform me where
a chap can get a pair of trousers hereabout?"
Philo Gubb's experienced eye saw at once that
this creature was less wild than he was painted.
He lowered the paste-brush.
"Come into this house," said Philo Gubb. "In-
side the house we can discuss pants in calmness."
The Tasmanian Wild Man accepted.
"Now, then," said Philo Gubb, when they were
safe in the kitchen. He seated himself on a roll of
wall-paper, and the Tasmanian Wild Man, whose
real name was Waldo Emerson Snooks, told his brief
story.
Upon graduating from Harvard, he had sought em-
ployment, offering to furnish entertainment by the
evening, reading an essay entitled, "The Compara-
tive Mentality of Ibsen and Emerson, with Side-
lights on the Effect of Turnip Diet at Brook Farm,"
but the agency was unable to get him any engage-
ments. They happened, however, to receive a re-
quest from Mr. Dorgan, manager of the side-show,
asking for a Tasmanian Wild Man, and Mr. Snooks
had taken that job. To his own surprise, he made
an excellent Wild Man. He was able to rattle his
chains, dash up and down the cage, gnaw the iron
25


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
bars of the cage, eat raw meat, and howl as no other
Tasmanian Wild Man had ever done those things,
and all would have been well if an interloper had not
entered the side-show.
The interloper was Mr. Winterberry, who had
introduced the subject of Ibsen's plays, and in a
discussion of them the Tasmanian Wild Man and
Mr. Hoxie, the Strong Man, had quarreled, and Mr.
Hoxie had threatened to tear Mr. Snooks limb from
limb.
"And he would have done so," said the Tas-
manian Wild Man with emotion, "if I had not fled.
I dare not return. I mean to work my way back to
Boston and give up Tasmanian Wild Man-ing as
a profession. But I cannot without pants."
"I guess you can't," said Philo Gubb. "In any
station of Boston life, pants is expected to be
worn."
"So the question is, old chap, where am I to be
panted?" said Waldo Emerson Snooks.
"I can't pant you," said Philo Gubb, "but I can
overall you."
The late Tasmanian Wild Man was most grateful.
When he was dressed in the overalls and had wiped
the grease-paint from his face on an old rag, no one
would have recognized him.
"And as for thanks," said Philo Gubb, "don't
mention it. A deteckative gent is obliged to keep
up a set of disguises hitherto unsuspected by the
mortal world. This Tasmanian Wild Man outfit will
26


THE PET
do for a hermit disguise. So you don't owe me no
thanks."
As Philo Gubb watched Waldo Emerson Snooks
start in the direction of Boston — only some thir-
teen hundred miles away — he had no idea how
soon he would have occasion to use the Tasmanian
Wild Man disguise, but hardly had the Wild Man
departed than a small boy came to summon Mr.
Gubb, and it was with a sense of elation and impor-
tance that he appeared before the meeting of the
Riverbank Ladies' Social Service League.
"And so," said Mrs. Garthwaite, at the close of
the interview, "you understand us, Mr. Gubb?"
"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb. "What you want
me to do, is to find Mr. Winterberry, ain't it?"
"Exactly," agreed Mrs. Garthwaite.
"And, when found," said Mr. Gubb, "the said
stolen goods is to be returned to you?"
"Just so."
"And the fiends in human form that stole him
are to be given the full limit of the law?"
"They certainly deserve it, abducting a nice little
gentleman like Mr. Winterberry," said Mrs. Garth-
waite.
"They do, indeed," said Philo Gubb, "and they
shall be. I would only ask how far you want me to
arrest. If the manager of the side-show stole him,
my natural and professional deteckative instincts
would tell me to arrest the manager; and if the whole
side-show stole him I would make bold to arrest the
27.


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
whole side-show, but if the whole circus stole him,
am I to arrest the whole circus, and if so ought I to
include the menagerie? Ought I to arrest the ele-
phants and the camels?"
"Arrest only those in human form," said Mrs.
Garthwaite.
Philo Gubb sat straight and put his hands on his
knees.
"In referring to human form, ma'am," he asked,
"do you include them oorangootangs and apes?"
"I do," said Mrs. Garthwaite. "Association with
criminals has probably inclined their poor minds
to criminality."
"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, rising. "I leave
on this case by the first train."
Mr. Gubb hastily packed the Tasmanian garment
and six other disguises in a suitcase, put the fourteen
dollars given him by Mrs. Garthwaite in his pocket,
and hurried to catch the train for Bardville, where
the World's Monster Combined Shows were to show
the next day. With true detective caution Philo
Gubb disguised even this simple act.
Having packed his suitcase, Mr. Gubb wrapped
it carefully in manila paper and inserted a laundry
ticket under the twine. Thus, any one seeing him
might well suppose he was returning from the laundry
and not going to Bardville. To make this seem the
more likely, he donned his Chinese disguise, Number
Seventeen, consisting of a pink, skull-like wig with a
long pigtail, a blue jumper, and a yellow complexion.
28 


THE PET
Mr. Gubb rubbed his face with crude ochre powder,
and his complexion was a little high, being more the
hue of a pumpkin than the true Oriental skin tint.
Those he met on his way to the station imagined he
was in the last stages of yellow fever, and fled from
him hastily.
He reached the station just as the train's wheels
began to move; and he was springing up the steps
onto the platform of the last car when a hand
grasped his arm. He turned his head and saw that
the man grasping him was Jonas Medderbrook,
one of Riverbank's wealthiest men.
“Gubb! I want you!" shouted Mr. Medderbrook
energetically, but Philo Gubb shook off the detain-
ing arm.
“Me no savvy Melican talkee," he jabbered,
bunting Mr. Medderbrook off the car step.
Bright and early next morning, Philo Gubb gave
himself a healthy coat of tan, with rather high
color on his cheek-bones. From his collection of
beards and mustaches - carefully tagged from
"Number One” to “Number Eighteen" in harmony
with the types of disguise mentioned in the twelve
lessons of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Cor-
respondence School of Detecting — he selected mus-
tache Number Eight and inserted the spring wires
in his nostrils.
Mustache Number Eight was a long, deadly
black mustache with up-curled ends, and when Philo
Gubb had donned it he had a most sinister appear-
29


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
ance, particularly as he failed to remove the string
tag which bore the legend, "Number Eight. Gam-
bler or Card Sharp. Manufactured and Sold by
the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence
School of Detecting Supply Bureau." Having put
on this mustache, Mr. Gubb took a common splint
market-basket from under the bed and placed in it
the matted hair of the Tasmanian Wild Man, his
make-up materials, a small mirror, two towels, a
cake of soap, the Tasmanian Wild Man's animal
skin robe, the hair rope, and the abbreviated
trunks. He covered these with a newspaper.
The sun was just rising when he reached the rail-
way siding, and hardly had Mr. Gubb arrived when
the work of unloading the circus began.
Mr. Gubb — searching for the abducted Mr.
Winterberry — sped rapidly from place to place, the
string tag on his mustache flapping over his shoulder,
but he saw no one answering Mrs. Garthwaite's de-
scription of Mr. Winterberry. When the tent wag-
ons had departed, the elephants and camels were
unloaded, but Mr. Winterberry did not seem to
be concealed among them, and the animal cages —
which came next — were all tightly closed. There
were four or five cars, however, that attracted Philo
Gubb's attention, and one in particular made his
heart beat rapidly. This car bore the words, "World's
Monster Combined Shows Freak Car." And as Mr.
Winterberry had gone as a social reform agent to
the side-show, Mr. Gubb rightly felt that here if any-
30



REA
IRIN
MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED
AMONG THEM





THE PET
where he would find a clue, and he was doubly agi-
tated since he knew the beautiful Syrilla was doubt-
less in that car.
Walking around the car, he heard the door at one
end open. He crouched under the platform, his
ears and eyes on edge. Hardly was he concealed
before the head ruffian of the unloading gang
approached.
"Mister Dorgan," he said, in quite another tone
than he had used to his laborers, "should I fetch
that wild man cage to the grounds for you to-day?"
"No," said Dorgan. "What's the use? I don't
like an empty cage standing around. Leave it on
the car, Jake. Or — hold on! I'll use it. Take it
up to the grounds and put it in the side-show as
usual. I 'll put the Pet in it."
"Are ye foolin'?" asked the loading boss with a
grin. "The cage won't know itself, Mister Dorgan,
afther holdin' that rip-snortin' Wild Man to be
holdin' a cold corpse like the Pet is."
"Never you mind," said Dorgan shortly. "I
know my business, Jake. You and I know the Pet
is a dead one, but these country yaps don't know it.
I might as well make some use of the remains as long
as I've got 'em on hand."
"Who you goin' to fool, sweety? " asked a voice,
and Mr. Dorgan looked around to see Syrilla, the
Fat Lady, standing in the car door.
• "Oh, just folks!" said Dorgan, laughing.
"You're goin' to use the Pet," said the Fat Lady
31


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
reproachfully, "and I don't think it is nice of you.
Say what you will, Mr. Dorgan, a corpse is a corpse,
and a respectable side-show ain't no place for it.
I wish you would take it out in the lot and bury it,
like I wanted you to, or throw it in the river and get
rid of it. Won't you, dearie?"
"I will not," said Mr. Dorgan firmly. "A corpse
may be a corpse, Syrilla, any place but in a circus,
but in a circus it is a feature. He's goin' to be one
of the Seven Sleepers."
"One of what?" asked Syrilla.
"One of the Seven Sleepers," said Dorgan. "I'm
goin' to put him in the cage the Wild Man was in,
and I'm goin' to tell the audiences he's asleep.
'He looks dead,' I'll say, 'but I give my word he's
only asleep. We offer five thousand dollars,' I'll
say, 'to any man, woman, or child that proves con-
trary than that we have documents provin' that
this human bein' in this cage fell asleep in the year
1837 and has been sleepin' ever since. The longest
nap on record,' I'll say. That'll fetch a laugh."
"And you don't care, dearie, that I'll be creepy
all through the show, do you?" said Syrilla.
"I won't care a hang," said Dorgan.
Mr. Gubb glided noiselessly from under the car
and sped away. He had heard enough to know that
deviltry was afoot. There was no doubt in his mind
that the Pet was the late Mr. Winterberry, for if
ever a man deserved to be called "Pet," Mr. Winter-
berry — according to Mrs. Garthwaite's description
32


THE PET
— was that man. There was no doubt that Mr.
Winterberry had been murdered, and that these
heartless wretches meant to make capital of his
body. The inference was logical. It was a strong
clue, and Mr. Gubb hurried to the circus grounds
to study the situation.
"No," said Syrilla tearfully, "you don't care a
hang for the nerves of the lady and gent freaks under
your care, Mr. Dorgan. It's nothin' to you if re-
pulsion from that corpse-like Pet drags seventy or
eighty pounds of fat off of me, for you well know
what my contract is — so much a week and so much
for each additional pound of fat, and the less fat I
am the less you have to add onto your pay-roll. The
day the Pet come to the show first I fainted outright
and busted down the platform, but little do you
care, Mr. Dorgan."
"Don't you worry; you did n't murder him," said
Mr. Dorgan.
"He looks so lifelike!" sobbed Syrilla.
"Oh, Hoxie!" shouted Mr. Dorgan.
"Yes, sir?" said the Strong Man, coming to the
car door.
"Take Syrilla in and tell the girls to put ice on
her head. She's gettin' hysterics again. And when
you've told 'em, you go up to the grounds and tell
Blake and Skinny to unpack the Petrified Man.
Tell 'em I'm goin' to use him again to-day, and if
he's lookin' shop-worn, have one of the men go over
his complexion and make him look nice and lifelike."
33


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Mr. Dorgan swung off from the car step and
walked away.
The Petrified Man had been one of his mistakes.
In days past petrified men had been important side-
show features and Mr. Dorgan had supposed the
time had come to re-introduce them, and he had
had an excellent petrified man made of concrete,
with steel reinforcements in the legs and arms and
a body of hollow tile so that it could stand rough
travel.
Unfortunately, the features of the Petrified Man
had been entrusted to an artist devoted to the
making of clothing dummies. Instead of an Aztec or
Cave Dweller cast of countenance, he had given the
Petrified Man the simpering features of the wax
figures seen in cheap clothing stores. The result was
that, instead of gazing at the Petrified Man with
awe as a wonder of nature, the audiences laughed at
him, and the living freaks dubbed him "the Pet,"
or, still more rudely, "the Corpse," and when the
glass case broke at the end of the week, Mr. Dorgan
ordered the Pet packed in a box.
Just now, however, the flight of the Tasmanian
Wild Man, and the involuntary departure of Mr.
Winterberry at the command of his wife after his
short appearance as Waw-Waw, the Mexican Hair-
less Dog-Man, suggested the new use for the Petrified
Man.
When Detective Gubb reached the circus grounds
the glaring banners had not yet been erected before
34


THE PET
the side-show tent, but all the tents except the "big
top" were up and all hands were at work on that
one, or supposed to be. Two were not. Two of the
roughest-looking roustabouts, after glancing here
and there, glided into the property tent and con-
cealed themselves behind a pile of blue cases, ham-
pers, and canvas bags. One of them immediately
drew from under his coat a small but heavy parcel
wrapped in an old rag.
"Say, cul," he said in a coarse voice, "you sure
have got a head on you. This here stuff will be just
as safe in there as in a bank, see? Gimme the screw-
driver."
"'Not to be opened until Chicago,'" said the
other gleefully, pointing to the words daubed on
one of the blue cases. "But I guess it will be — hey,
old pal? I guess so!"
Together they removed the lid of the box, and
Detective Gubb, seeking the side-show, crawled un-
der the wall of the property tent just in time to see
the two ruffians hurriedly jam their parcel into the
case and screw the lid in place again. Mr. Gubb's
mustache was now in a diagonal position, but little
he cared for that. His eyes were fastened on the
countenances of the two roustabouts. The men were
easy to remember. One was red-headed and pock-
marked and the other was dark and the lobes of his
ears were slit, as if some one had at some time for-
cibly removed a pair of rings from them. Very
quietly Philo Gubb wiggled backward out of the
35


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
tent, but as he did so his eyes caught a word painted
on the side of the blue case. It was “Pet”!
Mr. Gubb proceeded to the next tent. Stooping,
he peered inside, and what he saw satisfied him that
he had found the side-show. Around the inside of
the tent men were erecting a blue platform, and on
the far side four men were wheeling a tongueless
cage into place. A door at the back of the cage
swung open and shut as the men moved the cage,
but another in front was securely bolted and barred.
Mr. Gubb lowered the tent wall and backed away.
It was into this cage that the body of Mr. Winter-
berry was to be put to make a public holiday for
yokels! And the murderer was still at large!
Murderer? Murderers! For who were the two
rough characters he had seen tampering with the
case containing the remains of the Pet? What had
they been putting in the case? If not the murderers,
they were surely accomplices. Walking like a wary
flamingo, Mr. Gubb circled the tent. He saw Mr.
Dorgan and Syrilla enter it. Himself hidden in a
clump of bushes, he saw Mr. Lonergan, the Living
Skeleton; Mr. Hoxie, the Strong Man; Major Ching,
the Chinese Giant; General Thumb, the Dwarf;
Princess Zozo, the Serpent Charmer; Maggie, the Cir-
cassian Girl; and the rest of the side-show employ-
ees enter the tent. Then he removed his Number
Eight mustache and put it in his pocket, and bal-
anced his mirror against a twig. Mr. Gubb was
changing his disguise.
36


THE PET
For a while the lady and gentleman freaks stood
talking, casting reproachful glances at Mr. Dorgan.
Syrilla, with traces of tears on her face, was com-
plaining of the cruel man who insisted that the Pet
become part of the show once more and Mr. Dorgan
was resisting their reproaches.
“I'm the boss of the show," he said firmly. “I'm
goin' to use that cage, and I'm goin' to use the Pet."
“Could n't you put Orlando in it, and get up a
spiel about him?" asked Princess Zozo, whose larg-
est serpent was called Orlando. “If you got him a
bottle of cold cream from the make-up tent he'd lie
for hours with his dear little nose sniffin' it. He's
pashnutly fond of cold cream."
"Well, the public ain't pashnutly fond of seein'
a snake smell it," said Mr. Dorgan. “The Pet is
goin' into that cage — see?"
“Could n't you borry an ape from the menag-
erie?" asked Mr. Lonergan, the Living Skeleton,
who was as passionately fond of Syrilla as Orlando
was of cold cream. “And have him be the first man-
monkey to speak the human language, only he's got
a cold and can't talk to-day? You did that once."
"And got roasted by the whole crowd! No, sir,
Mr. Lonergan. I can't, and I won't. Bring that
case right over here," he added, turning to the four
roustabouts who were carrying the blue case into
the tent. “Got it open? Good! Now —".
He looked toward the cage and stopped short, his
mouth open and his eyes staring. Sitting on his
37


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
haunches, his fore paws, or hands, hanging down
like those of a "begging" dog, a Tasmanian Wild
Man stared from between the bars of the cage. The
matted hair, the bare legs, the animal skin blanket,
the streaks of ochre and red on the face, the black
circles around the eyes with the white inside the
circles, were those of a real Tasmanian Wild Man,
but this Tasmanian Wild Man was tall and thin,
almost rivaling Mr. Lonergan in that respect. The
thin Roman nose and the blinky eyes, together with
the manner of holding the head on one side, sug-
gested a bird — a large and dissipated flamingo, for
instance.
Mr. Dorgan stared with his mouth open. He
stared so steadily that he even took a telegram
from the messenger boy who entered the tent, and
signed for it without looking at the address. The
messenger boy, too, stopped to stare at the Tas--
manian flamingo. The men who had brought the
blue case set it down and stared. The freaks gath-
ered in front of the cage and stared.
"What is it?" asked Syrilla in a voice trembling
with emotion.
“Say! Where in the U.S.A. did you come from?"
asked Mr. Dorgan suddenly. “What in the dickens
are you, anyway?"
“I'm a Tasmanian Wild Man," said Mr. Gubb
mildly.
“You a Tasmanian Wild Man?" said Mr.
Dorgan. “You don't think you look like a Tas-
38


THE PET
manian Wild Man, do you? Why, you look like —
you look like — you look —"
"He looks like an intoxicated pterodactyl," said
Mr. Lonergan, who had some knowledge of pre-
historic animals, — "only hairier."
"He looks like a human turkey with a piebald
face," suggested General Thumb.
"He don't look like nothin'!" said Mr. Dorgan
at last. "That's what he looks like. You get out
of that cage!" he added sternly to Mr. Gubb. "I
don't want nothin' that looks like you nowhere near
this show."
"But, Mr. Dorgan, dearie, think how he'd draw
crowds," said Syrilla.
"Crowds? Of course he'd draw crowds," said
Mr. Dorgan. "But what would I say when I lec-
tured about him? What would I call him? No,
he's got to go. Boys," he said to the four rousta-
bouts, two of whom were those Mr. Gubb had seen
in the property tent, "throw this feller out of the
tent."
"Stop!" said Mr. Gubb, raising one hand. "I will
admit I have tried to deceive you: I am not a Tas-
manian Wild Man. I am a deteckative!"
"Detective?" said Mr. Dorgan.
"In disguise," said Mr. Gubb modestly. "In the
deteckative profession the assuming of disguises is
often necessary to the completion of the clarifica-
tion of a mystery plot."
He pointed down at the Pet, whose newly rouged
39


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
and powdered face rested smirkingly in the box
below the cage.
"I arrest you all," he said, but before he could
complete the sentence, the red-headed man and the
black-headed man turned and bolted from the tent.
Mr. Gubb beat and jerked at the bars of his cage as
franctically as Mr. Waldo Emerson Snooks had ever
beaten and jerked, but he could not rend them apart.
"Get those two fellers," Mr. Gubb shouted to
Mr. Hoxie, and the strong man ran from the tent.
"What's this about arrest?" asked Mr. Dorgan.
"I arrest this whole side-show," said Mr. Gubb,
pressing his face between the bars of the cage, "for
the murder of that poor, gentle, harmless man now
a dead corpse into that blue box there — Mr. Win-
terberry by name, but called by you by the alias of
the'Pet.'"
"Winterberry?" exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. "That
Winterberry? That ain't Winterberry! That's a
stone man, a made-to-order concrete man, with hol-
low tile stomach and reinforced concrete arms and
legs. I had him made to order."
"The criminal mind is well equipped with expla-
nations for use in time of stress," said Mr. Gubb.
"Lesson Six of the Correspondence School of De-
teckating warns the deteckative against explana-
tions of murderers when confronted by the victim.
I demand an autopsy onto Mr. Winterberry."
"Autopsy!" exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. "I'll au-
topsy him for you!"
40


THE PET
He grasped one of the Pet's hands and wrenched
off one concrete arm. He struck the head with a
tent stake and shattered it into crumbling concrete.
He jerked the Roman tunic from the body and dis-
closed the hollow tile stomach.
“Hello!” he said, lifting a rag-wrapped parcel
from the interior of the Pet. “What's this?"
When unwrapped it proved to be two dozen silver
forks and spoons and a good-sized silver trophy
cup.
"Riverbank Country Club, Duffers' Golf Trophy,
1909 ?'” Mr. Dorgan read. “Won by Jonas Med-
derbrook.' How did that get there?"
“Jonas Medderbrook," said Mr. Gubb, “is a man
of my own local town."
"He is, is he?" said Mr. Dorgan. “And what's
your name?"
"Gubb," said the detective. “Philo Gubb,
Esquire, deteckative and paper-hanger, Riverbank,
Iowa.”
“Then this is for you," said Mr. Dorgan, and he
handed the telegram to Mr. Gubb. The detective
opened it and read:-
Gubb,
Care of Circus,
Bardville, la.
My house robbed circus night. Golf cup gone. Game
now rotten: never win another. Five hundred dollars
reward for return to me.
JONAS MEDDERBROOK
41


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"You didn't actually come here to find Mr.
Winterberry, did you?" asked Syrilla.
Mr. Gubb folded the telegram, raised his matted
hair, and tucked the telegram between it and his
own hair for safe-keeping.
"When a deteckative starts out to detect," he
said calmly, "sometimes he detects one thing and
sometimes he detects another. That cup is one of
the things I deteckated to-day. And now, if all
are willing, I 'll step outside and get my pants on.
I'll feel better."
"And you'll look better,", said Mr. Dorgan.
"You could n't look worse."
"In the course of the deteckative career," said
Mr. Gubb, "a gent has to look a lot of different
ways, and I thank you for the compliment. The art
of disguising the human physiology is difficult.
This disguise is but one of many I am frequently
called upon to assume."
"Well, if any more are like this one," said Mr.
Dorgan with sincerity, "I'm glad I'm not a de-
tective."
Syrilla, however, heaved her several hundred
pounds of bosom and cast her eyes toward Mr.
Gubb.
"I think detectives are lovely in any disguise,"
she said, and Mr. Gubb's heart beat wildly.


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
As Philo Gubb boarded the train for Riverbank
after recovering the silver loving-cup from the in-
terior of the petrified man, he cast a regretful glance
backward. It was for Syrilla. There was half a ton
of her pinky-white beauty, and her placid, cow-like
expression touched an echoing chord in Philo Gubb's
heart.
Philo felt, however, that his admiration must be
hopeless, for Syrilla must earn a salary in keeping
with her size, and his income was too irregular and
small to keep even a thin wife.
Five hundred dollars was a large reward for a
loving-cup that cost not over thirty dollars, it is
true, but Mr. Jonas Medderbrook could afford to pay
what he chose, and as he was passionately fond of
golf and passionately poor at the game, and as this
was probably the only golf prize he would ever win,
he was justified in paying liberally, especially as
this cup was not merely a tankard, but almost large
enough to be called a tank.
Detective Gubb hastened to the home of Mr.
Medderbrook, but when the door of that palatial
house opened, the colored butler told Mr. Gubb that
Mr. Medderbrook was at the Golf Club, attending
the annual banquet of the Fifty Worst Duffers.
43


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Mr. Gubb started for the Golf Club. As he walked
he thought of Syrilla, and he was at the gate of the
Golf Club before he knew it.
He walked up the path toward the club-house,
but when halfway, he stopped short, all his detec-
tive instincts aroused. The windows of the club-
house glowed with light, and sounds of merriment
issued from them, but the cause of Philo Gubb's
sudden pause was a head silhouetted against one of
the glowing windows. As Mr. Gubb watched, he
saw the head disappear in the gloom below the win-
dow only to reappear at another window. Mr. Gubb,
following the directions as laid down in Lesson
Four of the Correspondence Lessons, dropped to his
hands and knees and crept silently toward the " Paul
Pry." When within a few feet of him, Mr. Gubb
seated himself tailor-fashion on the grass.
As Philo sat on the damp grass, the man at the
window turned his head, and Mr. Gubb noted with
surprise that the stranger had none of the marks of a
sodden criminal. The face was that of a respectably
benevolent old German-American gentleman. Kind-
liness and good-nature beamed from its lines; but at
the moment the plump little man seemed in trouble.
"Good-evening," said Mr. Gubb. "I presume
you are taking an observation of the dinner-party
within the inside of the club."
The old gentleman turned sharply.
"Shess!" he said. "I look at der peoples eading
and drinking. Alvays I like to see dot. Und sooch
44



A HEAD SILHOUETTED AGAINST ONE OF THE GLOWING WINDOWS





THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
goot eaders! Dot man mit der black beard, he vos
a schplendid eader!”
Mr. Gubb raised himself to his knees and looked
into the dining-room.
“That," he said, “is the Honorable Mr. Jonas
Medderbrook, the wealthiest rich man in River-
bank."
"Metterbrook? Mettercrook?" said the old
German-American. “Not Chones, eh?"
"Not Jones, to my present personal knowledge
at this time," said Philo Gubb.
"Not Chones!" repeated the plumply benevolent-
looking German-American. “Dot vos stranche!
You vos sure he vos not Chones?"
"I'm quite almost positive upon that point of
knowledge," said Philo Gubb, "for I have under
my arm a golf cup I am returning back to Mr.
Medderbrook to receive five hundred dollars reward
from him for."
"So?" queried the stranger. “Fife hundredt dol-
lars? Und it is his cup?"
“It is,” said Philo Gubb. He raised the cup in
his hand that the stranger might read the inscription
stating that the cup was Jonas Medderbrook's.
The light of the window made the engraving easy
to read, but the old German-American first drew
from his pocket a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles and
adjusted them carefully on his nose. He then took
the cup and moved closer to the window and read
the inscription.
45


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Shess! Shess!" he agreed, nodding his head
several times, and then he smiled at Mr. Gubb a
broadly benevolent smile. '' Oxcoose me!" he added,
and with gentle deliberation he removed Mr. Gubb's
hat. "Shoost a minute, please!" he continued, and
with his free hand he felt gently of the top of Mr.
Gubb's head. He turned Mr. Gubb's head gently
to the right. "So!" he exclaimed: '' Dot vos goot!''
He raised the cup above his head and brought it
down on top of Mr. Gubb's head in the exact spot
he had selected. For two moments Mr. Gubb made
motions with his hands resembling those of a swim-
mer, and then he collapsed in a heap. The kindly
looking old German-American gentleman, seeing he
was quite unconscious, tucked the golf cup under
his own arm, and waddled slowly down the path to
the club gates.
Ten minutes later a small automobile drove up
and young Dr. Anson Briggs hopped out. Mr. Gubb
was just getting to his feet, feeling the top of his head
with his hand as he did so.
"Here!" said Dr. Briggs. "You must not do
that!"
"Why can't I do it?" Mr. Gubb asked crossly.
"It is my own personal head, and if I wish to desire
to rub it, you are not concerned in the occasion
whatever."
"Oh, rub your head if you want to!" exclaimed
the doctor. "I say you must not stand up. A man
that has just had a fit must not stand up."
46


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
"Who had a fit?" asked Philo Gubb.
"You did," said Dr. Briggs. "I am told you
had a very bad fit, and fell and knocked your head
against the building. You're dazed. Lie down!"
"I prefer to wish to stand erect on my feet,"
said Mr. Gubb firmly. "Where's my cup?"
"What cup?"
"Who told you I was suffering from the symptom
of a fit?" demanded Philo Gubb.
"Why, a short, plump little German did," said
the doctor. "He sent me here. And he gave me
this to give to you."
The doctor held an envelope toward Mr. Gubb,
and the detective took it and tore it open. By the
light of the window he read: —
Rec'd of J. Jones, golluf cup worth £500. P. H.
SCHRECKENHEIM.
Philo Gubb turned to Dr. Briggs.
"I am much obliged for the hastiness with which
you came to relieve one you considered to think in
trouble, doctor," he said, "but fits are not in my
line of sickness, which mainly is dyspeptic to date."
"Now, what is all this?" asked the doctor sus-
piciously. "What is that letter, anyway?"
"It is a clue," said Philo Gubb, "which, con-
nected with the bump on the top of the cranium of
my skull, will, no doubt, land somebody into jail.
So good-evening, doctor."
He picked his hat from the lawn, and in his most
47


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
stately manner walked around the club-house and
in at the door.
Inside the club-house, Mr. Gubb asked one of the
waiters to call Mr. Medderbrook, and Mr. Medder-
brook immediately appeared.
As he came from the dining-room rapidly, the
napkin he had had tucked in his neck fell over his
shoulder behind him, and Mr. Medderbrook, instead
of turning around bent backward until he could pick
up the napkin with his teeth, after which he resumed
his normal upright position.
"Excuse me, Gubb," he said; "I didn't think
what I was doing. Where is the cup?"
The detective explained. He handed Mr. Medder-
brook the receipt that had been sent byMr. Schreck-
enheim, and the moment Mr. Medderbrook's eyes
fell upon it he turned red.
"That infernal Dutchman!" he cried, although
Mr. Schreckenheim was not a Dutchman at all,
but a German-American. "I 'll jail him for this!"
He stopped short.
"Gubb," he said, "did that fellow tell you what
his business was?"
"He did not," said Philo Gubb. "He failed to
express any mention of it."
"That man," said Mr. Medderbrook bitterly,
"is Schreckenheim, the greatest tattoo artist in the
world. He is the king of them all. A connoisseur
in tattooish art can tell a Schreckenheim as easily
as a picture-dealer can tell a Corot. But no matter!
48


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
Mr. Gubb, you are a detective and I believe what is
told detectives is held inviolable. Yes. You — and
all Riverbank — see in me an ordinary citizen,
wealthy, perhaps, but ordinary. As a matter of
fact, I was once" — he looked cautiously around —
"I was once a contortionist. I was once the con-
tortionist. And now I am a wealthy man. My wife
left me because she said I was stingy, and she took
my child — my only daughter. I have never seen
either of them since. I have searched high and low,
but I cannot find them. Mr. Gubb, I would give
the man that finds my daughter — if she is alive —
a thousand dollars."
"You don't object to my attempting to try?"
said Philo Gubb.
"No," said Mr. Jonas Medderbrook, "but that is
not what I wish to explain. In my contortion act,
Mr. Gubb, I was obliged to wear the most expen-
sive silk tights. Wiggling on the floor destroys them
rapidly. I had a happy thought. I was known as
the Man-Serpent. Could I not save all expense of
tights by having myself tattooed so that my skin
would represent scales? Look."
Mr. Medderbrook pulled up his cuff and showed
Mr. Gubb his arm. It was beautifully tattooed in
red and blue, like the scales of a cobra.
"The cost," continued Mr. Medderbrook, "was
great. Herr Schreckenheim worked continuously
on me, and when he reached my manly chest I had
a brilliant thought. I would have tattooed upon it
49


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
an American eagle. Imagine the enthusiasm of an
audience when I stood straight, spread my arms and
showed that noble emblem of our nation's strength
and freedom! I told Herr Schreckenheim and he set
to work. When — and the contract price, by the
way, for doing that eagle was five hundred dollars
— when the eagle was about completed, I said to
Herr Schreckenheim, 'Of course you will do no more
eagles?'
“More eagles?' he said questioningly.
“On other men,' I said. 'I want to be the only
man with an eagle on my chest.'
“I am doing an eagle on another man now,' he
said.
“I was angry at once. I jumped from the table
and threw on my clothes. 'Cheater!' I cried. 'Not
another spot or dot shall you make on me! Go!
I will never pay you a cent!'
"He was very angry. 'It is a contract!' he cried.
'Five hundred dollars you owe me!'
“I owe it to you when the job is complete,' I
declared. *That was the contract. Is this job com-
plete? Where are the eagle's claws? I'll never pay
you a cent!'
“We had a lot of angry words. He demanded
that I give him a chance to put the claws on the
eagle. I refused. I said I would never pay. He said
he would follow me to the end of the world and col-
lect. He said he would do those eagle claws if he
had to do them on my infant daughter. I dared him
50


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
to touch the child. And now," said Mr. Medder-
brook, "he has taken the golf cup I value at five
hundred dollars. He has won."
At the mention of the threat regarding the child;
Philo Gubb's eyes opened wide, but he kept silence.
"Gubb," said Mr. Medderbrook suddenly, "I'll
give you a thousand dollars if you can recover my
poor child."
"The deteckative profession is full of complicity
of detail," said Mr. Gubb, "and the impossible it
quite possible when put in the right hands. The
cup—"
"Bother the cup!" said Mr. Medderbrook care-
lessly. "I want my child — I'll give ten thousand
dollars for my child, Gubb."
With difficulty could Philo Gubb restrain hit
eagerness to depart. He had a clue!
Ordinarily Mr. Gubb would have taken any dis-
guise that seemed to him best suited for the work
in hand; but now he was going to see and be seen by
Syrilla!
Mr. Gubb ran down the list — Number Seven.
Card Sharp; Number Nine, Minister of the Gospel:
Number Twelve, Butcher; Number Sixteen, Negro
Hack-Driver; Number Seventeen, Chinese Laun-
dryman; Number Twenty, Cowboy. . . . Philo Gubb
paused there. He would be a cowboy, for it was a
jaunty disguise — "chaps," sombrero, spurs, buck-
skin gloves, holsters and pistols, blue shirt, yellow
hair, stubby mustache. He donned the complete
5i


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
disguise, put his street garments in a suitcase and
viewed himself in his small mirror. He highly ap-
proved of the disguise. He touched his cheeks with
red to give himself a healthy, outdoor appearance.
Early the next morning, before the earliest mer-
chants had opened their shops, Philo Gubb boarded
the train for West Higgins, for it was there the
World's Greatest Combined Shows were to appear.
The few sleepy passengers did not open their eyes;
the conductor, as he took Mr. Gubb's ticket, merely
remarked, "Joining the show at West Higgins?"
and passed on. Boys were already gathering on the
West Higgins station platform when the train pulled
in, and they cheered Mr. Gubb, thinking him part
of the show. This greatly increased the difficulty
of Mr. Gubb's detective work. He had hoped to
steal unobserved to the circus grounds, but a dozen
small boys immediately attached themselves to
him, running before him and whooping with joy.
"Boys," said Mr. Gubb sternly, "I wish you to
run away and play elsewhere than in front of me
continuously and all the time," — and they cheered
because he had spoken. Only the glad news that
the circus trains had reached town finally dragged
them reluctantly away. Detective Gubb hurried
to the circus grounds. The cook tent was already
up, and the grub tent was being put up. Presently
the side-show tent was up and the "big top" rising.
It was not until nine o'clock, however, that the side-
show ladies and gentlemen began to appear, and
52


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
when they arrived they went at once to the grub
tent and seated themselves at the table. From a
corner of the “big top's" side wall, Detective Gubb
watched them.
"Look there, dearie,” said Syrilla suddenly to
Princess Zozo, “don't that cowboy look like Mr.
Gubb that was at Bardville and got the golf
cup?"
"It don't look like him," said Princess Zozo;“it is
him. Why don't you ask him to come over and help
at the eats? You seemed to like him yesterday."
"I thought he was a real gentlem'nly gentlemun,
dearie, if that's what you mean," said Syrilla; and
raising her voice she called to Mr. Gubb. For a
moment he hesitated, and then he came forward.
“We knowed you the minute we seen you, Mr. Gubb.
Come and sit in beside me and have some break-
fast 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 detecka-
tive business," said Mr. Gubb, as he seated himself
beside Syrilla. “I'm upon a most important case
at the present time."
Syrilla reached for her fifth boiled potato, and as
her arm passed Mr. Gubb's face he thrilled. He had
not been mistaken. Upon that arm was a pair of
eagle's claws, tattooed in red and blue! How little
these had meant to him before, and how much they
meant now!


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"I presume you don't hardly ever long for a home
in one place, Miss Syrilla," he began, with his eye
/fixed on her arm just above the elbow.
"Well, believe me, dearie," said Syrilla, "you
don't want to think that just because I travel with
a side-show I don't long for the refinements of a true
home just like other folks. Some folks think I'm
easy to see through and that I ain't nothin' but fat
and appetite, but they've got me down wrong, Mr.
Gubb. I was unfortunate in gettin' lost from my
father and mother when a babe, but many is the
time I've said to Zozo, 'I got a refined strain in my
nature.' Have n't I, Zozo?"
"You say it every time we begin to rag you about
fallin' in love with every new thin man you see,"
said Princess Zozo. "You said it last night when
we was joshin' you about Mr. Gubb here."
Syrilla colored, but Mr. Gubb thrilled joyously.
"Just the same, dearie," Syrilla said to Princess
Zozo, "I've got myself listed right when I say I got
a refined nature. I've got all the instincts of a real
society lady and sometimes it irks me awful not to
be able to let myself loose and bant like —"
"Pant?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"Bant was the word I used, Mr. Gubb," Syrilla
replied. "Maybe you would n't guess it, lookin' at
me shovelin' in the eatables this way, but eatin'
food is the croolest thing I have to do. It jars me
somethin' terrible. Yes, dearie, what I long for day
and night is a chance to take my place in the social
54


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
straturns I was born for and bant off the fat like
other social ladies is doin' right along. I don't eat
food because I like it, Mr. Gubb, but because a lady
in a profession like mine has got to keep fatted up.
My outside may be fat, Mr. Gubb, but I got a soul
inside of me as skinny as any fash'nable lady would
care to have, and as soon as possible I'm goin' to
quit the road and bant off six or seven hundred
pounds. Would you believe it possible that I ain't
dared to eat a pickle for over seven years, because
it might start me on the thinward road?"
"I presume to suppose," said Mr. Gubb politely,
"that if you was to be offered a home that was rich
with wealth and I was to take you there and place
you beside your parental father, you would n't
refuse?"
Mr. Gubb awaited the reply with eagerness. He
tried to remain calm, but in spite of himself he was
nervous.
"Watch me!" said Syrilla. "If you could show
me a nook like that, you could n't hold me in this
show business with a tent-stake and bull tackle. But
that's a rosy dream!"
"You ain't got a locket with the photo' of your
mother's picture into it?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"No," said Syrilla. "My pa and ma was un-
known to me. I dare say they got sick of hearin'
me bawl and left me on a doorstep. The first I knew
of things was that I was travelin' with a show, repre-
sentin' a newborn babe in an incubator machine.
55


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
I was incubated up to the time I was five years old,
and got too long to go in the glass case."
"But some one was your guardian in charge of you,
no doubt?" asked Gubb.
"I had forty of them, dearie," said Syrilla.
"Whenever money run low, they quit because they
could n't get paid on Saturday night."
"Hah!" said Mr. Gubb. "And does the name
Jones bring back the memory of any rememberance
to you?"
"No, Mr. Gubb," said Syrilla regretfully, seeing
how eager he was. "It don't."
"In that state of the case of things," said Mr.
Gubb, "I 've got to go over to that wagon-pole and
sit down and think awhile. I've got a certain clue
I've got to think over and make sure it leads right,
and if it does I 'll have something important to say
to you."
The wagon-pole in question was attached to a
canvas wagon near by, and Detective Gubb seated
himself on it and thought. The side-show ladies and
gentlemen, having finished, entered the side-show
tent — with the exception of Syrilla, who remained
to finish her meal. She ate a great deal at meals,
before meals, and after meals. Mr. Gubb, from his
seat on the wagon-pole, looked at Syrilla thought-
fully. He had not the least doubt that Syrilla was
the lost daughter of Mr. Jones (or Medderbrook as
he now called himself). The German-American
tattoo artist had sworn to complete the eagle by
56


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
putting its claws on Mr. Jones's daughter, if need
be, and here were the claws on Syrilla's arm. But,
just as it is desirable at times to have a handwriting
expert identify a bit of writing, Mr. Gubb felt that
if he could prove that the claws tattooed on Syrilla's
arm were the work of Mr. Schreckenheim, his case
would be complete. He longed for Mr. Schrecken-
heim's presence, but, lacking that, he had a happy
idea. Mr. Enderbury, the tattooed man of the side-
show, should be a connoisseur and would perhaps
be able to identify the eagle's claws. Leaving Syrilla
still eating, Mr. Gubb entered the side-show tent.
Mr. Enderbury, seated on a blue property case,
was engaged in biting the entire row of finger nails
on his right hand, and a frown creased his brow.
He was enwrapped by a long purple bathrobe which
tied closely about his neck. As he caught sight of
Mr. Gubb, he started slightly and doubled his hand
into a fist, but he immediately calmed himself and
assumed a nonchalant air. As a matter of fact, Mr.
Enderbury led a dog's life. For years he had loved
Syrilla devotedly, but he was so bashful he had
never dared to confess his love to her, and year after
year he saw her smile upon one thin man after an-
other. Now it was Mr. Lonergan; again it was Mr.
Winterberry — or it was Mr. Gubb, or Smith, or
Jones, or Doe; but for Mr. Enderbury she seemed
to have nothing but contempt. Mr. Enderbury had
first seen her when she was posing in the infant incu-
bator, and had loved her even then, for he was
57


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
twenty when she was but five. The coming of a new
rival always affected him as the coming of Mr. Gubb
had, but for good reason he hated Mr. Gubb worse
than any of the others.
"Excuse me for begging your pardon," said Mr.
Gubb, "but in the deteckative business questions
have to be asked. Have you ever chanced to happen
to notice some tattoo work upon the arm of Miss
Syrilla of this side-show?"
"I have," said Mr. Enderbury shortly.
"A pair of eagle's claws," said Mr. Gubb. "Can
you tell me, from your knowledge and belief, if
the work there done was the work of a Mr. Herr
Schreckenheim ?'1
"I can tell you if I want to," said Mr. Enderbury.
"What do you want to know for?"
"If those claws are the work of Mr. Herr Schreck-
enheim," said Mr. Gubb, "I am prepared to offer
to Miss Syrilla her daughterly place in a home of
wealth at Riverbank, Iowa. If those claws are
Schreckenheim claws, Miss Syrilla is the daughter
of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook of the said burg, beyond
the question of a particle of doubt."
Mr. Enderbury looked at Mr. Gubb with surprise.
'"That's non—" he began. "And if Schrecken-
heim did those claws, you 'll take Syrilla away from
this show? Forever?" he asked.
"I will," said Philo Gubb, "if she desires to wish
to go."
"Then I have nothing whatever to say," said
58


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
Mr. Enderbury, and he shut his mouth firmly; nor
would he say more.
"Do you desire to wish me to understand that
they are not the work of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?"
persisted Mr. Gubb.
"I have nothing to say!" said Mr. Enderbury.
"I consider that conclusive circumstantial evi-
dence that they are," said Detective Gubb, and he
clanked out of the side-show.
Syrilla was still seated at the grub table, finishing
her meal, and Mr. Gubb seated himself opposite her.
As delicately as he could, he told of Jonas Medder-
brook and his lost daughter, of the home of wealth
that awaited that daughter, and finally, of his be-
lief that Syrilla was that daughter. It was clear that
Syrilla was quite willing to take up a life of refine-
ment and dieting if she was given an opportunity
such as Mr. Gubb was able to offer in the name of
Jonas Medderbrook; and, this being so, he ques-
tioned her regarding the eagle's claws.
"Mr. Gubb," she said*"I wish to die on the spot
if I know how I got them claws tattooed onto me.
If you ask me, I 'll say it is the mystery of my life.
They've been on me since I was a little girl no bigger
than — why, who is that?"
Mr. Gubb turned his head quickly, but he was
not in time to see a plump, good-natured looking
little German-American slip quickly out of sight
behind the cook tent. Neither did he see the glitter
of the sun on a large silver golf cup the plump
59


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
German-American carried under his arm; but the
German-American had recognized Mr. Gubb, even
through his disguise of a cowboy.
"No matter," said Syrilla. "But these claws
have been on my arm since I was a wee little girl,
Mr. Gubb. I always thought they was a trademark
of a hospital."
"I was not knowingly aware that hospitals had
trademarks," said Mr. Gubb.
"Maybe they don't," said Syrilla. "But when
I was a small child I had an accident and had to be
took to a hospital, and it was n't until after that
that anybody saw the eagle's claws on me. I con-
sidered that maybe it was like the mark the laundry
puts on a handkerchief it has laundered."
"I don't know much about the manners of the
ways of hospitals," admitted Mr. Gubb, "and that
may be so, but I have another idea. Did you ever
hear of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?"
"Only that Mr. Enderbury is always cross on the
days of the month that he gets Mr. Schreckenheim's
statements of money due. Mr. Schreckenheim is the
man that tattooed Mr. Enderbury so beautiful, but
poor Mr. Enderbury has never been able to pay
him in full."
Philo Gubb arose.
"I am going to telegraph Mr. Medderbrook to
come on to West Higgins immediately by the three
p.m. afternoon train," he said, "and you will
meet him as your paternal father and arrange to
60


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
make your home with him as soon as you desire
to wish it."
At five o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Medderbrook,
escorted by Mr. Gubb, entered the side-show tent.
The lady and gentlemen freaks were resting before
evening grub, and all were gathered around Syrilla's
platform, for the news that she was to leave the
show to enter a home of wealth and refinement had
spread quickly. Syrilla herself was in tears. Now
that the time had come she was loath to part from
her kind companions.
"I tell you, Mr. Gubb," Mr. Medderbrook said,
as they entered the side-show, “if you have indeed
found my daughter you have made me a happy man.
You cannot know how lonesome my life has been.
Now, which is she?"
“She is the female lady in the pink satin dress
on that platform,” said Mr. Gubb.
Mr. Medderbrook looked toward Syrilla and
gasped.
“Why, that — that's the Fat Woman! That's
the Fat Woman of the side-show!” he exclaimed.
“I thought-I— why, my daughter would n't be
a Fat Woman in a side-show!”.
“But she is," said Mr. Gubb.
“Great Scott!" exclaimed Mr. Medderbrook.
For years Mr. Medderbrook had retained a
memory of his daughter as he had seen her last,
a tender babe in long clothes. As he rode toward
61


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
West Higgins, however, he had thought about his
daughter and he had revised his conception of her.
She was older now, of course, and he had finally
settled the matter by deciding that she would be
a dainty slip of a girl — probably a tight-rope walker
or one of the toe-dancers in the Grand Spectacle,
or perhaps even engaged as the Ten-Thousand-
Dollar Beauty. But a Fat Lady! Mr. Medderbrook
walked toward Syrilla. Every eye in the tent was
upon him. There was utter silence except for Syr-
illa's happy sobbing.
"Shess!" said a voice suddenly. "You bet I vos
here! Und I vant my money! Years I haf been
collecding dot bill, und still you owe me. Now I
come, and you pay me all vot you owe or I make
troubles!"
The voice came from outside the tent, and with
surprising agility Detective Gubb dived under the
platform and wriggled under the canvas wall.
"I don't owe you a cent!" exclaimed the voice
of Mr. Enderbury.' "I've paid you for every bit
of tattoo I have on me."
"Seven hunderdt dollars vos der contract," cried
the voice of Herr Schreckenheim. "Und ten dollars
is due me yet. I vant it."
"Well, you'll keep on wanting it," said Mr.
Enderbury's voice. "Look here! Look at my chest.
There's the eagle you did on me — do you see any
claws on it? No, you don't! Well, I'm not going
to pay for claws that are not on me. No, sir!"
62


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
"Claws? I do some claws on you, don't I, ven
I do dot eagle?" asked the German-American.
"Yes, but they're not on me now, are they?"
asked Mr. Enderbury. "You can go and collect from
the person that has them. What do I care for her
now? She's going to quit the circus business. I've
paid for all the tattoo that's on me; you go and
collect ten dollars for those claws from Syrilla."
"Und how does she get those claws on her?"
asked Herr Schreckenheim shrewdly.
"I'll tell you how," said Mr. Enderbury. "You
remember when Griggs' & Barton's Circus burned
down years ago? Well, Syrilla was burned in that
fire — burned on the arm — and they took her to
a hospital and her arm would n't heal. So some-
body had to furnish some skin for a skin-grafting
job, and I did it. The piece they took had those
claws on it. That's what happened. I gave those
eagle's claws to cure her, and I've hung around her
all these years like a faithful dog, and she don't
care a hang for me, and now she's going away. Go
and collect for those claws from her. I have n't got
them. She's going to be rich; she can pay you!"
Simultaneously there was an exclamation from
Mr. Medderbrook, a cry from Syrilla, and a short,
sharp yell from outside the tent. Mr. Gubb entered,
spurs first, creeping backward under the canvas.
As he backed from under the platform it was ob-
served that he held a shoe — about No. 8 size —
in one hand, and that a foot was in the shoe, and the
63


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
foot on a leg, and the leg on a short, plump, elderly
German-American, who yelled as he was dragged
into the tent on his back. In one hand of the Ger-
man-American was a large silver golf cup with a deep
dent on one side. As Mr. Gubb arose to his feet,
still holding the German-American tattoo artist's
foot in his hand, he said: —
"Mr. Medderbrook, the deteckative business is
not always completely satisfactory in all kinds of
respects, and it looks as if it appeared that the
daughter I found for you is somebody else's, but if
you will look at the other end of the assaulter and
batterer I have in hand, you will see that I have
recovered the silver golf cup trophy once again for
the second time."
"And that," said Mr. Medderbrook as he took
the cup from the German-American's hand, "is re-
markable work. The ordinary detective is usually
satisfied to recover stolen property once, but you
have recovered this cup twice."
"The motto of my deteckative business," said
Mr. Gubb modestly, "is 'Perfection, no matter how
many times.'"
Mr. Gubb might have said more, but he was
interrupted by Princess Zozo, the Snake Charmer,
who had walked around Syrilla and unhooked two
of the hooks at the top of Syrilla's low-necked gown.
"Look!" she exclaimed, and she pointed to a
second pair of eagle's claws tattooed between Sy-
rilla's shoulder blades. Without a word Mr. Med-


THE EAGLE'S CLAWS
derbrook took five hundred dollars from his purse
and handed them to Mr. Schreckenheim.
“That pays you for the cup," he said. And then,
turning to Syrilla: “Come to my arms, my long-lost
daughter!"
After Syrilla had hugged her father affectionately,
Mr. Gubb and the freaks laid him on the ground
and, by fanning him vigorously, were able to bring
him back to life. Mr. Medderbrook's first act upon
opening his eyes was to hold out his hand to Mr.
Gubb.
“Thank you, Gubb," he panted. “It's a big
price, but I'll keep my word. The ten thousand
dollars shall be yours.”
"Into ordinary circumstances," said Mr. Gubb
gravely, “ten thousand dollars would be a largely
big price to pay for recovering back a lost daughter,
Mr. Medderbrook, but into the present case it
don't amount to more than ten dollars per pound
of daughter, which ain't a largely great rate per
pound."


THE OUBLIETTE
The discovery that Syrilla was the daughter of
Jonas Medderbrook (born Jones) was a great tri-
umph for Philo Gubb, but while the "Riverbank
Eagle" made a great hurrah about it, Philo Gubb
was not entirely happy over the matter. Having
won a reward of ten thousand dollars for discover-
ing Syrilla and five hundred dollars for recovering
Mr. Medderbrook's golf cup, Mr. Gubb might have
ventured to tell Syrilla of his love for her but for
three reasons.
The first reason was that Mr. Gubb was so bash-
ful that it was impossible for him to speak his love
openly and immediatly. If Syrilla had returned
to Riverbank with her father, Mr.Gubb would have
courted her by degrees, or if Syrilla had weighed
only two hundred pounds, Mr. Gubb might have
had the bravery to propose to her instantly, but
she weighed one thousand pounds, and it required
five times the bravery to propose to a thousand
pounds that was required to propose to two hun-
dred 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. Dor-
66


THE OUBLIETTE
gan, "and I've got a five-year contract with her and
I'm going to hold her to it."
Mr. Medderbrook and Mr. Gubb would have
been quite hopeless when Mr. Dorgan said this if
Syrilla had not taken them to one side.
"Listen, dearies," she said, "he's a mean, old
brute, but don't you fret! I got a hunch how to make
him cancel my contract in a perfectly refined an'
ladylike manner. Right now I start in bantin' and
dietin' in the scientific-est manner an' the way I
can lose three or four hundred pounds when I set
out to do it is something grand. It won't be no
time at all until I'm thin and wisp-like, an' Mr.
Dorgan will be glad to get rid of me."
This information greatly cheered Mr. Gubb.
While he admired Syrilla just as she was, a rapid
mental calculation assured him that she would still
be quite plump at seven hundred pounds and he
knew he could love seven tenths of Syrilla more
than he could love ten tenths of any other lady in
the world.
The third reason had to do with the ten-thousand-
dollar reward. When Mr. Gubb and Mr. Medder-
brook were proceeding homeward on the train, Mr.
Medderbrook brought up the subject of the reward
again.
"I'm going to pay you that ten thousand dollars,
Gubb," he said, "but I'm going to pay it so it will
be worth a lot more than ten thousand dollars to
you."
67


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"You are very overly kind," said Mr. Gubb.
"It's because I know you are fond of Syrilla,"
said Mr. Medderbrook.
Mr. Gubb blushed.
"So I ain't going to give you ten thousand dollars
in cash," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I'm going to do
a lot better by you than that. I'm going to give
you gold-mine stock. The only trouble —"
"Gold-mine stock sounds quite elegantly nice,"
said Mr. Gubb.
"The only trouble," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is
that the gold-mine stock I want to give you is in a
block of twenty-five thousand dollars. It's nice
stock. It's as neatly engraved as any stock I ever
saw, and it is genuine common stock in the Utterly
Hopeless Gold-Mine Company."
"The name sounds sort of unhopeful," ventured
Mr. Gubb timidly.
"That shows you don't know anything about gold
mines," said Mr. Medderbrook cheerfully. "The
reason I — the reason the miners gave it that name
is because this mine lies right between two of the
best gold-mines in Minnesota. One of them is the
Utterly Good Gold-Mine, and the other is the Far-
From-Hopeless. So when I — so when the miners
named this mine they took part of the names of the
two others and called this one the Utterly Hopeless.
That's the way I — the way it is always done."
"It's very cleverly bright," said Mr. Gubb.
"It's an old trick — I should say an old and
68


THE OUBLIETTE
approved method," said Mr. Medderbrook. "So
what I'm going to do, Mr. Gubb, is to let you in on
the ground floor on this mine. It's a chance I
would n't offer to everybody. This mine has n't
paid out all its money in dividends. I tell you as an
actual fact, Mr. Gubb, that so far it has n't paid
out a cent in dividends, not even to the preferred
stock. No, sir! And it ain't one of these mines that
has been mined until all the gold is mined out of it.
No, sir! Not an ounce of gold has ever been taken
out of the Utterly Hopeless Mine. Not an ounce."
"It is all there yet!" exclaimed Mr. Gubb.
"All there ever was," said Mr. Medderbrook.
"Yes, sir! If you want me to I 'll give you a written
guarantee that the Utterly Hopeless Mine has never
paid a cent in dividends and that not an ounce of
gold has ever been taken out of the mine. That
shows you I'm square about this. So what I'm go-
ing to do," he said impressively, "is to turn over to
you a block of twenty-five thousand dollars' worth
of Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock and apply the
ten thousand dollars I owe you as part of the pur-
chase price. All you need to do then is to pay me the
other fifteen thousand dollars as rapidly as you can."
"That's very kindly generous of you," said Mr.
Gubb gratefully.
"And that isn't all," said Mr. Medderbrook.
"I own every single share of the stock of that mine,
Mr. Gubb, and as soon as you get the fifteen thou-
sand dollars paid up I 'll advance the price of that
r
69


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
stock one hundred per cent! Yes, sir, I'll double
the price of the stock, and what you own will be
worth fifty thousand dollars!"
There were tears in Philo Gubb's eyes as he
grasped Mr. Medderbrook's hand.
"And all I ask," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is that
you hustle up and pay that fifteen thousand dollars
as quick as you can. So that," he added, "you'll
be worth fifty thousand dollars all the sooner."
Upon reaching Riverbank Mr. Medderbrook took
Mr. Gubb to his home and turned over to him the
stock in the Utterly Hopeless Mine.
"And here," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is a receipt
for ten thousand five hundred dollars, and you can
give me back that five hundred I paid you for recov-
ering of my golf cup. That's to show you everything
is fair and square when you deal with me. Now
you owe me only fourteen thousand five hundred
dollars."
While Mr. Gubb was handing the five hundred
dollars back to Mr. Medderbrook the colored butler
entered with a telegram. Mr. Medderbrook tore it
open hastily.
"Good news already," he said and handed it to
Mr. Gubb. It was from Syrilla and said: —
Be brave. Have lost four ounces already. Kind
regards and best love to Mr. Gubb.
With only partial satisfaction Mr. Gubb left Mr.
Medderbrook and proceeded downtown. He now
70


THE OUBLIETTE
had a double incentive for seeking the rewards that
fall to detectives, for he had Syrilla to win and the
Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock to pay for. He
started for the Pie-Wagon, for he was hungry,
but on the way certain suspicious actions of Joe
Henry (the liveryman who had twice beaten him
up while he was working on the dynamiter case),
stopped him, and it was much later when he entered
the Pie-Wagon.
As Philo Gubb entered, Billy Getz sat on one of
the stools and stirred his coffee. He held a dime
novel with his other hand, reading; but Pie-Wagon
Pete kept an eye on him. He knew Billy Getz and
his practical jokes. If unwatched for a moment, the
young whipper-snapper might empty the salt into
the sugar-bowl, or play some other prank that
came under his idea of fun.
Billy Getz was a good example of the spoiled only
son. He went in for all the vice there was in town,
and to occupy his spare time he planned practical
jokes. He was thirty years old, rather bald, had a
pale and leathery skin, and a preternaturally serious
expression. In his pranks he was aided by the group
of young poker-playing, cigarette-smoking fellows
known as the "Kidders."
Billy Getz, as he read the last line of the thrilling
tale of "The Pale Avengers," tucked the book in his
pocket, and looked up and saw Philo Gubb. The
hawk-eyes of Billy Getz sparkled.
"Hello, detective!" he cried. "Sit down and
71


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
have something! You 're just the man I've been
lookin' for. Was askin' Pete about you not a min-
ute ago — was n't I, Pete?”.
Pie-Wagon Pete nodded.
“Yes, sir," said Billy Getz eagerly, “I've got
something right in your line — something big;
mighty big - and — say, detective, have you ever
read 'The Pale Avengers'?".
“I ain't had that pleasure, Mr. Getz," said Philo
Gubb, straddling a stool.
“What's the matter? You 're out of breath," said
Pie-Wagon.
"I been runnin'," said Philo Gubb. “I had to
run a little. Deteckatives have to run at times
occasionally."
“You bet they do," said Billy Getz earnestly.
“You ain't been after the dynamiters, have you?''
"I am from time to time working upon that case,"
said Philo Gubb with dignity.
"Well, you be careful. You be mighty careful!
We can't afford to lose a man like you," said Billy
Getz. “You can't be too careful. Got any of the
ghouls yet?"
“Not yet," said Philo Gubb stiffly. “It's a diffi-
cult case for one that's just graduated out of a
deteckative school. It's like Lesson Nine says —
I got to proceed cautiously when workin' in the
dark."
"Or they 'll get you before you get them," said
Billy Getz. “Like in ‘The Pale Avengers.' Here, I
72


THE OUBLIETTE
want you to read this book. It'll teach you some
things you don't know about crooks, maybe.”
“Thank you," said Philo Gubb, taking the dime
novel. “Anything that can help me in my detecka-
tive career is real welcome. I'll read it, Mr. Getz,
and — Look out!” he shouted, and in one leap was
over the counter and crouching behind it.
Billy Getz turned toward the door, where a short,
red-faced man was standing with a pine slab held
in his hand. Intense anger glittered in his eyes, and
he darted to the counter and, leaning over, brought
the slab down on Philo Gubb's back with a resound-
ing whack.
“Here! Here! None o' that stuff in here, Joe,"
cried Pie-Wagon Pete, grasping the intruder's arm.
"I'll kill him, that's what I'll do!" shouted the
intruder. “Snoopin' around my place, and follerin'
me up an' down all the time! I told him I was n't
goin' to have him doggin' me an' pesterin' me. I've
beat him up twice, an' now I'm goin' to give him the
worst lickin' he ever had. Come out of there, you
half-baked ostrich, you."
“Now, you stop that,” said Pie-Wagon Pete
sternly. “You 're goin' to be sorry if you beat him
up. He don't mean no harm. He's just foolish. He
don't know no better. All you got to do is to explain
it to him right."
“Explain?” said Joe Henry. “I'd look nice
explainin' anything, would n't I? Hand him over
here, Pete."
73


THE OUBLIETTE
but day followed day and week followed week, and
no one was incarcerated. The citizen-detectives
went back to their ordinary occupations, the ama-
teur detectives went home, the real detectives were
called off on other and more promising jobs, and
soon the field was left clear for Philo Gubb.
Not that he made much progress. Each night he
hid himself in the dark doorway of Willcox Hall wait-
ing to pick up (Lesson Four, Rule Four) some sus-
picious-looking person, and having picked him up,
he proceeded to trail and shadow him (Lesson Four,
Rules Four to Seventeen). Six times — twice by
Joe Henry — he was well beaten by those he fol-
lowed. It became such a nuisance to be followed by
Philo Gubb in false mustache or whiskers, that it
was a public relief when Billy Getz and other young
fellows took upon themselves the duty of being
shadowed. With hats pulled over their eyes and
coat-collars turned up, they would pass the dark
doorway of Willcox Hall, let themselves be picked
up, and then lead poor Detective Gubb across
rubbish-encumbered vacant lots, over mud flats or
among dark lumber piles, only to give him the slip
with infinite ease when they tired of the game.
But Philo Gubb was back the next night, waiting
in the shadow of the doorway of Willcox Hall. He
did not progress very rapidly toward the goal of
the reward, but he counted it all good practice.
But being beaten twice in succession by Joe
Henry aroused his suspicion.
75


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Joe Henry ran a small carting business. He had
three teams and three drays, and a small stable on
Locust Street, on the alley corner. He was a great
friend of Pie-Wagon Pete and he ate at the Pie-
Wagon.
Philo Gubb, after leaving Mr. Medderbrook, had
not intentionally picked up Joe Henry. On his way
to the Pie-Wagon it had been necessary for him to
pass the alley opposite Joe Henry's stable and his
detective instinct told him to hide himself behind a
manure bin in the alley and watch the stable. In
the warm June dusk he had crouched there, watch-
ing and waiting.
Mr. Gubb could see into the stable, but there was
not much to see. The stable boy sat at the door, his
chair tipped back, until a few minutes after eleven,
when one of Joe Henry's drays drove up with a load
of baled hay.
Philo Gubb heard the voices of the men as they
hoisted the hay to the hay-loft, and he saw Joe
Henry helping with the hoisting-rope. The hay was
water-soaked. Water dripped from it onto the floor
of the stable.
But nothing exciting occurred, and Philo Gubb
was about to consider this a dull evening's work,
when Joe Henry appeared in the doorway, a pitch-
fork in one hand and the slab of pine in the other.
He looked up and down the street and then, with
surprising agility, sprang across the street toward
where Philo Gubb lay hid. With a wild cry, Philo
76


THE OUBLIETTE
Gubb fled. The pitchfork clattered at his feet, but
missed him, and he had every advantage of long
legs and speed. His heels clattered on the alley
pave, and Joe Henry's clattered farther and farther
behind at each leap of the Correspondence School
detective.
"All right, you explain," said Joe Henry sullenly.
"Now you ain't to breathe a word of this, cross-
your-heart, hope-to-die, Philo Gubb. Nor you
neither, Billy," said Pie-Wagon Pete. "Listen! Me
an' Joe Henry ain't what we let on to be. That's
why we don't want to be follered. We 're detectives.
Reg'lar detectives. From Chicago. An' we 're hired
by the Law an' Order League to run down them
gools. We're right clost onto 'em now, ain't we,
Joe? An' that's why we don't want to have no one
botherin' us. You would n't want no one shadowin'
you when you was on a trail, would you, Gubby?"
"No, I don't feel like I would," admitted Philo
Gubb.
"That's right,"said Pie-Wagon Pete approvingly.
"An' when these here dynamite gools is the kind of
murderers they is, an' me and Joe is expectin' to be
murdered by them any minute, it makes Joe nervous
to be follered an' spied on, don't it, Joe?"
"You bet," said Joe. "I'm liable to turn an'
mailer up anybody I see sneakin' on me. I can't
take chances."
"So you won't interfere with Joe in the pursoot
77


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
of his dooty no more, will you, Gubby?" said Pie-
Wagon Pete.
"I don't aim to interfere with nobody, Peter,"
said Philo Gubb. "I just want to pursoo my own
dooty, as I see it. I won't foller Mr. Henry no more,
if he don't like it; but I got a dooty to do, as a full
graduate of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's
Correspondence School of Deteckating. I got to do
my level best to catch them dynamiters myself."
Joe Henry frowned, and Pie-Wagon Pete shook
his head.
"If you'll take my advice, Gubby," he said,
"you 'II drop that case right here an' now. You
don't know what dangerous characters them gools
are. If they start to get you —"
"You want to read that book — 'The Pale
Avengers' — I just gave you," said Billy Getz,
"and then you'll know more."
"Well, I won't interfere with you, Mr. Henry,"
said Philo Gubb. "But I 'll do my dooty as I see it.
Fear don't frighten me. The first words in Lesson
One is these:'The deteckative must be a man devoid
of fear.' I can't go back on that. If them gools want
to kill me, I can't object. Deteckating is a dangerous
employment, and I know it."
He went out and closed the door.
"There," said Pie-Wagon Pete. "Ain't that
better than beatin' him up?;'
"Maybe," said Joe Henry grudgingly. "Chances
are — he's such a dummy — he 'll go right ahead
78


THE OUBLIETTE
follerin' me. He needs a good scare thrown into
him."
Billy Getz slid from his stool and ran his hands
deep into his pockets, jingling a few coins and a
bunch of keys.
"Want me to scare him?" he asked pleasantly.!
"Say! You can do it, too!" said Joe Henry
eagerly. "You're the feller that can kid him to
death. Go ahead. If you do, I 'll give you a case of
Six Star. Ain't that so, Pete?"
"Absolutely," said Pie-Wagon.
"That's a bet," said Billy Getz pleasantly.
"Leave it to the Kidders."
Philo Gubb went straight to his room at the
Widow Murphy's, and having taken off his shoes
and coat, leaned back in his chair with his feet on
the bed, and opened "The Pale Avengers." He had
never before read a dime novel, and this opened a
new world to him. He read breathlessly. The style
of the story was somewhat like this: —
The picture on the wall swung aside and Detective
Brown stared into the muzzles of two revolvers and the
sharp eyes of the youngest of the Pale Avengers. A thrill
of horror swept through the detective. He felt his doom
was at hand. But he did not cringe.
"Your time has come!" said the Avenger.
"Be not too sure," said Detective Brown haughtily. •
"Are you ready to die?"
"Ever ready!"
The detective extended his hand toward the table, on
which his revolver lay. A cruel laugh greeted him. It
79


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
was the last human voice he was to hear. As if by magic
the floor under his feet gave way. Down, down, down,
a thousand feet he was precipitated. He tried to grasp
the well-like walls of masonry, but in vain. Nothing
could stay him. As he plunged into the deep water of the
oubliette a fiendish laugh echoed in his ears. The Pale
Avengers had destroyed one more of their adversaries.
Until he read this thrilling tale, Philo Gubb had
not guessed the fiendishness of malefactors when
brought to bay, and yet here it was in black and
white. The oubliette - a dark, dank dungeon hid-
den beneath the ground — was a favorite method
of killing detectives, it seemed. Generally speaking,
the oubliette seemed to be the prevailing fashion in
vengeful murder. Sometimes the bed sank into the
oubliette; sometimes the floor gave way and cast
the victim into the oubliette; sometimes the whole
room sank slowly into the oubliette; but death for
the victim always lurked in the pit. .
Before getting into bed Philo Gubb examined the
walls, the floor, and the ceiling of his room. They
seemed safe and secure, but twice during the night
he awoke with a cry, imagining himself sinking
through the floor.
Three nights later, as Philo Gubb stood in the
dark doorway of the Willcox Building waiting to
pick up any suspicious character, Billy Getz slipped
in beside him and drew him hastily to the back of
the entry.
“Hush! Not a word!" he whispered. “Did you
80


THE OUBLIETTE
see a man in the window across the street? The
third window on the top floor?"
"No," whispered Philo Gubb. "Was — was
there one?"
"With a rifle!" whispered Billy Getz. "Ready
to pick you off. Come! It is suicide for you to try
to go out the front way now. Follow me; I have
news for you. Step quietly!"
He led the paper-hanger through the back corri-
dor to the open air and up the outside back stairs
to the third floor and into the building. He tapped
lightly on a door and it was opened the merest crack.
"Friends," whispered Billy Getz, and the door
opened wide and admitted them. ,
The room was the club-room of the Kidders,
where they gathered night after night to play cards
and drink illicit whiskey. Green shades over which
were hung heavy curtains protected the windows.
A large, round table stood in the middle of the floor
under the gas-lights; a couch was in one corner of
the room; and these, with the chairs and a formless
heap in a far corner, over which a couch-cover was
thrown, constituted all the furniture, except for the
iron cuspidors. Here the young fellows came for
their sport, feeling safe from intrusion, for the pos-
session of whiskey was against the law. There was
a fine of five hundred dollars — one half to the
informer — for the misdemeanor of having whiskey
in one's possession, but the Kidders had no fear.
They knew each other.
81


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
For the moment the cards were put away and
the couch-cover hid the four cases of Six Star that
represented the club's stock of liquor. The five
young men already in the room were sitting around
the table.
"Sit down, Detective Gubb," said Billy Getz.
"Here we are safe. Here we may talk freely. And
we have something big to talk to-night."
Philo Gubb moved a chair to the table. He had
to push one of the cuspidors aside to make room,
and as he pushed it with his foot he saw an oblong
of paper lying in it among the sand and cigar stubs.
It was a Six Star whiskey label. He turned his head
from it with his bird-like twist of the neck and let
his eyes rest on Billy Getz.
"We know who dynamited those houses!" said
Billy Getz suddenly. "Do you know Jack Har-
burger?"
"No," said Philo Gubb. "I don't know him."
"Well, we do," said Billy Getz. "He's the slickest
ever. He was the boss of the gang. Read this!"
He slid a sheet of note-paper across to Philo Gubb,
and the detective read it slowly: —
Billy: Send me five hundred dollars quick. I've got
to get away from here. J. H.
"And we made him our friend," said Billy Getz
resentfully. "Why, he was here the night of the
dynamiting — was n't he, boys?"
"He sure was," said the Kidders.
82


THE OUBLIETTE
"Now, he's nothing to us." said Billy Getz.
"Now, what do you say, Detective Gubb? If we
fix it so you can grab him, will you split the reward
with us?"
"Half for you and half for me? ' asked Philo
Gubb, his eyes as big as poker chips.
"Three thousand for you and two for us, was
what we figured was fair," said Billy Getz. "You
ought to have the most. You put in your experience
and your education in detective work."
"And that ought to be worth something," ad-
mitted Philo Gubb.
So it was agreed. They explained to Philo Gubb
that Jack Harburger was the son of old Harburger
of the Harburger House at Derlingport, and that
they could count on the clerk of that hotel to help
them. Billy Getz would go up and get things ready,
and the next day Philo Gubb would appear at the
hotel — in disguise, of course — and do his part.
The clerk would give him a room next to Jack Har-
burger's room, and see that there was a hidden
opening in the partition; and Billy Getz, pretending
he was bringing the money, would wring a full con-
fession from Jack Harburger. Then Philo Gubb
need only step into the room and snap the hand-
cuffs on Jack Harburger and collect the reward.
They shook hands all 'round, finally, and Billy
Getz went to the window to see that no ghoul was
lurking in the street, ready to murder Philo Gubb
when he went out. As he turned away from the
83


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
window the toe of his shoe caught in the fringe of
the couch-cover and dragged it partially from the
odd-shaped pile in the corner. With a quick sweep
of his hand Billy Getz replaced the cover, but not
before Philo Gubb had seen the necks of a full case
of bottles and had caught the glint of the label on
one of them, bearing the six silver stars, like that in
the cuspidor. Billy Getz cast a quick glance at the
Correspondence School detective's face, but Philo
Gubb, his head well back on his stiff neck, was al-
ready 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 "ram-
pages" and the water came close to the tracks. Here
and there, on the way to Derlingport, the water
was over the tracks, and in many places the wagon-
road, which followed the railway, was completely
swamped, and the passing vehicles sank in the
muddy water to their hubs. The year is still known
as the "year of the big flood." In Riverbank the
water had flooded the Front Street cellars, and in
Derlingport the sewers had backed up, flooding the
entire lower part of the town.
When the train reached Derlingport Philo Gubb,
with his telescope valise, which contained his twelve
Correspondence School lessons, "The Pale Aveng-
ers," a pair of handcuffs, his revolver, and three
extra disguises, walked toward the Harburger
House. He was already thoroughly disguised, wear-
84


THE OUBLIETTE
ing a coal-black beard and a red mustache and an
iron-gray wig with long hair. Luckily he passed no
one. With that disguise he would have drawn an
immense crowd. Nothing like it had ever been seen
on the streets of Derlingport — or elsewhere, for
that matter.
A full block away Philo Gubb saw the sign of the
hotel, and he immediately became cautious, as a
detective should. He crossed the street and observed
the exits. There was a main entrance on the corner,
a "Ladies' Entrance" at the side, and an entrance
to what had once been the bar-room. From the fire-
escape one could drop to the street without great
injury.
Philo Gubb noted all these, and then walked to
the alley. There were two doors opening on the
alley — one a cook's door, and the other evidently
leading to the cellar. At the latter a dray stood, and
as Philo Gubb paused there, two men came from
this door and laid a bale of hay on the dray, pushing
it forward carefully. They did not toss it carelessly
onto the dray but slid it onto the dray. And the
hay was wet. Moreover, the two men were two of
Joe Henry's men, and that was odd. It was odd that
Joe Henry should send a dray the full thirty miles
to Derlingport to get a load of wet hay, when he
could get all the dry hay he wanted in Riverbank.
But it did not impress Philo Gubb. He hurried to
the main entrance of the hotel, and entered.
The lobby of the Harburger House was large, and
t
85


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
gloomy in its old-fashioned black-walnut wood-
work. Except for one man sitting at a desk by the
window and writing industriously, and the clerk
behind the counter, the lobby was untenanted. To
the left a huge stairway led to the gloom above, for
the hotel boasted no elevator except the huge "bag-
gage lift," which had been put in in the palmy days
of the house, when the great river packets were still
a business factor.
Philo Gubb walked across the lobby to the clerk's
desk. The industrious penman by the window
glanced over his shoulder. He looked more like a
hotel clerk than like a traveling salesman, but Philo
Gubb gave this no thought. The clerk behind the
desk put his fingers on his lips.
"Sh!" he whispered. “Are you Detective Gubb?
Good! I've been expecting you. Have you a gun?"
"In my telescope case," whispered Philo Gubb.
"Take this one," said the clerk, handing the
paper-hanger-detective a glittering revolver. "Be
careful. Come — I'll show you the room.”
He came from behind the desk and picked up
Philo Gubb's telescope valise and led the way up
the dingy stairway. Luckily for Billy Getz's great
practical joke, Philo Gubb had never seen Jack
Harburger, or he would have recognized him in
the plump little man carrying his telescope valise.
Up three flights of dark stairs, Jack Harburger led
Philo Gubb, and at the landing of the fourth floor
he stopped.
86



THESE HERE IS FALSE WHISKERS AND HAIR





THE OUBLIETTE
"You were taking a risk — a big risk — coming
undisguised," he said.
"But I am disguised," said Philo Gubb. "These
here is false whiskers and hair."
'' What!'' exclaimed Jack Harburger. '' Wonder-
ful work! A splendid make-up, detective! You
fooled me with it, and I was on my guard. You 'll
do. Bend down like an old man. That's it! Now,
listen: I have cut a hole through the wall from your
room into Jack's. You can hear every word he
speaks. Have you pencil and paper? Good! Jot
down every word you hear. And don't make a
sound. If you are discovered — well, they're a
desperate gang. Come!"
He led the way through a long, dark corridor
that turned and twisted. At the extreme end he
stopped, put down the telescope valise, and drew a
key from his pocket.
"That's Jack's room," he breathed softly, "and
you go in here. Sorry it is n't a better room. We
had to use it, and you won't be here long, anyway."
He opened the door. It was a large door that
swung outward, and it occupied one half of one
side of the room. The floor of the room was car-
peted, and the walls were papered, as was the ceil-
ing. There was no window, but an electric light
burned in the center of the ceiling. Across the far
side of the room stood a narrow iron bed, with a
small bureau beside it. Jack Harburger pointed to
a hole in the wall-paper.
87


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"That's your ear-hole," he whispered, and Philo
Gubb stepped into the room. Instantly the door
slammed behind him, the key turned in the lock,
and he heard a heavy iron bar clank as it fell into
place outside. He was a prisoner, caught like a rat
in a trap, and he knew it! He threw himself against
the door, but it did not give. The electric light
above his head went dark. He put out his hand,
and the wall gave slightly. He drew the revolver
and waited, dreading what might next occur. He
heard soft footsteps outside the door, and, raising
the revolver, pulled the trigger. The trigger snapped
harmlessly. He had been tricked, tricked all
around.
"Is the oubliette prepared?" whispered a voice
outside.
"All ready for him. Twelve feet of water. He'll
drown like a rat."
"Good. A slow death, like a rat in a trap — like
we served the other two. Then get rid of his body
the same way."
"A stone on it, and the river?"
"Yes. They never come up again."
The voices died away along the corridor, and
Philo Gubb was left in utter silence. Oubliette! The
fate of the detectives of "The Pale Avengers " was
to be his! Suddenly the room began to quiver. The
floor and the walls trembled and creaked, and Philo
Gubb threw himself once more against the door.
He shouted and beat upon it with his hands. Inch
88


THE OUBLIETTE
by inch, creaking and swaying, the room glided
downward. The door seemed to glide upward be-
yond the ceiling, giving place to a solid wall. He
turned and beat on the side of the room, and it
gave forth a hollow sound. As he moved, the room
swayed under his feet. He was doomed!
Alone in the darkness, his fear suddenly gave
way to a feeling of pride. He was dangerous enough,
then, to be thought worthy of death? His last drop
of doubt oozed out of his mind. He was — he must
be — a great detective, or such means would not
have been taken to get rid of him. He felt a sort of
calm joy in this. His murderers knew his prowess.
Locked in the room, going down to certain death,
he exulted. And if he was as great as all that, it
could not be that his position was hopeless. Time
and again Carl Carroll, the Boy Detective, had
been in equally precarious positions, but in the end
he had brought the Pale Avengers low. And what
a boy, untrained, could do, a graduate of the Rising
Sun Correspondence School of Detecting ought to
be able to do! He drew his knife from his pocket
and cut into the wall-paper of the side wall.
Being a paper-hanger, the first touch of his hand
against the side wall had told him the wall-paper
was pasted on canvas and not on a solid wall, and
now he ripped the canvas away. The wall was of
rough boards, scarred and marred. The opposite
wall was the same. He kneeled on the bed and tried
the rear wall. He felt the plastered wall gliding
♦
89


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
upward. He stood on the bed and ripped the can-
vas ceiling away.
As he ripped the ceiling away, light entered the
cage from a dirty skylight far above. Just over his
head a heavy iron grating covered the cage, barring
him in, but high up he could see the great drum,
from which the cable slowly unwound as the car
descended. He was in an elevator, but this knowl-
edge gave him small comfort. Cage, room, or ele-
vator — call it what he chose — it was relentlessly
descending into the flooded cellar. He watched the
drum with fascinated eyes, as the wire cable un-
wound itself. He lay back on the bed, his feet hang-
ing to the floor, and stared upward. He could not
take his eyes from the revolving drum. It was like a
clock, marking the moments he still had to live.
But suddenly he was galvanized into action.
Over his feet something cold ran, making him jerk
them from the floor. It was the water of the ou-
bliette, and he gazed on it with horror as it rose,
inch by inch, toward him. Slowly, as the car
dropped, the water crept up. It reached the first
drawer of the small bureau. It crept up to the side
rails of the bed. It wet the mattress — and still it
rose. He stood on the bed and grasped the iron
grating above his head.
"Stop!" whispered a voice above his head, and
the creaking cage stopped.
"Gubb! Detective Gubb!" whispered the voice,
and Philo Gubb looked upward. "Listen, Detective
90


THE OUBLIETTE
Gubb," said the voice. "One touch of my hand on
the lever, and you will be dropped beneath the
waters, never to appear again, except dead. One
only chance remains for your life, and, blackened
with crime though we are, we offer you that chance.
If you will swear to leave the State, never to return,
we will spare you. What say you, Philo Gubb?"
It was an offer no mortal could refuse. Life, after
all, is sweet. Philo Gubb, the relentless Correspond-
ence School detective, opened his mouth, but as he
turned his head upward, he closed it again and licked
his lips twice.
"No, durn ye!" he shouted angrily. "I won't
never do no such thing!"
There was a hurried whispering of many voices
above him.
"Think well," said the voice again. "We will
give you until midnight to reconsider your rashness.
Until midnight, Detective Gubb!"
"You can't scare me!" shouted Philo Gubb.
"Until midnight!" repeated the voice, and then
there was silence.
Philo Gubb immediately drew his heavy pocket-
knife from his pocket and began cutting out one of
the panels of the door that shut him in on one side.
He did not work hurriedly. He was not at all fright-
ened. Looking up, he had seen the drum, and there
was no more cable on the drum to be unwound. The
car could descend no farther. His feet were as wet
as they could get. Unless the river rose to unbe-
91


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Iievable height, he could not be drowned in the
makeshift oubliette, unless he voluntarily lay down
in the shallow water and inhaled it. He worked on
the panel slowly, but with the earnestness of a very
angry victim of a hoax. The panel fell outward with
a splash, and floated away. Philo Gubb bent side-
ways and squeezed out of the small opening into the
cellar.
The huge cellar was dusky in the dim light that
entered through the cobwebbed panes, high in the
wall. It was an immense place, and now knee-deep
in water, except for a gangway of boards laid on low
trestles, which led from one side of the cellar to the
cellar door. There were coal-bins and vegetable-
bins, like watery bays leading from the general
cellar sea, and — strange appliance to discover in a
hotel cellar — a small hay-baling press stood on an
extemporized platform against one wall, and along-
side it, on a long table, such as are seen in factories,
bales of hay, some complete and some torn open —.
and cases! The cases were labeled "Blue River
Canned Tomatoes," but one, split across the end,
gave evidence that their contents were not canned
tomatoes at all. Through the crack in the case glit-
tered the six silver stars of the Six Star whiskey.
There were twenty-six of the cases.
Philo Gubb waded to the raised gangway and
walked to the cellar door. It was double-barred on
the inside, and he lifted the bars cautiously and
stepped into the alley, closing the door carefully
92


THE OUBLIETTE
behind him. He pulled his false whiskers and wig
from his face and stuffed them in his pockets and
hurried down the alley.
When he returned, Billy Getz, Jack Harburger,
and six of the Kidders were holding high revel in the
closed barroom of the Harburger House, but they
all fell silent when the door opened and the Sheriff
of Derling County entered, with Philo Gubb and
three deputies in company. It was evident that the
Sheriff did not consider Philo Gubb a joke.
"Search-warrant, Jack," he said to Harburger.
"Detective Gubb, of Riverbank, has been doing
some sleuthing in your hotel, he says. We want to
have a look at the cellar."
The next morning the "Riverbank Eagle" was
full of Philo Gubb again. Through the superb acu-
men of that wonderful detective, three stores of
whiskey had been discovered and confiscated —
one in the cellar of the Harburger House at Der-
lingport; one in Joe Henry's stable at Riverbank;
and a smaller one in the room in the Willcox Build-
ing frequented by the "Kidders."
"How I done it? " said Philo Gubb to one of his
admirers. "I done it like a deteckative does it — a
deteckative that wants to detect — picks up some
feller that looks suspicious-like, like it says in Les-
son Four, Rule Four. And then he shadows and
trails him, like it says in Lesson Four, Rules
Four to Seventeen. And then somethin's bound to
happen."
93


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"But how can you tell what's goin' to happen?"
asked his admirer.
"Well, sir," said Philo Gubb, "that's the beauty
of the deteckative business. You don't ever know
what's goin' to happen until it happens."


THE UN-BURGLARS
Although Detective Gubb's experience with the
oubliette-elevator did not lead to the detection of
the dynamiters for whom a reward of five thousand
dollars was offered, it resulted in the payment to
him of one half of three fines of five hundred dollars
for each of the three stores of whiskey he had un-
earthed. With this money, amounting to seven
hundred and fifty dollars, Mr. Gubb went to the
home of Jonas Medderbrook and paid that gentle-
man the entire amount.
"That there payment," Mr. Gubb said, "de-
ducted from what I owe onto them shares of Per-
fectly Worthless Gold-Mine Stock —"
"The name of the mine, if you please, is Utterly
Hopeless and not Perfectly Worthless," said Mr.
Medderbrook severely.
"Just so," said Mr. Gubb apologetically. "You
must excuse me, Mr. Medderbrook. I ain't no
expert onto gold-mines' names and, offhand, them
two names seem about the same to me. But my
remark was to be that the indebtedness of the lia-
bility I now owe you is only thirteen thousand seven
hundred and fifty dollars."
"And the sooner you get it paid up the better it
will suit me," said Mr. Medderbrook.
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Gubb, and hesitated. Then,
r
95


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
assuming an air of little concern, he asked: “It ain't
likely to suppose we've had any word from Miss
Syrilla, is it, Mr. Medderbrook?”.
For answer Mr. Medderbrook went to his desk
and brought Mr. Gubb a telegram. It was from
Syrilla. It said: -
Eating no potatoes, drinking no water. Have lost
eight pounds. Kind love to Mr. Gubb.
"She's wore herself down to nine hundred and
ninety-two pounds, according to that,” said Mr.
Gubb. "She has only got to wear off two hundred
and ninety-two pounds more before Mr. Dorgan will
discharge her away from the side-show."
“And at the rate she is wearing herself away,"
said Mr. Medderbrook, "that will be in about ten
years! What interests me more is that the telegram
came collect and cost me forty cents. If you want
to do the square thing, Mr. Gubb, you 'll pay me
twenty cents for your share of that telegram."
Mr. Gubb immediately gave Mr. Medderbrook
twenty cents and Mr. Medderbrook kindly allowed
him to keep the telegram. Mr. Gubb placed it in the
pocket nearest his heart and proceeded to a house on
Tenth Street where he had a job of paper-hanging.
At about this same time Smith Wittaker, the
Riverbank Marshal — or Chief of Police, as he
would have been called in a larger city - knocked
the ashes from his pipe against the edge of his much-
whittled desk in the dingy Marshal's room on the
96


THE UN-BURGLARS
ground floor of the City Hall, and grinned at Mr.
Griscom, one of Riverbank's citizens.
"Well, I don't know," he said with a grin. "I
don't know but what I'd be glad to be un-burgled
like that. I guess it was just somebody playing a
joke on you."
"If it was," said Mr. Griscom, "I am ready to do
a little joking myself. I'm just enough of a joker to
want to see whoever it was in jail. My house is my
house — it is my castle, as the saying is — and I
don't want strangers wandering in and out of it,
whether they come to take away my property, or
leave property that is not mine. Is there, or is there
not, a law against such things as happened at my
house?"
"Oh, there's a law all right," said Marshal Wit-
taker. "It's burglary, whether the burglar breaks
into your house or breaks out of it. How do you
know he broke out?"
"Well, my wife and I went to the Riverbank
Theater last night," said Mr. Griscom, "and when
I got home and went to put the key in the keyhole,
there was another key in it. Here are the two keys."
Marshal Wittaker took the two keys and exam-
ined them. One was an old doorkey, much worn,
and the other a new key, evidently the work of an
amateur key-maker.
"All right," said Marshal Wittaker, when he had
examined the keys. "This new one was made out of
an old spoon. Go ahead."
97


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"We never had a key like that in the house,"
said Mr. Griscom. "But when we reached home last
night, this nickel-silver key was sticking in the lock
of the front door, on the outside, and the door was
unlocked and standing ajar."
"Just as if some one had gone in at the front
door and left it unlocked," said Mr. Wittaker.
"Exactly!" said Mr. Griscom. "So the first
thing we thought was 'Burglars!' and the first
place my wife looked was the sideboard, in the
dining-room, and there —"
"Yes," said Mr. Wittaker. "There, on the side-
board, were a dozen solid silver spoons you had
never seen before."
"And marked with my wife's initials — under-
stand! " said Mr. Griscom. "And the cellar window
— the one on the east side of the house — had been
broken out of."
"Why not broken into? " asked the Marshal.
"Well, I'm not quite a fool," said Mr. Griscom
with some heat. "I know because of the marks his
jimmy made on the sill."
"Some one has been playing a joke on you," said
Mr. Wittaker. "You wait, and you'll see. You
won't be offended if I ask you a question?"
"My wife knows no more about it than I do,"
said Mr. Griscom hotly.
"Now, now," said Mr. Wittaker soothingly. "I
did n't mean that. What are your own spoons, solid
or plated?"
98


THE UN-BURGLARS
"Plated," said Mr. Griscom.
"Well," said Mr. Wittaker, "there's where to look
for the joke. Try to think who would consider it a
joke to send you solid silver spoons."
"Billy Getz!" exclaimed Mr. Griscom, mention-
ing the town joker.
"That's the man I had in mind," said Mr. Wit-
taker. "Now, I guess you can handle this alone,
Mr. Griscom."
"I guess I can," agreed Mr. Griscom. And he
went out.
The Marshal chuckled.
"Un-burgled!" he said to himself. "That's a
new one for sure! That's the sort of burglary to set
Philo Gubb, the un-detective, on."
He was still grinning as he went out, but he tried
to hide the grin when he met Billy Getz on Main
Street. Billy uttered a hasty "Can't stop now, Wit-
taker!" but the head of the Riverbank police
grasped his arm.
"What's your rush? I've got some fun for you,"
said Wittaker.
"Some other time," said Billy. "I just borrowed
this from Doc Mortimer and promised to take it
back quick."
"What is it?" asked the Marshal, gazing at the
curious affair Billy had in his hands. It looked very
much like a coffeepot, and on the lid was a wheel, like
a small tin windmill. Just below the lid, and above
the spout, was a hole as large as a dime.
99


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Lung-tester," said Billy, trying to pull away.
"Let me go, will you, Wittaker? I'm in a hurry.
Just borrowed it to settle a bet with Sam Simmons.
I show two pounds more lung pressure than he does.
Twenty-six pounds."
"You?" scoffed Wittaker. "I bet I can show
twenty-eight, if you can show twenty-six."
"Oh, well! I suppose I can't get away until baby
tries the new toy. But hurry up, will you?"
The Marshal put his lips to the spout and blew.
Instantly, from the hole under the lid, a great cloud
of flour shot out, covering his face and head, and
deluging his garments. From up and down the
street came shouts of joy, and the Marshal, brushing
at his face, grinned.
"One on me, Billy," he said, good-naturedly,
patting the flour out of his hair, "and just when I
was coming to put you onto some fun, too. What
do you know about the Griscom un-burglary?"
"Not a thing! " Billy said. "Tell me."
"I did n't expect you would know anything about
it," said the Marshal with a wink. "But how about
putting Correspondence School Detective Gubb onto
the job?"
"Fine!" said Billy. "Tell me what the unbur-
gled Griscom thing is, and I 'll do the rest."
Billy found Philo Gubb at work in the house on
Tenth Street, hanging paper on the second floor,
and the lank detective looked at Billy solemnly as
the story of the Griscom affair was explained to him.
ioo


THE UN-BURGLARS
"When I started in takin' lessons from the Rising
Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School
of Deteckating," said Mr. Gubb solemnly, "I aimed
to do a strictly retail business in deteckating, and
let the wholesale alone."
"Seeing that you learned by mail," said Billy
Getz, "I should think you'd be better fitted to do
a mail-order business."
"Them terms of retail and wholesale is my own,"
said Mr. Gubb.
"You don't believe anybody would un-burgle a
house, I guess," said Billy.
"Yes, I do," Philo Gubb said. "A fellow can tie
a knot, or he can un-tie it, can't he? He can hitch
a horse, or he can un-hitch it. And if a man can
burgle, he can un-burgle. A mercenary burglar
would naturally burgle things out of a house after
he had burgled himself in, but a generous-hearted
burglar would just as naturally un-burgle things into
a house and then un-burgle himself out. That stands
to reason."
"Of course it does," said Billy Getz. "And I knew
you would see it that way."
"I see things reasonable," said Philo Gubb. "But
I guess I won't take up the case; un-burgling ain't
no common crime. It ain't mentioned in the twelve
lessons I got from the Rising Sun Correspondence
School. I would n't hardly know how to go about
catching an un-burglar —"
"Just do the opposite from what it says to do to
101


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
catch a burglar," said Billy Getz. "Common sense
would tell you that, would n't it? But, listen, Mr.
Gubb: I'd let Wittaker catch his own burglars.
The reason I ask you to take this case is because I
know you have a good heart."
"It's good, but it's hard," said Philo Gubb. "A
deteckative has to have a hard heart."
"All right! Here is this man, un-burgling houses.
For all we know he is honest and upright," said Billy
Getz. "He continues un-burgling houses. The habit
grows. Each house he un-burgles tempts him to
un-burgle two. Each set of spoons he leaves in a
house tempts him to leave two sets in the next house,
or four sets, or a solid silver punch-bowl. In a short
time he wipes out his little fortune. He borrows.
He begs. At last he steals! In order to un-burgle
one house he burgles another. He leads a dual life,
a sort of Jekyll-Hyde life —"
"But what if I caught him?" said Mr. Gubb.
"Oh, you won't catch — I mean, we will leave
that to you. Frighten him out of the un-burgling
habit. I 'll tell Marshal Wittaker you will get on the
trail?"
"Yes," said Philo Gubb. "I feel sorry for the
feller. Maybe he's lettin' his wife and children suf-
fer for food whilst he un-burgles away his substance."
"Then," said Billy Getz, taking up his lung-
tester, "suppose you stop in at the Marshal's office
to-night at eight-thirty. Wittaker will tell you all
about it."


THE UN-BURGLARS
Philo Gubb waited until Billy was well out of the
house, and then he said: "He done it, and I know
he done it, and he done it to make a fool out of me,
but I guess I owe Billy Getz a scare, and if I can
prove that un-burglary onto him, he 'll get the scare
all right!"
Detective Gubb, when it was time to go to the
Marshal's office, pinned his large nickel-plated star
on his vest, put three false beards in his pocket, and
went.
The Marshal received him cordially. Billy Getz
was there.
"You understand," said Wittaker, "I have noth-
ing to do with putting you on this case. But I want
to ask you to report to me every evening."
"I could write out a docket," said Philo Gubb.
"That's what them French deteckatives did always."
"Good idea!" said Wittaker. "Write out a
docket, and bring it in every night. Now, I'll go
over this Griscom case, so you'll understand how
to go at it. Here, for instance, is the house —"
The clock on the Marshal's desk marked ten be-
fore they were aware. Billy had arisen from his chair,
for he had a poker game waiting for him at the
Kidders' Club, when the telephone bell rang. The
Marshal drew the 'phone toward him.
"Yes! "he said, into the telephone. "Yes, this is
Marshal Wittaker. Mr. Millbrook? Yes, I know —
765 Locust Avenue. Broken into? What? Oh,
broken out of! While you were out at dinner. Yes.
103


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Opened the front door with a key. Yes. What kind
of a key, Mr. Millbrook? Thin, nickel-silver key.
Nothing taken? What s that? Left a dozen solid
silver spoons engraved with your wife's initials? I
see. And broke out through a cellar window. Yes,
I understand. No, it does n't seem possible, but
such things have happened. I'll send —"
He looked around, but Philo Gubb, who had
heard the name and address, was already gone.
"I 'll attend to it at once," he concluded, and hung
up the receiver. He turned to Billy Getz. "Billy,"
he said severely, "is this another of your jokes?"
"Wittaker," said Billy, "I give you my word I
had nothing to do with this."
"Well, I'll believe you," said Wittaker rather
reluctantly. "I thought it was you. Who do you
suppose is trying to take the honor of town cut-up
from you?"
"I can't imagine," said Billy. "Are you going to
leave the thing in Gubb's hands?"
"That mail-order detective? Not much! It is
getting serious. I 'll send Purcell up to look the
ground over. A man can't make nickel-silver keys,
and break out of houses and leave engraved spoons
and forks around without leaving plenty of traces.
We 'll have the man to-morrow, and give him a good
scare."
Detective Gubb in the meanwhile had gone
directly to Mr. Millbrook's un-burgled house at
765 Locust Avenue. Mr. Millbrook, a short, stout
104


THE UN-BURGLARS
man with a husky voice that gurgled when he was
excited, opened the door.
"I'm Deteckative Gubb, of the Rising Sun De-
teckative Agency's Correspondence School of De-
teckating, come to see about your un-burglary,”
said Philo Gubb, opening his coat to show his badge.
“This is a most peculiar case."
"I never heard anything like it in my life!”
gurgled Mr. Millbrook. “Did n't take a thing.
Left a dozen spoons. Came in at the front door and
broke out through the cellar window."
"How long have you been married?" asked Mr.
Gubb, seating himself on the edge of a chair and
drawing out a notebook and pencil.
“Married? Married? What's that got to do
with it?" asked Mr. Millbrook. “Twenty years
next June, if you want to know."
“That makes it a difficult case," said Philo Gubb.
“If you was a bride and a groom it would be easier,
but I guess maybe you can tell me the names of
some of the folks you've had to dinner.”
"Dinner?" gurgled Mr. Millbrook. “Dinner?
When?"
"Since you were married," said Mr. Gubb.
“My dear man,” exclaimed Mr. Millbrook,
"we've had thousands to dinner! Dining out and
giving dinners is our favorite amusement. I can't
see what you mean. I can't understand you."
"Well, you got plated spoons and forks, ain't
you?" asked Philo Gubb.
105


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"What if we have?" gurgled Mr. Millbrook.
"That's our affair, ain't it?"
"It's my affair too," said Detective Gubb. "Mr.
Griscom's house was unburgled last night, and he
had plated spoons. The un-burglar left solid ones on
him, like he did on you. Now, I reason induc-i-
tively, like Sherlock Holmes. You both got plated
spoons. An un-burglar leaves you solid ones. So he
must have known you had plated ones and needed
solid ones. So it must be some one who has had
dinner with you."
"My dear man," gurgled Mr. Millbrook, "we
never have had a plated spoon in this house! Who
sent you here, anyway?"
"Nobody," said Philo Gubb. "I come of my-
self."
"Well, you can go of yourself!" gurgled Mr. Mill-
brook angrily. "There's the door. Get out!"
On his way out Mr. Gubb met Patrolman Purcell
coming in.
Detective Gubb, outside the house, examined the
cellar window as well as he could. There was not
a mark to be seen from the outside, but a pansy-bed
bore the marks of the un-burglar's exit. To get out
of the cellar, the un-burglar had had to wiggle him-
self out of the small window, and had crushed the
pansies flat. Detective Gubb felt carefully among
the crushed pansies, and his hand found something
hard and round. It was the drumstick bone of a
chicken's leg. Detective Gubb threw it away. Even
106



f





PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
yes? Cudding across der corner, yes, und did n't
see der vire?"
"That so?" said Detective Gubb. "You don't
mean old Mr. Westcote, do you?"
"Sure, yes!" said Frank. "He falls by der flower-
bed in, und stains his knees alretty, shust like dot.
Veil, I have me dese pants retty by you dis efenings.
You vant dem pressed too?"
"Press 'em, an' clean 'em, an' make 'em nice,"
said Philo Gubb, and went out.
Old John Westcote, and pansy stains on his
trouser knees, was it? The thing seemed impossible,
but so did un-burglary, for that matter. Old John
Westcote was one of the richest men in Riverbank.
He was a retired merchant and as mean as sin. He
was the last man in Riverbank any one would sus-
pect of leaving spoons and forks in other people's
houses. But how did it come that he had pansy
stains on the knees of his trousers? Philo Gubb
thought of old John Westcote all day, and toward
night he hit on a solution. Wedding presents! From
what he had heard, old John was — or had been —.
the sort of man to accept a wedding invitation, go to
the reception and eat his fill, and never send the
bride so much as a black wire hairpin. And now,
grown old, his conscience might be hurting him. He
might be in that semi-senile state when restitution
becomes a craze, and the ungiven wedding presents
might press upon his conscience. It was not at all
unlikely that he had chosen the un-burglary method
108



SG
MIN
UNDER HIS ARM HE CARRIED A SMALL BUNDLE





THE UN-BURGLARS
of giving the presents at this late date. The form of
the un-burgled goods — forks and spoons — and
the initials engraved upon them, made this more
likely.
That night Detective Gubb did not report in
person or by docket to Marshal Wittaker. At seven
o'clock he was hiding in the hazel brush opposite
old John Westcote's lonely house on Pottex Lane.
At seven-fifteen the old man tottered from his gate
and tottered down the lane toward the more thickly
settled part of the town. Under his arm he carried
a small bundle — a bundle wrapped in newspaper!
Detective Gubb waited until the old man was
well in advance, and then slipped from the hazel
brush and followed him, observing all the rules for
Shadowing and Trailing as taught by the Rising
Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of
Detecting. For three hours the old man wandered
the streets. Now he walked along Main Street, peer-
ing anxiously into the faces of the pedestrians, with
purblind eyes, and now walking the residence
streets. Detective Gubb kept close behind.
As ten o'clock struck from the clock in the High
School tower, old John Westcote quickened his
steps a little and walked toward the opposite end
of the town, where the lumber-yards are. Down
the hill into the lumber district he walked, and
Detective Gubb dodged from tree to tree. Halfway
down the hill the old man hesitated. He glanced
around. At his side was a mass of lilac bushes, seem-
109


THE UN-BURGLARS
"Well, did you get it?" whispered another voice.
"Sure I got it! Got something, anyway. Strike a
match, Bill, and let's see if he put up a job on us.
If he did, we 'll blow him up to-morrow night, hey?"
"That's right. We got a can o' powder left under
the pile by the laylocks. How much is it?"
"We tol' him one thousand, did n't we? Same
as he give the Law and Order to help grab us. Now,
listen! You take half of this and go one way, an'
I 'll take half an' go the other. We can get away
with five hundred apiece."
"And we got the five hundred apiece we got for
doin' the dynamite job, too. Say, I never thought
to have a thousand dollars at once in me life.
What's that?"
It was Philo Gubb, slipping the car door latch
over the staple and hammering home the hasp with
a rock. It was the engine, backing against the long
row of cars to make a coupling, and then moving
slowly forward toward Derlingport as the heavy
train got under way. The two rascals hammered
on the side of the car with their fists. They swore.
They kicked against the doors. Philo Gubb drew him-
self into the next open car as the train moved away.
About the same time, Officer Purcell entered the
Marshal's office, where Wittaker and Billy Getz sat
awaiting the coming of Philo Gubb. Purcell led
John Gutman, the town half-wit.
"I got him," he said proudly. "Caught him
comin' out of Sam Wentz's cellar window. Says he


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
did n't mean no harm. Had a dream he was to leave
spoons on all the society folks an' he'd be invited
to all their parties."
"Did he fight you?" asked Wittaker. "Your
pants is all stained up."
"Fight? No, he would n't fight a sheep. I tripped
over a wire fence cuttin' a corner an' fell into a
flower-bed. Got Hail Columbia from the lady, too.
She said old man Westcote fell into the flowers yes-
terday, and she did n't mean to have her flower-bed
used as no landin' place. Heard from Detective
Gubbyet?"
Wittaker grinned. "We ought to hear from him
soon. And I reckon he 'll be worth waiting to hear
from."
And he was. Word came from him about an hour
later. It was a telegram from the Sheriff of Derling
County: —
Detective Gubb captured two of the dynamiters to-
night. Have their confession. Arrest Pie-Wagon Pete,
Long Sam Underbury, and Shorty Billings. All impli-
cated.
"An' the rewards tot up to five thousand dollars,"
said Officer Purcell. "Let's hustle out an' nab the
other three, an' maybe we can split it with Gubb."
"And us sitting here thinking we had a joke on
him!" exclaimed Marshal Wittaker with disgust.
"It makes me sick!"
. "Well, I feel a little bilious myself," said Billy
Getz.


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
home of Mr. Medderbrook, from whom he hoped to
have news of Syrilla, but the colored butler informed
him that Mr. Medderbrook had been called to
Chicago.
"He done lef word, howsomedever," said the
butler, "dat ef you come an' was willin' to pay
thutty cents you could have dis telegraf whut come
from Mis' Syrilla. An' he lef dis note fo' you, whut
you can have whever you pay or not."
Mr. Gubb quite willingly gave the negro thirty
cents, the very last money he possessed, and read
the telegram. It said: —
Hope on, hope ever. Have given up wheat bread,
corn bread, rye bread, home-made bread, bakers' bread,
biscuit and rolls. Have lost six pounds more. Love to
Gubby.
This would have sent Mr. Gubb to his work in a
happy frame of mind, had it not been for the note
Mr. Medderbrook had left. This note said: —
Called to Chicago suddenly. I must have one hundred
dollars payment on account of the gold stock immedi-
ately. Cannot let my daughter marry a man who puis
off paying for gold stock forever. Unless I hear from you
with money to-morrow, all is over between us.
Such a letter would have made any lover sad. Mr.
Gubb had no idea where he could raise one hundred
dollars during the day and he saw his promising
romance cut short just when Syrilla was beginning
to lose weight handsomely. The greeting he re-
114


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
ceived when he reached Aunt Martha Turner's
was not of a sort to cheer him. Mrs. Turner met him
with a sour face.
"No, you can't go ahead with puttin' the wall-
paper on this kitchen ceilin' to-day, Mr. Gubb,"
she said.
"I'd like to, if I could," said Philo Gubb wist-
fully. "My financial condition ain't such as to
allow me to waste a day. I'm very low in a mone-
tary shape, right now."
Aunt Martha Turner seemed worried.
"Well," she said reluctantly, " I guess if that's the
case you might as well go ahead. I expect I 'll have
to be out of the house 'most all day. If you get done
before I get back, lock the kitchen door and put the
key behind a shutter."
She departed, and Philo Gubb set up his trestle,
unrolled and trimmed a strip of ceiling-paper, pasted
it, and climbed his ladder. At the top he seated
himself a moment and shook his head.
He sighed and picked up the paste-covered strip
of ceiling-paper, but before he could get to his feet
the kitchen door opened and "Snooks" Turner put
his head in cautiously.
"Say, Gubb, where's Aunt Martha?" he asked in
a whisper.
"She's gone out," said Philo Gubb. "She won't
be back for quite some time, I guess, Snooksy."
"Good!" said Snooks, and he entered the kitchen.
Some weeks before he had met Nan Kilfillan. He
115


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
"What do you want me to find out?" asked Mr.
Gubb, fondling the bills.
"If I knew, I would n't ask you," said Snooks
peevishly. "I don't know what it is. I'd go and
find out myself, but I'm in jail."
"Where did you say you was? " asked Philo Gubb.
"In jail," said Snooks. "I'm in jail, and I'm in
bad. When the marshal put me in last night I gave
him my word I'd stay in all day to-day, and it ain't
right for me to be here now.
'"Dog-gone you, Snooks!' he says, 'you ain't
got no consideration for me at all. Here I figgered
that there would n't be no wave of crime strike town
for some days, and I went and took the jail door
down to the blacksmith to have a panel put in where
the one rusted out, and my wife made me promise
to drive out to the farm with her to-morrow, and
now you come and spoil everything. I got to stay
in town and watch you.'
"'Go on,' I says, 'and take your drive. I'll stay
in jail. I got a strong imagination. I 'll imagine
there's a door.'
"'Honor bright?' he says.
'"Yes, honor bright,' I says.
"So he went," said Snooks, "and he's trusting
me, and here I am. You can see it would n't do for
me to be running all over town when, by rights, I'm
locked and barred and bolted in jail. I'm locked
and barred and bolted in jail, and well started on my
way to the penitentiary as a burglar."
117


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"As a burglar!" exclaimed Gubb.
"That's it!" said Snooks. "I can't see head or
tail of it. You got to help me out, Gubb. See if you
can make any sense of this: —
"Last night I went out for a walk with Nan.
She's my girl, you know, and she's going to marry
me. Maybe she won't now, but she was going to.
She works for Mullen. We got back to Mullen's
house about eleven o'clock, and Mrs. Mullen always
locks the door at half-past ten, whether Nan is in or
not. So, being late, we had to ring the doorbell, and
Mr. Mullen came to the door to let Nan in, and
when he saw I was with her he shook hands with me
and asked me to come in and have a cigar, and sit
awhile, but I told him I had to hustle up some news
for to-day's paper, and he let me go. That's how-
pleasant he was. So I went downtown, and the first
fellow I met was Sammy Wilmerton."
"Widow Wilmerton's boy?" asked Philo Gubb.
"Exactly!" said Snooks, feeling his eye with his
finger. "And he says, 'Snooks, did you hear what
the Ladies' Temperance League did last night?'
I had n't heard. 'I heard ma say,' says Sammy,
'but don't say I told you. They got up a petition to
have City Attorney Mullen impeached by the City
Council.'
"Well, that was news! I went into the 'Eagle*
office and called up Mullen.
"' Hello! Is that Attorney Mullen?' I says.
'"Yes,* he says.
118


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
“'Well, something happened last night,' I says,
‘and I'd like to see you about it.'
“How do you know what happened?' he says.
“No matter,' I says; 'can I come up?'
“After a half a minute he says, 'Oh, yes! Come
up. Come right away. I'll be waiting for you.'
"So I went."
“Nothing strange about that,” said Philo Gubb,
shifting himself on the ladder.
"So I went,” continued Snooks. “I rang the
doorbell and, the moment it rang, the door flew
open and — bliff ! — down came a bed-blanket over
me and somebody grabbed me in his arms and
lugged me into the house. I guess it was Attorney
Mullen — you know how big and husky he is. But
I could n't see him. I could n't see anything. Only,
every two seconds, bump! he hit at my head through
the blanket. That's how I got this eye. And, all the
time, he was talking to me, mad as a hatter, and I
could n't hear a word he said. But I could hear his
wife screaming at the top of the stairs, and I could
hear Nan screaming, and I heard a window go up.
"Stop that yelling!' says Mullen, in a voice
I could hear, and then he picked me up again and
carried me to the back door, and opened it and
threw me all the way down the eight steps. I
chucked off the blanket, and I was going up the
steps again, to show him he could n't treat me that
way, when — bing! — somebody next door took a
shot at me with a revolver. Thought I was a bur-
119


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
glar, I guess. I started to run for the back gate, when
— bingl — somebody shot at me from the other
house. What do you think of that? For a few
minutes it sounded like the battle of San Juan, and
I can't understand yet why I did n't suffer an awful
loss of life."
"But you did n't?" asked Philo Gubb.
"No, siree! I made a dive for the cellar door, just
as they got the range. I stayed in the cellarway,
with the bullets pattering on it like hail, until the
cop came. Tim Fogarty was the cop. He ordered
'Cease firing!' and the shower stopped, and I let
him capture me. He took me to the calaboose, and
this morning, early, he had me before the judge, and
I'm held for the grand jury, and the charge is
burglary and petit larceny. Now what is the
answer?"
"Being pulled into a house and thrown out the
other door is n't burglary," said Philo Gubb.
"Burglary is breaking in or breaking out. Maybe
Attorney Mullen mistook you for some one else."
"Mistook nothing!" said Snooks. "He was in
the court-room this morning. He handled the case
against me. Who is that?"
Some one was climbing the back steps, and Snooks
made one dive for the cellar door, and slipped inside.
He knew how to get out through the cellar, for he
was familiar with it. He did not wait now, but
opened the outside cellar door, and after looking to
see that the way was clear, hurried back to the jail.
120


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
Philo Gubb did not have time to descend from his
ladder before the kitchen door opened. The visitor
was Policeman Fogarty.
"Mawrnin'!” he said, removing his hat and
wiping the sweat-band with his red handkerchief.
“Don't ye get down, Misther Gubb, sor. I want
but a wurrd with ye. I seen Snooksy Tur-rner here
but a sicond ago, me lookin' in at the windy, an'
you an' him conversin'. Mayhap he was speakin'
t' ye iv his arrist?”
"He was conversing with me of that occurrence,"
said Philo Gubb. "He was consulting me in my
professional capacity."
"An' a fine young lad he is!” said Policeman
Fogarty, reaching into his pocket. “I got th' divvil
for arristin' him. 'T was that dark, ye see, Misther
Gubb, I cud not see who I was arristin'. Maybe he
was consultin' ye about gettin' clear iv th' charge
ag'inst him?"
“He retained my deteckative services,” said
Philo Gubb.
“Poor young man!” said Fogarty. “I'll warrant
he has none too much money. Me hear-rt bleeds
for him. Ye'll have no ind iv trailin' an' shadowin'
an' other detective wurrk to do awn th' case, no
doubt. 'T is ixpinsive wurrk, that! I was thinkin'
maybe ye'd permit me t' contribute a five-dollar
bill t'th' wurrk, for I'm that sad t' have had a
hand in arristin' him."
Fogarty held up the bill and Philo Gubb took it.
I2I


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Contingent expenses are always numerously
present in deteckative operations," he said.
"Right ye ar-re!" said Fogarty. "An' ye'll re-
mimber, if anny wan asks ye, that I ixprissed me
contrition for arristin' Snooksy. Whist!" he said,
putting his hand alongside his mouth and whisper-
ing: "Some wan wanted me t' search th' house here
t' see did Snooksy have sivin bottles iv beer an' a
silver beer-opener in his room."
Philo Gubb sat on the ladder and contemplated
the five-dollar bill until he heard Fogarty returning.
"Hist!" Fogarty said. "I did not see him, mind-
ye!"
Fogarty slipped out of the back door and was
gone, and Philo Gubb, after a thoughtful moment,
decided that the five-dollar bill was rightfully his,
and slipped it into his pocket. To earn it, how-
ever, he must get to work on the case. He raised
the pasted strip of paper, but before he could place
the loose end on the ceiling, some one tapped at
the kitchen door.
"Come in!" he called, and the door opened.
"Slippery" Williams glided into the room. His
crafty eyes sought Philo Gubb.
"'Lo, Gubby! Watcha doin' up there? Where's
Miss Turner?" he asked.
"Miss Turner is out on business, I presume," said
the Correspondence School detective coldly, "and I
am pursuing my professional duties in the deteck-
ating line."
122


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
"Yar, hey?” said Slippery. “Who you detectin'
for now?"
"Snooks Turner," said Philo Gubb. “I'm solving
a case for him."
Instantly Slippery's manner changed. From rough
he became smooth. From bold he became cringing.
“Why, I'm Snooksy's friend," he said. “You
know me and Snooksy was always chums, don't
you, Gubby? Yes, sir, I think a lot of Snooksy. He
says, 'Slippery, you go up to my room and get me a
bundle of clean clothes — these are all torn and
dirty, and —'Well, I guess I'll get 'em, and get
back. Snooks is waitin' for me."
He turned to the hall, but Philo Gubb called him
back.
“You can't go up there," said Philo Gubb, from
his ladder-top. "There's been enough folks up
there already."
“Who was up?" asked Slippery hastily.
“Policeman Fogarty was," said Philo Gubb.
“What'd he find up there?" asked Slippery anx-
jously.
“Nothin'," said Philo Gubb. “He told me he
could n't find seven bottles of beer and a beer-
opener.”
“Look here!” said Slippery sweetly. “If I gave
you five dollars to hire you to hunt for them, could
you find them seven bottles of beer and that beer-
opener for me? Straight detective work? Could
you?'
123


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
he said. "I came in the back way, hoping to find
Miss Turner. She is not here?"
"She's out," said Philo.
"Too bad!" said Attorney Smith. "I wanted to
see her about her nephew. You have heard he is in
jail?"
"Why, yes," said Philo, crossing one leg over the
other. "He hired me to do some deteckating. I'm
sort of in charge of that case. I'm just going to
start in looking it up."
Attorney Smith took a turn to the end of the
room and back. He was known in Riverbank as the
unsuccessful competitor against Attorney Mullen
for the City Attorneyship, and was supposed to be
the counselor of the liquor interests.
"You have done nothing yet?" he asked sud-
denly, stopping below Philo Gubb's elevated seat.
"No, I'm just about beginning to commence,"
said Philo.
"Then you know nothing regarding the — the
articles young Turner is charged with stealing?"
"Well, maybe I do know something about that,"
said Philo. "If you mean seven bottles of beer and
a beer-opener, I do."
"Where are they?" asked Attorney Smith in the
sharp tone he used in addressing a witness for the
other side when he was trying a case.
"I guess I've told about all I'm going to tell about
them," said Philo thoughtfully. "I don't want to
be disobliging, Mister Smith, but I look on them
125


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
bottles of beer as a clue, and that beer-opener as a
clue, and they 're about the only clue I've got. I got
to save up my clues."
"Are they in this house?" asked Mr. Smith
sharply.
"If they ain't, they 're somewheres else," said
Philo.
"Mr. Gubb," said Mr. Smith impressively
"there are large interests at stake in this case.
Larger interests than you imagine. We are all inter-
ested at this moment in clearing your client of the
suspicion — which I hope is an unjust suspicion —
now resting over and upon him. I need not say
what the interests are, but they are very powerful.
I feel confident that those interests could succeed
in clearing Snooks Turner."
"WeH, I guess, if I was left alone long enough to
get down from this ladder, I could clear him my-
self. I did n't study in the Rising Sun Deteckative
Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating for
nothing," said Philo Gubb. "Snooks hired me—"
"And he did well!" said Attorney Smith heartily.
"I praise his acumen. I wonder if I might be per-
mitted, on behalf of the powerful interests I repre-
sent, to contribute to the expense of the work you
will do?"
"I guess you might," said Philo Gubb. "Deteck-
ating runs into money."
"The interests I represent," said Mr. Smith,
taking out his wallet, "will contribute ten dollars."
126 ,


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
And they did. They put a crisp ten-dollar bill in
Philo Gubb's hands.
"And now, having shown our unity of interest
with young Mr. Turner, there can be no harm in
telling us where that beer is, can there?" •
He turned toward the kitchen door — for Nan
Kilfillan stood there. Her eyes were red and swollen.
Attorney Smith hastily excused himself and went
away, and Nan came into the kitchen.
"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she exclaimed. "You will get
Snooks out of jail, won't you? It would break my
heart if he was sent to the penitentiary, and I know
he has done nothing wrong! He is depending on
you, Mr. Gubb. I brought you ten dollars — it is
all I have left of last month's wages, but it will help
a little, won't it?"
"Thank you," said Philo Gubb, taking the
money. "I cannot estimate in advance what the
cost of his clearance will be. It may be more, and it
may be less. It is a complicated case. I am just
about going to get down from this ladder and start
working on it vigorously. If you —"
He stopped.
"If you wish to help us in this case, Miss Kil-
fillan," he said, "will you go to the jail and ask
Snooks where is the beer and the beer-opener?"
"Where is—" Her face went white. "What
beer and what beer-opener?" she asked tensely.
"Seven bottles and a beer-opener," said Philo
Gubb.
127


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Oh!" she moaned. "And he said he did n't do
it! He swore he did n't do it! Oh, Snooks, how could
you — how could you!"
"Now, don't you weep like that," said Philo
Gubb soothingly. "You go and ask him. I'll have
my things ready for my immediate departure onto
the case by the time you get back."
Nan hurried away, and Philo Gubb waited only
to count the money he had so far received. It
amounted to fifty-five dollars. He slipped it into
his pocket and stood up on the stepladder. He had
even proceeded so far as to put one foot on a lower
step, when Mrs. Wilmerton entered the kitchen.
She was a stout woman, and she was almost out
of breath. She had to stand a minute before she
could speak, but as she stood she made gestures
with her hands, as if that much of her delivery could
be given, at any rate, and the words might catch
up with their appropriate gestures if they could.
"MisterGubb! Mister Gubb!" she gasped. "Oh,
this is terrible! Terrible! Miss Turner should never
have dared it! Oh, my breath! Do you — do you
know where the beer is?"
"I would n't advise you to take beer for short-
ness of the breath," said Philo Gubb. "Just rest a
minute."
"But," gasped poor Mrs. Wilmerton, "I told Miss
Turner it was folly! She's so stubborn! Ah—h! I
thought I'd never get a full breath again as long as
I lived. How can we get rid of the beer?"
J2§



SHE MADE GESTURES WITH HER HANDS





THE TWO-CENT STAMP
“There's plenty want to take it," said Mr. Gubb.
"Attorney Smith —".
“Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" moaned Mrs.
Wilmerton. “He threatened it!”
“Threatened what?" asked Philo Gubb.
“That he would find the beer in this house!"
cried Mrs. Wilmerton. “He threatened Aunt
Martha that if she did not give it to him freely, he
would have it found here, and make a scandal! Beer
hidden between the quilt and the mattress of Aunt
Martha's bed, and she Secretary of the Ladies'
Temperance League! It's awful! Martha is so head-
strong! She's getting herself in an awful fix! She
never should have had a thing to do with that
Slippery fellow!"
“With who? With Slippery Williams?” asked
Philo Gubb, intensely surprised. “Aunt Martha
Turner? What did she have to do with Slippery
Williams?"
“Well, she had plenty, and enough, and more
than that to do with him," said Mrs. Wilmerton
angrily. “Getting bottles of beer in her bed, and
robbing houses at her time of life, and wanting the
Ladies' Temperance League to have a special meet-
ing this morning to approve of burglary and larceny!
At her age!"
“Now, Miss Wilmerton," said Philo Gubb, from
the top of the ladder, “I'd ought to warn you, be-
fore you go any farther, that Snooks Turner has
engaged me and my services to detect for him in this
129


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
burglar case. If Aunt Martha Turner burgled the
burglary that Snooks is in jail for, maybe you ought
not say anything about it to me. I got to do what I
can to free Snooksy, no matter who it gets into
trouble."
"Mr. Gubb!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton sud-
denly— "Mr. Gubb, I'm not authorized so to do,
but I 'll warrant I 'll get the other ladies to authorize,
or I 'll know why. If I was to give you twenty dol-
lars on behalf of the Ladies' Temperance League to
help get Snooksy out of jail, — and land only knows
why he is in jail, — would you be so kind as to beg
and plead with Snooksy to leave Attorney Mullen
alone, in the 'Eagle,' after this?"
She held four five-dollar bills up to Philo Gubb,
and he took them.
"From what I saw of his eye," said Mr. Gubb,
"I guess Snooks will be willing to leave Attorney
Mullen alone in every shape and form from now on.
Now, maybe you can tell me how Snooks got into
this business."
"I have n't the slightest idea in the world!" said
Mrs. Wilmerton. "All I know about it is —"
Both Mrs. Wilmerton and Philo Gubb turned
their heads toward the door. The greater duskiness
of the kitchen was caused by the large form of City
Attorney Mullen. He bowed ceremoniously to Mrs.
Wilmerton, who turned bright red with embarrass-
ment, probably because of her part in the efforts of
the League to have Mr. Mullen impeached by the
130


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
City Council. Attorney Mullen was not, however,
embarrassed.
"I am glad you are here, Mrs. Wilmerton," he
said, "for I wish a witness. I do not wish to have
any stigma of bribery rest on me. I came here," he
continued, taking a leather purse from the inner
pocket of his coat, "to give these twenty-five dollars
to Mr. Gubb. Mr. Gubb, I have just visited
Snooks — so called — Turner at the jail. I went
there with the intention of bailing him out, pending
the simple process of his ultimate and speedy release
from the charges against him. I am convinced that
I was wrong when I made the charge of burglary
against him. I am convinced that no burglary was
ever committed on my premises —"
"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton. "Not even
seven bottles of beer and a beer-opener, I sup-
pose!"
Attorney Mullen turned on her like a flash.
• "What do you know about beer and beer-
openers?" he snapped.
"I may not know as much as Detective Gubb,
but I know what I know!" she answered, and Mr.
Mullen restrained himself sufficiently to hide the
glare of hatred in his eyes by turning to Philo Gubb.
"Exactly!" he said with forced calmness. "And
perhaps I know more about them than Mr. Gubb
knows. In fact, I do know more about them. I
know they are upstairs between a blanket and a
mattress. I know, Mrs. Wilmerton," he almost
131


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
shouted, turning on her with an accusing fore-
finger, "that they were stolen from a house in this
town by some one representing the Ladies' Tem-
perance League. I know that burglary was com-
mitted by, or at the behest of, some one represent-
ing the Ladies' Temperance League! I know that,
if this matter is carried to the end, a respectable old
lady — a leader in the Ladies' Temperance League
— will go behind the bars, sentenced as a burglar!
That's what I know!"
''Oh, my!" gasped Mrs. Wilmerton, and sank
into a chair.
"Now, then!" said Attorney Mullen, turning to
Philo Gubb again, and handing him the twenty-five
dollars, "I give you this money as my share of the
fund that is to pay you for the work you do for
Snooks Turner. I make no request, because of
the money. It is yours. But if you love justice, for
Heaven's sake, send word to him to come out of
jail!"
"Won't he come out?" asked Philo Gubb,
puzzled.
"No, he won't!" said Attorney Mullen. "I
begged him to, but he said, 'No! Not until Philo
Gubb gets to the bottom of this case. But should
we, as citizens, and as members of the Prohibition
Party, permit you, Mr. Gubb, to land Aunt Martha
Turner in the calaboose?"
"Well, if what I find out, when I get down from
this ladder and start to work, sends her there, I
132


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
don't see that I can help it," said Philo Gubb.
"Deteckative work is a science, as operated by
them that has studied in the Rising Sun Deteck-
ative Agency's Correspondence School of Detecka-
ting -"
"Snooks says he don't know anything about any
beer," said Nan Kilfillan, entering hastily, and then
pausing, as she saw Mr. Mullen.
"Did you tell him it was upstairs, in bed?" asked
Philo Gubb.
"In his room? In his bed?" said Attorney Mullen
eagerly. "Why, that puts an entirely different
aspect on the matter! That gives me, as City
Attorney, all the proof I shall need to convict the
respectable Miss Martha Turner and her honorable
nephew of the 'Eagle.' And, by the gods! I will
convict them!"
He glared at Mrs. Wilmerton. Nan broke into
sobs.
"Unless," he added gently, "this whole matter
is dropped."
Philo Gubb took out all the money he had re-
ceived and counted it, sitting cross-legged on the
ladder.
"I guess," he said thoughtfully, "you had better
run up to the jail and tell Snooksy I want to see him
right away, Miss Kilfillan. Maybe he can stretch
the jail that much again. Tell him I'm just going
to get down from this ladder and start to work, and
I want to ask his advice."
133


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"What do you want to ask him?" inquired At-
torney Mullen, as Nan hurried away.
"I want to ask him about those seven bottles of
beer and that beer-opener," said Philo Gubb.
"Mr. Gubb," said the City Attorney, "I can tell
you about those bottles of beer. If those bottles
of beer came from my house Aunt Martha Turner
goes to the penitentiary. If she does not go to the
penitentiary, there are no bottles of beer and there
is no beer-opener. And never were!"
"I told her she had done a foolish, foolish thing!"
exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton.
"Just so! And it was foolish," said Attorney
Mullen. "If it was done. And, if it was done, and
Snooks Turner telephoned, and I thought he meant
the burglary, I would, naturally, assault him."
"You hurt him bad," said Philo Gubb.
"And I meant to!" said Attorney Mullen.
All turned toward the door, where Policeman
Fogarty entered with Snooksy and Nan.
"I've done ivrything I cud t' quiet th' matter
up," said Fogarty to Mullen, thus explaining his
interest in the affair.
"I like jail," said Snooks cheerfully. "I'm going
to stay in jail."
Aunt Martha Turner interrupted him. She came
into the kitchen like a gust of wind, scattering the
others like leaves, and threw her arms around her
nephew Snooksy.
"Oh, my Snooksy! My Snooksy!" she moaned.
134


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
"Don't you love your old auntie any more? Won't
you be a good boy for your poor old auntie? Don't
you love her at all any more?"
"Sure," said Snooks happily. "A fellow can love
you in jail, can't he?"
"But won't you come out?" she pleaded. "Every-
body wants you to come out, dear, dear boy. See —
they all want you to come out. Every last one of
them. Please come out."
"Oh, I like it in jail," said Snooks. "It gives me
time for meditation. Well, good-bye, folks, I'll be
going back."
His aunt grasped him firmly by the arm and
wailed. So did Nan.
"But, Snooksy," begged Mrs. Turner, "don't
you know they'll send me to the penitentiary if
you go back to that old jail?"'
"Yes, but don't you care, auntie. They say the
penitentiary is nicer than the jail. Better doors.
Nobody can break in and steal things from you."
"Snooks Turner!" said his aunt. "You know as
well as I do that Mr. Mullen will forgive and forget,
if you will. Would you rather see me go to prison —
suffer?"
"No, of course not, auntie," said Snooks, laugh-
ing. "But you see, I've hired Detective Gubb to
work on this case, and if there's no case, it will not
be fair to him. He's all worked up about it. He's
so eager to be. at it that he has almost come down
from the top of that ladder. In another day or two
135


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
he would come all the way down, and then there's
no telling what would happen. No, I'm a news-
paper man. I want Philo Gubb to discover some-
thing we don't know anything about."
"I might start in trailing and shadowing some-
body that has n't anything to do with this case,"
suggested Philo Gubb. "That wouldn't discom-
mode none of you folks, and I'd sort of feel as if I
was giving you your money's worth. Somebody has
been writin' on the front of the Methodist Church
with black chalk. I might try to detect who done
that."
"But that would be a very difficult job," said
Snooks.
"It would be some hard," admitted Philo Gubb.
"Then you ought to have more money," said
Snooks. "Aunt Martha ought to contribute to the
fund. If Aunt Martha contributes to the fund, I'll
be good. I 'll come out of jail."
Aunt Martha opened her shopping bag, and
fumbled in it with her old fingers. Philo Gubb took
from his pocket the bills he had been given during
the morning. He counted them. He had exactly
one hundred dollars, just enough to send to Mr.
Medderbrook.
"How much should I give you, Mr. Gubb?"
asked Aunt Martha tremulously, and Philo Gubb
stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes.
When he spoke, his words were cryptic to all those
in the room.
136


THE TWO-CENT STAMP
“Well, ma'am," he said, “I guess ten cents will
be about enough. I've got a two-cent postage
stamp myself.”
"Ain't detectives wonderful?" whispered Nan,
clinging to Snooks's arm. “You can't ever tell
what they really mean."
Nobody seemed to care what Philo Gubb meant,
but a week later Snooks stopped him on the street
and asked him why he had asked for ten cents.
“For to register a letter," said Philo Gubb.
“A letter I had to send off."


THE CHICKEN
Philo GUBB, with three rolls of wall-paper under his
arm and a pail of mixed paste in one hand, walked
along Cherry Street near the brick-yard.
On this occasion Mr. Gubb was in a reasonably
contented frame of mind, for he had just received his
share of the reward for capturing the dynamiters
and had this very morning paid the full amount to
Mr. Medderbrook, leaving but eleven thousand six
hundred and fifty dollars still to be paid that gentle-
man for the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine Stock, and
upon the further payment of seventy-five cents —
half its cost — Mr. Medderbrook gave him a tele-
gram he had received from Syrilla. The telegram
was as follows: —
Rapidly shrinking. Have given up all soups, including
tomato soup, chicken soup, mulligatawny, mock turtle,
green pea, vegetable, gumbo, lentil, consommé, bouillon
and clam broth. Now weigh only nine hundred and
fifty pounds. Wire at once whether clam chowder is a
soup or a food. Fond remembrances to Gubby.
Mr. Gubb was thinking of this telegram as he
walked toward his work. Just ahead of him a short
lane led, between Mrs. Smith's house and the
Cherry Street Methodist Chapel, to the brick-yard.
Mrs. Smith's chicken coop stood on the fence line
between her property and the brick-yard!
138



“DETECKATING IS MY AIM AND MY PROFESSION"





THE CHICKEN
Philo Gubb had passed Mrs. Smith's front gate
when Mrs. Smith waddled to her fence and hailed
him.
"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she panted. "You got to
excuse me for speakin' to you when I don't know
you. Mrs. Miffin says you're a detective."
"Deteckating is my aim and my profession," said
Mr. Gubb.
"Well," said Mrs. Smith, "I want to ask a word
of you about crime. I 've had a chicken stole."
"Chicken-stealing is a crime if ever there was
one," said Philo Gubb seriously. "What was the
chicken worth?"
"Forty cents," said Mrs. Smith.
"Well," said Philo Gubb, "it wouldn't hardly
pay me."
"It ain't much," admitted Mrs. Smith.
"No. You're right, it ain't," said Philo Gubb.
"Was this a rooster or a hen?"
"It was a hen," said Mrs. Smith.
"Well," said Mr. Gubb, "if you was to offer a
reward of a hundred dollars for the capture of the
thief —"
"Oh, my land!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith. "It would
be cheaper for me to pay somebody five dollars to
come and steal the rest of the chickens. It seems
to me, that you ought to make the thief pay. I ain't
the one that did the crime, am I? It's only right
that a thief should pay for the time and trouble he
puts you to, ain't it?"
139


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"I never before looked at it that way," said Mr.
Gubb thoughtfully, "but it stands to reason."
"Of course it does!" said Mrs. Smith. "You
catch that thief and you can offer yourself a million
dollars reward if you want to. That's none of my
business."
"Well," said Philo Gubb, picking up his paste-
pail, "I guess if there ain't any important murders
or things turn up by seven to-night, I'll start in
to work for that reward. I guess I can't ask more
than five dollars reward."
At seven the evening was still light, and Philo
Gubb, to cover his intentions and avert suspicion
in case his interview with Mrs. Smith had been
observed by the thief, put a false beard in his pocket
and a revolver beside it and left his office in the
Opera House Block cautiously. He slipped into
the alley and glided down it, keeping close to the
stables. A detective must be cautious.
The abandoned brick-kilns offered admirable
seclusion. A brick-kiln is built entirely, or almost
so, of the brick that are to be burned, and the kilns
are torn down and carted away as the brick are sold.
The over-structure of the kilns was a mere roof of
half-inch planks laid on timbers that were upheld by
poles.
A ladder leaning against one of the poles gave
access to the roof. In the darkness it was impossible
for Philo Gubb to find a finger-print of the culprit
on the kilns, although he looked for one. He did not
140


THE CHICKEN
even find the usual and highly helpful button, torn
from its place in the criminal's eagerness to depart.
He found only an old horseshoe and a broken to-
bacco pipe. As there were evidences that the pipe
had been abandoned on that spot several years
earlier, neither of these was a very valuable clue.
Mr. Gubb next gave his attention to the chicken
coop. It was preeminently a hand-made chicken
coop of the rough-and-ready variety.
Philo Gubb entered the chicken-house and looked
around, lighting his dark lantern and throwing its
rays here and there that he might see better. The
house was so low of roof that he had to stoop to avoid
the roosts, and the tails of the chickens brushed his
hat. It needed brushing, so this did no harm. The
hens and the two roosters complained gently of this
interruption of their beauty sleep, and moved along
the roosts, and Mr. Gubb went outside again. It was
quite evident that the thief had had no great hard-
ships to undergo in robbing that roost. All he had
to do was to enter the chicken-house, choose a
chicken, and walk away with it.
Why had he not taken ten chickens? Mr. Gubb,
as he put the keg hoop over the end board of the
gate, studied this.
The theory that Mr. Gubb adopted was that the
thief, coming for a raid on the coop, had been sur-
prised to find it so poorly guarded. It had been
so easy to enter the coop and steal the chicken that
he had decided it would be folly to take eight or ten
141


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
chickens and thus arouse instant suspicion and re-
prisal. Instead of this he had taken but one, trust-
ing that the loss of one would be unnoticed or laid to
rats or cats or weasels. Thus he would be able to
return again and again as fowl meat was needed or
desired, and the chickens would be like money in the
bank — a fund on which to draw. This theory was
so sound that Mr. Gubb believed it would require
nothing more than patience to capture the criminal.
The thief would come back for more chickens!
Philo Gubb looked around for an advantageous
position in which to await the coming of the thief,
and be unseen himself, and the loose board roof of
the brick-kiln met his eye. No position could be
better. He climbed the ladder inside the kiln,
pushed one of the boards aside enough to permit him
to squeeze through onto the roof, and creeping care-
fully over the loose boards, reached the edge of the
roof. Here he stretched himself out flat on the
boards, and waited.
Nothing — absolutely nothing — happened! The
mosquitoes, numerous indeed because of the near-
ness of the pond, buzzed around his head and stung
him on the neck and hands, but he did not dare slap
at them lest he betray his hiding-place. Hour fol-
lowed hour and no chicken thief appeared. And
when the first rays of the sun lighted the east he
climbed down and stalked stiffly away to a short
hour of sleep.
The next night the Correspondence School detec-
142


THE CHICKEN
tive wasted no time in preliminary observations of
the lay of the land. He kept out of sight until the
sun had set and dusk covered the land with shade,
and then he went at once to the roof of the brick-
kiln. This time he was disguised in a red mustache,
a pair of flowing white side-whiskers, and a woolen
cap. And he wore two revolvers — large ones — in
a belt about his waist.
It was still too early for brisk business in chicken-
stealing when Philo Gubb climbed to the roof of
the kiln and spread himself out there, and he felt
that he had time for a few minutes' sleep.
He was tremendously sleepy. Sleep fairly pushed
his eyelids down over his eyes, and he put his
crooked arm under his head and, after thinking
fondly of Syrilla for a few minutes, went to sleep so
suddenly that it was like falling off a cliff into dream-
land. He dreamed, uneasily, of having been cap-
tured by an array of forty chicken thieves, of having
been led in triumph before the Supreme Court of
the United States, and of having been condemned
as a Detective Trust on the charge of acting in re-
straint of trade — as injuring the Chicken Stealers'
Association's business — and required to dissolve
himself.
The dream was agonizing as he tried one dissol-
vent after another without success. Turpentine
merely dissolved his skin; alcohol had no effect
whatever. He imagined himself in a long room in
which stood vast rows of vats bearing different
143


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
labels, and in and out of these he climbed, trying to
obey the order of the court, but nothing seemed cap-
able of dissolving him, and he suddenly discovered
that he was made of rubber. He seemed to remem-
ber that rubber was soluble in benzine, and he
started on a tour of the vats, trying to find a ben-
zine vat.
He walked many miles. Sometimes he arose in
the air, with ease and grace, and flew a few miles.
Finally he found the vat of benzine, immersed him-
self in it, and began to dissolve calmly and with a
blessed sense of having done his duty.
It was then that Philo Gubb entered the dream-
less sleep of the utterly weary, and, about the same
time, two men slunk under the roof of the brick-
kiln and after looking carefully around took seats
on the fallen bricks, resting their backs against the
partly demolished kiln. They arranged the bricks
as comfortably as possible before seating them-
selves, and when they were seated, one of them drew
a whiskey bottle from his pocket and, after taking a
good swig, offered it to his partner.
"Nope!" said he. "I'm going to steer clear of
that stuff until I know where I'm at, and you're a
fool for not doing the same, Wixy. First thing you
know you'll be soused, and if you are, and anything
turns up, what'll I do? I got all I can do to take
care of you sober."
"Ah, turn up! What's goin' to turn up 'way
out here?" asked Wixy. "They ain't nobody fol-
144


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
harmless thing like that, it's different. He can
afford to stick to a pal, even if he gets nabbed. But
when it's a case of —"
"Now, don't use that word!" said Wixy angrily.
"It was n't no more murder than nothing. Was we
going to let Chicago Chicken bash our heads in just
•because we stood up for our rights? Him wantin' a
full half just because he put us onto the job! He'd
ought to been killed for askin' such a thing."
"Well, he was, was n't he?" asked Sandlot. "You
killed him all right. It was you swung on him with
the rock, Wixy, remember that!"
» "Tryin' to put it off on me, ain't you!" said
Wixy angrily. "Well, you can't do it. If I hang,
you hang. Maybe I did take a rock to him, but you
had him strangled to death before I ever hit him."
"What's the use gabbin' about it?" said Sandlot.
"He's dead, and we made our get-away, and all we
got to do is to keep got away. There ain't anybody
ever goin' to find him, not where we sunk him in
that deep water."
"Ain't I been sayin' that right along?" asked
Wixy. "Ain't I been tellin' you you was a fool to be
scared of an old feller like White-Whiskers? Cuttin'
across country this way when we might as well be
forty miles more down the Rock Island, travelin'
along as nice as you please in a box car."
"Now, look here!" said Sandlot menacingly. "I
ain't goin' to take no abuse from you, drunk or
sober. If you don't like my way, you go back to the
146


THE CHICKEN
railroad and leave me go my own way. I'm goin'
on across country until I come to another railroad,
I am. And if I come to a river, and I run across a
boat, I'm goin' to take that boat and float a ways.
When I says nobody is goin' to know anything
about what we did to the Chicken, over there in
Chicago, I mean it. Nobody is. But did n't Sal
know all three of us was goin' out on that job that
night? And when the Chicken don't come back,
ain't she goin' to guess something happened to the
Chicken?"
"She's goin' to think he made a rich haul, like
he did, and that he up and quit her," said Wixy.
"That's what she'll think."
"And what if she does?" said Sandlot. "She and
him has been boardin' with Mother Smith, ain't
they? Ain't Mother Smith been handin' the Chicken
money when he needed it, because he said he was
workin' up this job with us? I bet the Chicken
owed Mother Smith a hundred dollars, and when he
don't come back, then what? Sal will say she ain't
got no money because the Chicken quit her, and
Mother Smith will —"
"Well, what?" asked Wixy.
"She'll send word to every crook in the country
to spot the Chicken, and you know it. And when
word comes back that there ain't no trace of
him —"
"You've lost your nerve, that's what ails you,"
said Wixy scornfully.
M7


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"No, I ain't," Sandlot insisted. "I've heard
plenty of fellers tell how Mother Smith keeps tabs
on anybody that tries to do her out of ten cents
even. Why, maybe the Chicken promised to come
back that night and pay up. I bet he did! And I
bet he was sour on Sal. And I bet Mother Smith
knew it all the time, and that when he did n't come
back that night she sent out word to spot him or us.
I bet you!"
"You 've lost your nerve!" said Wixy drunkenly.
"You never did have no nerve. You're so scared
you're seein' ghosts."
"All right!" said Sandlot, rising. "I'll see ghosts,
then. But I 'll see them by myself. You can go —"
"Goo'-bye!" said Wixy carelessly, and finished
the last drop in his bottle. "Goo'-bye, oV Sandlot!
Goo'-bye!"
Sandlot hesitated a moment and then arose and,
after a parting glance at Wixy, struck out across
the drying floor of the brick-yard, and was lost in
the darkness. Wixy blinked and balanced the
empty bottle in his hand.
"He's afraid!" he boasted to himself. "He's
coward. 'Fraid of dark. 'Fraid of ghosts. Los' his
nerve. I ain' 'fraid."
He arose to his feet unsteadily.
"Sandlot's coward!" he said, and threw down the
empty bottle with a motion of disgust at the cow-
ardice of Sandlot. The bottle burst with a jangling
of glass.
148


THE CHICKEN
On the loose board roof Philo Gubb raised his
head suddenly. For an instant he imagined he was
a disembodied spirit, his body having been dis-
solved in benzine, but as he became wider awake he
was conscious of a noise beneath him. Wixy was
shifting twenty or thirty bricks that had fallen from
the kiln upon a truss of straw, used the last winter
to cover new-moulded bricks to protect them from
the frost against their drying. He was preparing a
bed. He muttered to himself as he worked, and
Philo Gubb, placing his eye to a crack between the
boards of the roof, tried to observe him. The dark-
ness was so absolute he could see nothing whatever.
He heard Wixy stretch out on the straw, and in a
minute more he heard the heavy breathing of a
sleeper. Wixy was not letting any cowardice dis-
turb his repose, at all events, and Philo Gubb con-
sidered how he could best get himself off the roof.
The sleeping man was immediately beneath him;
the ladder was a full ten yards away; every motion
made the loose boards complain. Looking down,
Mr. Gubb saw that the top of the kiln reached
within a few feet of where he lay, and that the par-
tially removed sides had left a series of giant steps.
Mr. Gubb loosened his pistols in his belt. Now
that he had the chicken thief so near, he meant to
capture him. With the utmost care he slid one of the
boards of the roof aside and put his long legs into
the opening thus made, feeling for the kiln until
he touched it, and when he had a firm footing on
149


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
it he lowered the upper part of his body through
the roof.
Five feet away a cross-timber reached from one
pillar of the roof to another, and just below that was
one of the steps of the kiln. Philo Gubb lighted his
dark lantern, and casting its ray, saw this cross-
piece. If he could jump and reach it he could drop
to the lower step and avoid the danger of bringing
the side of the kiln down with him. He slipped the
lantern into his pocket, reached out his hands, and
jumped into the dark.
For an instant his fingers grappled with the cross-
piece; he struggled to gain a firmer hold; and then
he dropped straight upon the sleeping Wixy. He
alighted fair and square on the murderer's stomach,
and the air went out of Wixy in a sudden whoof I
Philo Gubb, in the unreasoning excitement of the
moment, grappled with Wixy, but the unresistance
of the man told that he was unconscious, and the
Correspondence School detective released him and
stood up. He uncovered the lens of his dark lantern
and turned the ray on Wixy.
The murderer lay flat on his back, his eyes closed
and his mouth open. Mr. Gubb put his hand on
Wixy's heart. It still beat! The man was not dead!
With the dark lantern in one hand and a rusty
tin can in the other, Mr. Gubb hurried to the pond
and returned with the can full of water, but even in
this crisis he did not act thoughtlessly. He set the
dark lantern on a shelf of the kiln, so that its rays
150



WITH ANOTHER GROAN WIXY RAISED HIS HANDS


-
--


THE CHICKEN
might illuminate Wixy and himself alike, drew one
of his pistols and pointed it full at Wixy's head, and
holding it so, he dashed the can of water in the face
of the unconscious man. Wixy moved uneasily. He
emitted a long sigh and opened his eyes.
"I got you!" said Philo Gubb sternly. "There
ain't no use to make a move, because I'm a detecka-
tive, and if you do I'll shoot this pistol at you. If
you're able so to do, just put up your hands."
Wixy blinked in the strong light of the lantern.
He groaned and placed one of his hands on his
stomach.
"Put 'em up!" said Philo Gubb, and with an-
other groan Wixy raised his hands. He was still
flat on his back. He looked as if he were doing some
sort of health exercise. In a minute the hands fell
to the ground.
"I guess you'd better set up," said Philo Gubb.
"You ain't goin' to be able to hold up your hands if
you lay down that way."
As he helped Wixy to a sitting position, he kept
his pistol against the fellow's head.
"Now, then," said Philo Gubb, when he had
arranged his captive to suit his taste, "what you
got to say?"
"I got to say I never done what you think I done,
whatever it is," said Wixy. "I don't know what it
is, but I never done it. Some other feller done it."
"That don't bother me none," said Philo Gubb.
"If you did n't do it, I don't know who did. Just
151


THE CHICKEN
dollars was little enough to ask for two nights of
first-class Correspondence School detective work.
Rather than take less he would lead the chicken
thief to jail. And Wixy, with his third, and half of
the Chicken's third, of the proceeds of the criminal
job that had led to the death of the Chicken, know-
ing the relentlessness of Mother Smith, that female
Fagin of Chicago, considered that he would be doing
well to purchase his freedom for five hundred dollars.
"All right, pal," he said suddenly. “You're on.
It's a bet. Here you are."
He slipped his hand into his pocket and drew out
a great roll of money. With the muzzle of Philo
Gubb's pistol hovering just out of reach before him,
he counted out five crisp one hundred dollar bills.
He held them out with a sickly grin. Philo Gubb
took them and looked at them, puzzled.
“What's this for?” he asked, and Wixy suddenly
blazed forth in anger.
“Now, don't come any of that!" he cried. “A
bargain is a bargain. Don't you come a-pretendin'
you did n't say you'd take five hundred, and try to
get more out of me! I won't give you no more - I
won't! You can jug me, if you want to. You can't
prove nothin' on me, and you know it. Have you
found the body of the Chicken? Well, you got to
have the corpus what-you-call-it, ain't you? Huh?
Ain't five hundred enough? I bet the Chicken never
cost Mother Smith more than a hundred and fifty-"
"I was only thinkin' -" began Philo Gubb.
153


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Don't think, then," said Wixy.
"Five hundred dollars seemed too —" Philo
began again.
"It's all you'll get, if I hang for it," said Wixy
firmly. '' You can give Mother Smith what you want,
and keep what you want. That's all you'll get."
Philo Gubb could not understand it. He tried to,
but he could not understand it at all. And then sud-
denly a great light dawned in his brain. There
was something this chicken thief knew that he and
Mrs. Smith did not know. The stolen chicken must
have been of some rare and much-sought strain.
So it was all right. The thief was paying what
the chicken was worth, and not what Mrs. Smith
thought it was worth in her ignorance. He slipped
the money into his pocket.
"All right," he said. "I'm satisfied if you are.
The chicken was a fancy bird, ain't it so?"
"The Chicken was a tough old rooster, that's
what he was," said Wixy, staggering to his feet.
"I thought he was a hen," said Philo Gubb. "Mrs.
Smith said he was a hen."
Wixy laughed a sickly laugh.
"That ain't much of a joke. That's why every-
body called him Chicken, because his first name
was Hen."
Philo Gubb's mouth fell open. He was convinced
now that he had to do with an insane man. Wixy
moved toward the open drying-floor.
"Well, so 'long, pard," he said to Philo Gubb.
154


THE CHICKEN
"Give my regards to Mother Smith. And say," he
added, "if you see Sal, don't let her know what hap-
pened to the Chicken. Don't say anybody made
away with the Chicken, see? Tell Sal the Chicken
flew the coop himself, see?"
"Who is Sal?" asked Philo Gubb.
"You ask Mother Smith," said Wixy. "She'll
tell you." And he went out into the dark. Philo
Gubb heard him shuffle across the drying-floor, and
when the sound had died away in the distance he
put up his revolver.
"Five hundred dollars!" he said, and he routed
Mrs. Smith out of bed. He did not tell her the
amount of reward he had made the chicken thief
pay. He asked her what the most expensive chicken
in the world might be worth, and she reluctantly
accepted ten dollars as being far too much. Then he
asked her who Sal was.
"Sal?" queried Mrs. Smith.
"The chicken thief declared the statement that
you would know," said Mr. Gubb. "He said to tell
her—"
"Well, Mr. Gubb," said Mrs. Smith tartly, "I
don't know any Sal, and if I did I would n't carry
messages to her for a chicken thief, and it is past
midnight, and the draught on my bare feet is giving
me my death of cold, and if you think this is a pink
tea for me to stand around and hold fool conversa-
tion at, I don't!"
And she slammed the door.


THE DRAGON'S EYE
on account of the second mortgage debenture lien.
In such a case," he explained, "unless the priority
is waived by the party of the first part, you have to
pay it to me."
"Oh!" said Mr. Gubb.
"Luckily," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I was able
to prevail upon the registrar of the company to
make the dividend only ten cumulative per cents in-
stead of eleven retroactive geometrical per cents, or
you would now owe me thirteen thousand dollars."
"Well, I'm sure I'm much obliged to you," said
Mr. Gubb with sincere gratitude. "I appreciate
your kindness of good-will most greatly."
He stood for a minute or two uneasily, while Mr.
Medderbrook frowned like a great financier bur-
dened with cares.
"I don't suppose," said Mr. Gubb, when he had
screwed up his courage, "you have had no tele-
graphic communications from Miss Syrilla?"
"Why, yes, I have," said Mr. Medderbrook,
taking a telegram from his pocket," and it will only
cost you one dollar to read it. I paid two dollars."
Mr. Gubb was very glad to pay the small sum
and he eagerly devoured the telegram, which read:—
Oh be joyful! Have given up all meat diet. Have
given up beef, pork, lamb, mutton, veal, chicken, pigs'
feet, bacon, hash, corned beef, venison, bear steak, frogs'
legs, opossum, and fried snails. Weigh only nine hun-
dred and forty pounds. Affectionate thoughts to little
Gubby.
157


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"I wish," said Mr. Gubb wistfully, when he had
read the message, "that Miss Syrilla could be here
present this week in Riverbank whilst the Carnival
is going on."
"She would draw a big crowd at twenty-five cents
admission," said Mr. Medderbrook.
"I was thinking how pleasantly nice it would be
for her to enjoy the festivities of the occasion," said
Mr. Gubb, but this was not quite true. What he
wished was that she could be present to see him in
the handsome disguise he had obtained for his work
as Official Detective of the Carnival, and which he
was now about to don.
This, the second day of the Third Riverbank
Carnival, opened with a sun hot enough to frizzle
bacon, and the ladies in charge of the lemonade, ice-
cream and ice-cream cone booths were pleased,
while the committee from Riverbank Lodge P. & G.
M., No. 788, selling broiled frankfurters (known as
"hot dogs"), groaned. It was no day for hot food.
But it was grand Carnival weather.
The grounds opened at one-thirty and the ama-
teur circus began at two-thirty, but Philo Gubb,
the detective, was on the grounds in full regalia by
ten o'clock in the morning. Through some awful
error on the part of the Chicago costumer, Philo
Gubb's regalia had not arrived in time for the first
day of the Carnival, so he had absented himself
rather than let the crooks and thieves who were sup-
posed to swarm the grounds have an opportunity to
158


THE DRAGON'S EYE
become acquainted with his appearance and thus
be put on their guard against the famous Corre-
spondence School detective.
When the Committee on Organization of the
Third Carnival and Circus for the benefit of the
Riverbank Free Hospital held its first public mass
meeting in Willcox Hall, Philo Gubb had been there.
Like all the rest of Riverbank, he was willing to
assist the good cause in any way he could, and he
had meant to donate his services as official paper-
hanger, but a grander opportunity offered. Mr.
Beech, the Chairman of the Committee on Pea-
nuts and Police Protection, offered Mr. Gubb the
portion of Official Detective. Mr. Gubb accepted
eagerly.
During the weeks of preparation for the Carnival,
a thousand plans for getting the better of pickpock-
ets and other crooks passed through Philo Gubb's
mind. He finally decided to disguise himself as Ali
Baba. He had a slight recollection that Ali Baba
had something to do with forty thieves. It seemed
an appropriate alias.
His disguise he ordered from the Supply Depart-
ment of the Rising Sun Detective Agency, where he
bought all his disguises. It consisted of a tall conical
cap spangled with stars, a sort of red Mother-
Hubbard gown bespattered with black crescents, a
small metal tube, and a wand. With the metal tube
came several hundred sheets of apparently blank
paper, but, when these were rolled into cylinders
159


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
and inserted in the metal tube for half a minute,
characters appeared on the sheets. A child could
work the magic tube, and so could Philo Gubb.
It was not until the second day that Mr. Beech
thought of Mr. Gubb at all. Then Mrs. Phillipetti,
daughter-in-law of General Phillipetti, who was
Ambassador to Siberia in 1867, asked for Mr. Gubb.
Mrs. Phillipetti was in charge of the Hot Waffles
Booth, No. 13, aided by seventeen ladies of the
highest society Riverbank could boast, and they
served hot waffles with their own fair hands to all
who chose to buy. The cooking of the waffles, being
a warm task in late June, had been turned over to
three colored women, hired for the occasion, and
to complete the "ongsomble" and make things per-
fectly "apropos" — two of Mrs. Phillipetti's favor-
ite words — the three colored women had been
dressed as Turkish slaves, while Mrs. Phillipetti
and her aides dressed as Beauties of the Harem.
To judge by Mrs. Phillipetti's costume, the
Beauties of the Harem were expensive to clothe.
She had more silk, gold lace, and tinsel strung upon
her ample form than would set a theatrical costumer
up in business, but the star feature of her costume
was her turban. It was a gorgeous creation, and
would have been a comfortable piece of headgear in
midwinter, although slightly heating for a hot June
day, but it came near being the talk of the Carnival,
for in the center of the front, just above her fore-
head, Mrs. Phillipetti had pinned the celebrated
J60


THE DRAGON'S EYE
brooch containing the Dragon's Eye — the priceless
ruby given to old General Phillipetti by the Dugosh
of Zind after the old diplomat had saved the worth-
less life of the old reprobate by appealing to the
Vice-Regent of Siberia in his behalf.
The Dragon's Eye was about the size of a lemon
and weighed nearly as much as a pound of cream-
ery butter, so it required considerable turban to
make it "apropos"and complete its "ongsomble."
Pinned on her shelf-like chest, Mrs. Phillipetti wore
a small mirror somewhat smaller than a tea saucer.
By tipping the outer edge of the mirror upward and
glancing down into it, Mrs. Phillipetti had a good
view of the entire facade of her turban, reflected
in the mirror, and she was thus able to keep an eye
on the Dragon's Eye.
"Oh, Mr. Beech!" cried Mrs. Phillipetti, stopping
him as he was bustling past her booth, "do you know
where Mr. Gubb is?"
"Gubb? Gubb?" said Mr. Beech. "Oh! that
paper-hanger-detective fellow? No, I don't know
where he is. Why?"
"It's gone! The Dragon's Eye is gone!" moaned
Mrs. Phillipetti.
Mr. Beech, although greatly concerned, tried to
maintain his composure. Mrs. Phillipetti explained
that she had removed her turban and placed it
under a chair at the back of the booth. A little later
she had noticed that the turban, with the priceless
Dragon's Eye, was gone.
x6i


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Now, this — now — was not wholly unex-
pected," Beech said. "It's a — now — unfortunate
thing, but it's the sort of thing that happens. Now,
Mrs. Phillipetti, just let me beg you not to say any-
thing about it to anybody, and I 'II have Detective
Gubb get right on the case. The matter is in my
hands. Rest easy! We will attend to it."
"I — I hate to lose the Dragon's Eye," said Mrs.
Phillipetti, wiping her eyes, "but the worst is to
have my turban stolen. Mr. Beech, I will give one
hundred dollars to whoever returns the Dragon's
Eye to me. The 'ongsomble' of my costume is
ruined. I haven't anything else 'apropos' to wear
on my head."
"You look fine just as you are," said Mr. Beech.
"But if you want something to wear, you can get a
Turkish hat at the Paper Hat Booth for twenty-five
cents."
"Thank you!" said Mrs. Phillipetti scornfully.
"I don't wear twenty-five-cent hats!"
Within twenty minutes the Boy Scouts, who were
acting as Aides to the Executive Committee, had
tacked in ten prominent places ten hastily daubed
placards that read: —
Philo Gubb, please report at Executive Booth.
Beech, Chmn. Police Committee.
And the members of the Board of Managers had,
singly and by roundabout routes, approached the
scene of the theft and had studied it.
162



"THE 'ONGSOMBLE' OF MY COSTUME IS KUINED"





THE DRAGON S EYE
To the left of Mrs. Phillipetti's booth was the
Ethiopian Dip. Here, some thirty feet back from a
counter and shielded by a net, a negro sat on an
elevated perch just over a canvas tub full of water.
In.front of the net was a small target, and if a patron
of the game hit the target with a baseball, the negro
suddenly and unexpectedly dropped into the tub of
water. The price was three throws for five cents.
As Riverbank had some remarkably clever base-
ball throwers, the Ethiopian was dipped quite fre-
quently. As the water was cold and such a bath an
unusual luxury for the Riverbank Ethiopians, no
one Ethiopian cared to be dipped very often in suc-
cession. Therefore the Committee of Seven of the
Exempt Firemen's Association, which had the Dip
in charge, had arranged for a quick change of Ethi-
opians, and while one sat on the perch to be dipped,
three others lolled in bathing costumes just back of
Mrs. Phillipetti's booth.
Mr. Beech questioned the colored men quietly.
"Turbine?" said one of them. "We ain't seen
no turbine. We ain't seen nuffin'. We ain't done
nuffin' but sit here an' play craps."
"But you were here?" said Mr. Beech.
"Yes, we was heah," said the blackest negro.
"We was right heah all de time. Dey ain't been no
turbine took from nowhar whilst we was heah,
neither. Ain't been nobody back heah but us, an'
we's teen heah all de time."
"Well, perhaps you can tell how this board got
163


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
pried loose, if you were here all the time," said Mr.
Beech.
"It wa'n't pried loose," said the yellow negro.
"Hit got kicked loose f'om de hinside. I know dat
much, annerways. I seen dat oc-cur. I seen dat
board bulge out an' bulge out an' bulge out twell
hit bust out. An' dey hain't no turbine come out,
nuther. No, sah!"
Mr. Beech went away. The detective business
was not his business. He specialized in coal and not
in crime. But in going he passed by Mrs. Philli-
petti's booth and spoke to her.
"It will be all right," he said reassuringly. "We
are on the track."
"Oh, thank you!" said Mrs. Phillipetti, who had
completed the "apropriety" of her "ongsomble"
by wrapping a green silk handkerchief about her
head.
"I hope to return the turban and the jewel some-
time to-morrow," said Mr. Beech, bluffing bravely.
But Philo Gubb did not heed the notices posted
to call him to the Executive Booth. The evening
passed and he did not appear, and Mr. Beech, on his
way home, stopped at the police station. It was
after midnight, but Chief of Police Wittaker was
still on duty. He never slept during the Carnival.
Mr. Beech explained the loss of the turban and
the Dragon's Eye, and early the next morning the
Chief himself took up the hunt. By three o'clock
in the afternoon he had discovered several things.
164


THE DRAGON'S EYE
He discovered that the yellow man who had claimed
to see the board pushed out from the inside was the
husband of one of the waffle cooks in Mrs. Philli-
petti's booth. He learned that the yellow man had
been in jail. He learned that for a few minutes the
yellow negro had been alone behind the waffle
booth. The Chief thereupon arrested the yellow
negro.
As he led the negro from the grounds by the back
way, in order to cause as little commotion as possible,
he brushed by a strange creature dressed as a wizard,
who was standing by the rear entrance, droning:
"Tell your fortune, ten cents! Tell your fortune,
ten cents!" The wizard was tall and thin and wore
a long white beard, a sort of Mother-Hubbard gown,
and a pointed cap. As the Chief passed with his
prisoner the wizard turned his eyes on the two, and
then droned on. It was Philo Gubb, the paper-
hanger detective, on the job!
Philo Gubb, having received his costume, had
come to the Carnival grounds the back way. He
had wandered about the grounds, peeking and peer-
ing, seeking malefactors unsuccessfully. He felt
the whole weight of the Carnival on his shoulders.
When he suspected a youth he followed him at a
safe distance, stopping when he stopped, going on
when he went on. He was so intent on trailing and
shadowing that he did not even notice the placards
calling him to the Executive Booth. Every few
minutes he had to stop and tell a fortune with the
165


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
magic tube. So far he had collected two dollars and
sixty cents.
The Chief, with his prisoner walking quietly by
his side, — to avoid unpleasant commotion in an
otherwise orderly crowd, — had just passed the
wizard when he heard voices that made him look
back.
"There he is!" said one voice. "Kick him off
the grounds!"
"Here, you!" said another voice. "You've got
to get out of here. And you've got to give up the
money you've taken. Quick now. We don't allow
any professionals on these grounds."
The voices were those of Henry P. Cross, Officer
of the Day for this day of the Carnival, and Sam
Green, Jr., Vice-Chairman of Police, and they were
speaking to the wizard.
"Sh!" said the wizard, in a mysterious voice.
"It's all right! Don't make a fuss. It's all right!"
"Let me kick him off the grounds!" said Mr.
Cross. "All I want is a chance to kick him off the
grounds. The cheap professional fakir, sneaking in
to get money that ought to go to the Hospital! Let
me kick —"
"Now, wait!" said Mr. Green irritably. "We
want to make him disgorge first, don't we? Just
keep your head on, Cross. Let me handle this."
"It's all right! Don't make a fuss," whispered
the wizard. "I belong here."
^ "You belong nowhere!" shouted Mr. Cross.
166


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
“How about it, Chicago man?" asked the yellow
man in a low tone, bending down to pick a blade
of grass. “Kin you he'p a feller out?"
“How?" asked Philo Gubb.
“I got in trouble," said the yellow man. “I'm
gwine git hit in de neck ef some one don't he'p
me mighty quick. Ef I hand you somethin' is you
gwine take it?"
“Sure," said Philo Gubb.
“Grab it!" whispered the yellow man, and his
hand slid the Dragon's Eye into the hand of Philo
Gubb.
The Chief moved nearer.
"I guess dey let me go whin dey git me to de
calaboose," said the yellow man in a louder voice.
“Kaze I ain' done nuffin' nohow."
“They'll let you go when we get that ruby," said
the Chief meaningly; "and if we can prove it on you,
you go to the pen'.”
Mr. Cross and Mr. Green returned with Mr.
Beech.
“There he is,” said Mr. Cross, pointing to the
wizard Gubb.
“Never saw him in my life!” said Mr. Beech.
“Now, then, what is this now? What's this story
you —"
The paper-hanger detective arose and leaned
close to Mr. Beech's ear. He whispered three words
and Mr. Beech's attitude changed entirely.
"Oh!" he said. “I wondered where — now — all
168


THE DRAGON'S EYE
right! It's all right! It's all right, Cross. All right,
Green. All right, Chief!" Then he turned to Gubb.
"We've been wanting you, detective. Put up plac-
ards for you. Now, listen! Mrs. Phillipetti had a
turban stolen from her booth, and that infernal
ton and a half or so of ruby was in it. The Dragon's
Eye, she calls it. Well, that turban was stolen—"
"I am quite well acquainted with that fact," said
Philo Gubb.
"Well, why don't you hunt for it, then?" asked
Mr. Beech crossly. "I thought you were going to
be of some use. Fooling around here with your silly
ten-cent fortune-telling, having the time of your
life while all of us are worrying about that Dragon's
Eye. Why don't you hunt for it?"
"It ain't hardly necessary to engage in detecka-
tive exertions at the present moment on account of
that ruby," said Philo Gubb slowly, "because when
I want it, all I got to do is to consult the magic
deteckative tube."
"You're crazy!" said Mr. Beech. "You're crazy
as a loon!"
"The usual price for consulting the oracle is ten
cents," said Philo Gubb, "but I'll make a special
exception out of this time."
He put the end of the magic tube to his ear and
listened.
"The genyi of the tube says I've got the Dragon's
Eye into my pocket, and if you ask this yellow negro
black-man he'll tell you where the turban is at."
169


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Honest!" exclaimed Mr. Beech. "Gubb, you're
a wonder!"
The negro, thus trapped, told where he had hidden
the turban, and in a few minutes Mr. Beech, Mr.
Cross, and Mr. Green returned with Mrs. Philli-
petti, on whose head again towered the turban with
the Dragon's Eye gleaming in it, making her "ong-
somble" thoroughly "apropos."
"Gubb," said Mr. Beech, "I want Mrs. Phil-
lipetti to meet you. You certainly are a wizard."
"Yes, indeed!" said Mrs. Phillipetti. "The wiz-
ardry of your whole ongsomble is completely apro-
pos to your detective ability."


THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER
When Philo Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook the one
hundred dollars he had received for retrieving the
Dragon's Eye, Mr. Medderbrook was not extremely
gracious.
"I'll take it on account," he said grudgingly,
"but it ought to be more. It only brings what you
owe me for that Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock
down to eleven thousand nine hundred dollars and,
at this rate, you'll never get me paid up. I can't tell
when there'll come along another dividend of ten
cumulative per cents on that stock, that I will have
to charge up against you. Unless you can do better
I have half a mind not to let you see the telegram
I got from my daughter Syrilla this morning."
"Wasthe news into it good?" asked Mr. Gubb
eagerly.
"As good as gold," said Mr. Medderbrook. "As
good as Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock."
"What did Miss Syrilla convey the remark of?"
asked the lovelorn paper-hanger detective.
"Well, now," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I went and
paid two dollars and fifty cents for that telegram.
For one dollar and twenty-five cents I 'll give you the
telegram, and you can read it from start to finish."
Mr. Gubb, his heart palpitating as only a lover's
heart can palpitate, paid Mr. Medderbrook the sum
171


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
he asked and eagerly read the telegram from Syrilla.
It said:-
Grand news! Have given up all fish diet. Have given
up codfish, weak fish, sole, flounder, shark's fins, bass,
trout, herring (dried, kippered, smoked, and fresh),
finnan haddie, perch, pike, pickerel, lobster, halibut,
and stewed eels. Gross weight now only nine hundred
and thirty pounds averdupois. Sweet thoughts to
Gubby-lubby.
“You are touched," said Mr. Medderbrook as
Mr. Gubb put the dear missive to his lips, “but
unless I am mistaken you will be still more deeply
touched when you pay for — when you read
Syrilla's next telegram.”
"I so hope and trust," said Mr. Gubb, and he
returned to his office in the Opera House Block with
a light heart.
With the increase of fame that came to him as a
detective Mr. Gubb's paper-hanging business had
grown, and he had left Mrs. Murphy's house and
taken a room on the second floor of Opera House
Block, near the offices of ex-Judge Gilroy, attorney-
at-law, and C. M. Dillman, loans and real estate.
The door now bore the sign
PHILO GUBB
DETECKATIVE
Also Paper-hanging
172


THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER
On this morning Detective Gubb had hardly
reached his office when Uncle Gabriel Hostetter, a
shrewd smile on his face, opened Mr. Gubb's door.
Uncle Gabriel Hostetter was a round-shouldered
old man with a long white beard that came to a thin
point. He wore old-fashioned gold-rimmed spec-
tacles, the rims forming irregular octagons, and on
his head he wore one of the grandest old silk hats
that ever saw the light of day in 1865. His princi-
pal garment was a frock coat, once black, but now
grayish green. He was the wealthiest man in town,
and it was said that when he once got his hands on
a silver dollar he squeezed it so hard that the bird
of freedom on it uttered a squawk.
He opened Philo Gubb's door hesitatingly. He
expected to see an array of mahogany desks and
filing cabinets for which he would have to pay every
time the detective turned around. When he peered
into the room he saw a tall, thin man in white
overalls with a bib, sitting on an up-ended bun-
dle of wall-paper, stirring a pail of paste with one
hand while he ate a ham sandwich by means of the
other.
"I guess I got in the wrong place," said Uncle
Gabe. "Thought this was a detective office. All
right! All right!"
"1'm him," said Philo Gubb, swallowing a hunk
of sandwich with a gulp and wiping his hand on his
overalls.
"You're who?" asked Uncle Gabe.
173


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"I'm the deteckative," said Philo Gubb.
"You are, hey?" said Uncle Gabe. "All dis-
guised up, I reckon."
"Disguised up?" said Philo questioningly. "Oh,
this here paper-hanging and decorating stuff?
No, this ain't no disguise. Even a deteckative has
got to earn a living while his practice is building
up."
"Humph!" said old Gabe. "Detecting ain't very
good right now?"
"It ain't, for a fact," said Philo.
"Well, if that's so," said old Gabe, "maybe you
and me could do business. If you want to do a lit-
tle detective work to sort of keep your hand in,
maybe we can do business."
"I ought to git paid something," said Philo doubt-
fully.
"Pay!" exclaimed old Gabe. "Pay for bein' al-
lowed to sharpen up and keep bright? Why, you'd
ought to pay me for lettin' you have the practice.
It ain't goin' to do me no good, is it?"
"I don't know what you want me to detect yet,"
said Philo. "I might pay some if it was a case that
would do me good to practice on. I might pay a
little."
"I knew it," said old Gabe. "Now, this case of
mine — What sort of a case would you pay to
work on?"
"Well," said Philo thoughtfully, "if I was to have
a chance at a real tough murder case, for instance."
174


THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER
"Humph!" said old Gabe. "How much might
you pay to be let work on a case like that?"
"Well, I dunno!" said Philo Gubb thoughtfully.
"If it looked like a mighty hard case I might pay a
dollar a day — if it was a murder case."
"This case of mine," said old Gabe, coming
farther into the room, "is just that sort of a case.
And I 'll let you work on it for a dollar and a quatter
a day."
"Well, if it's that kind of a case," said Philo
slowly, "I 'll give you a dollar a day, and I 'll work
on it hard and faithful."
"A dollar and a quatter a day," insisted old Gabe.
"No, sir, a dollar is all I can afford to pay," said
Philo.
"All right, I won't be mean," said old Gabe.
"Make it a dollar an' fifteen cents and we'll call it
a go.
"One dollar a day," said Philo.
"A dollar, ten cents," urged old Gabe.
"One dollar," said Philo.
"Tell you what let's do," said old Gabe. "We
ain't but ten cents apart. You add on a nickel and
I 'll knock off a nickel, and we'll make it a dollar five.
What say? That's fair enough. You ain't come up
any. I come all the way down."
"All right, then," said Philo. "It's a go. Now,
who was murdered, and when was he murdered, and
why was he murdered? Them's the things I've got
to know first."
175


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"You pay me a dollar five for the first day's
work, and I 'll tell you," said old Gabe.
Philo dug into his pocket and drew out some
money. "There," he said. "There's two dollars
and ten cents. That pays for two days. Now, go
ahead."
He drew out his notebook and wet the end of a
pencil and waited.
"The reason this is such a hard case," said old
Gabe slowly, and choosing his words with care, "is
because the murder ain't completed yet. It's being
did."
"Right now?" exclaimed Philo excitedly. "Why,
we ought n't to be sitting here like this. We
ought —"
"Now, don't be in such a hurry," said old Gabe.
"If you mean we ought to be where the victim of
the murder is, we are. He's right here now. I'm
him. I'm the one that's being murdered. I'm
being murdered by slow murder. I'm liable to drop
down dead any minute. But I don't want to be
murdered and not have the feller that murders me
hang like he ought. I can't be expected to. It ain't
human nature."
"No, it ain't," agreed Philo. "A man can't help
feeling revengeful against the man that murders
him. If anybody murdered me I'd feel the same
way. How's he killing you? Slow poison?"
"Gun-shot," said old Gabe. "Shootin' me to
death with a gun."
176


THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER
The correspondence school detective looked at
old Gabe with amazement.
"Shootin' you to death with a gun!" he exclaimed.
"Ain't you told the police?"
"I come to you, did n't I?" asked old Gabe. "If
I was to set the police on the feller he might rouse
up and shoot me to death all at once."
"How is he shootin' you to death?" asked Philo.
"By inches, b'gee," said old Gabe. "Yes, sir, by
inches. Every once in a while he takes a shot at me.
Sometimes through the window of my house, and
sometimes when I'm walkin' on the street."
"And he ain't ever hit you yet?" asked Philo
Gubb.
"Hit me?" exclaimed old Gabe. "Why, he don't
ever miss me. He hits me every time. There ain't
a day he don't shoot and hit me, and some days he
hits me two or three times. I dare say I'm almost
dead now, if I knowed it."
Philo Gubb fondled his notebook uncertainly.
"What — what does he shoot you with?" he
asked.
"Well, I dunno exactly," said old Gabe. "With
a pea-shooter."
Philo Gubb closed his notebook, and slipped it
into his pocket.
"If all you was after was to get that two dollars
and ten cents, you might have got it without wastin'
so much of my time," he said reproachfully.
But old Gabe did not move.
177


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"What's the matter?" he asked.
"Maybe I'm a fool," Gubb said bitterly, "but
I ain't no such fool as to think anybody is murdering
nobody with a pea-shooter."
"Was you ever shot with a cannon?" asked old
Gabe calmly.
"No, nor nobody ever tried to murder me with a
pea-shooter," said Philo Gubb.
"If you ever was shot by a thirteen-inch cannon
ball," said old Gabe, "you'd know it. When a
thirteen-inch cannon ball hits you, there ain't
nothin' left of you at all. But when a one-inch
cannon ball hits you, you've got a chance to live a
minute or two, maybe. That's the difference be-
tween a thirteen-inch cannon ball shootin' you,
and a one-inch cannon ball shootin' you. And a rifle
ball is different, too."
"I got a job of paper-hangin' as soon as I can get
away from here," said Philo Gubb meaningly.
"You got a job of detectin' on hand now," said
old Gabe. "And, as I was sayin', a rifle ball acts
different. Maybe it kills you the first shot, and
maybe you can hold three or four rifle bullets before
you die, but if they keep on shootin' at you, you get
killed sooner or later. Probably five shots is all any
man could stand. I guess that's about it.
"And then you come down to one of them little
twenty-two caliber revolvers. If he don't hit you in
the heart, a murderer could easy enough shoot at
you twenty-five times with one of them little
178





PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"You'll go ahead with the case? On the terms
we settled on?" asked old Gabe.
Philo Gubb considered this carefully.
"Why, yes," he said at length, "I will. Who is
the feller you think is doin' it?"
"Farrin'ton Pierce, the cashier of the Farmers'
and Citizens' Bank," said old Gabe, his eyes shining
with malice and shrewdness, as he leaned forward
and whispered the words. "My own son-in-law, he
is. An' I'll tell you why he's tryin' it. For my
money. So his wife'll get it, an' he can be president
of the bank in my place."
"You've seen him have a pea-shooter?" asked
Philo Gubb.
"No, sir!" said old Gabe. "And I never seen one
of the peas. All I ever felt was the sting of it when
it hit me."
"Maybe," said Philo Gubb eagerly, "maybe it
ain't a pea-shooter. Maybe it's a twenty-two short
pistol with a silencer onto it. Maybe it's only be-
cause he's been afraid to come nigh enough to you
that he ain't killed you yet. It don't seem tome
that any man would try to murder any one with a
pea-shooter."
"Humph!" said old Gabe. "Maybe you are
right, at that. That's something I never thought of.
It sounds likely, too."
"A deteckative has to think of all them things,"
said Philo simply. "If I was you I'd be more care-
ful."
180


THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER
"I will!" said old Gabe. "See here, if he's shoot-
in' at me like that, it ain't no joke, is it? Tell you
what I '1l do. I 'll let you off from payin' me that
dollar five a day. Just you hustle onto this case
and keep at it, and I'll leave you work on it for
nothin'. All I want is that you should send me word
reg'lar of what you find out."
"It is the custom of all the graduates of the Ris-
ing Sun Correspondence School deteckatives to make
reg'lar reports in writing," said Philo Gubb. "I'll
start right in shadowing and trailing Mister Far-
rington Pierce, according to Lessons Three and
Four, and I 'll report reg'lar every day."
"Everything you find out," said old Gabe.
"Don't leave out a thing. And particularly at
night. That's when he shoots me the most."
"I won't leave him a minute," said Philo Gubb.
"I've got a man I hire to help me on my paper-
hangin', and I 'll get him to finish up this job. I 'll
start trailin' and shadowin' Farry Pierce right
away."
Old Gabe shook hands with Philo and went out.
When the door was closed behind him he chuckled,
and all the way home his face was creased in a grin.
He felt that he had done a good bit of business and
saved himself a good sum of money. Philo Gubb, in
the meantime, having put a false beard and a wig
in his pocket, went out.
Across the street from the bank was Grammill's
Cigar Store, where the idler men of the town loafed
181


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
when they had nothing better on hand, and Philo
Gubb entered and bought a cigar and took an easy
loafing position near the front window. He com-
manded a view of the only entrance to the bank,
and here he waited. At fifteen minutes after three
Farry Pierce came out of the bank.
"There's a man with an easy job," said one of the
loafers. "That Farry Pierce. Nothing to do till to-
morrow."
"Too much time on his hands, I guess," said an-
other, who — by the way — had more spare time
than Farry Pierce. "From what I hear he'd be
better off if he had to work all day and all night."
"The widow?" asked the first speaker.
"That's what they say," said the second. "They
tell me he's blowing all his salary and more on that
widow. Must make old Gabe crazy to see any of
his kin spend money that way. Or any way. He's
a close one, old Gabe is."
"What you hear about Farry and the widow?"
asked the first.
"Makes old Gabe crazy, they tell me. He wants
his girl to get a divorce."
"Who told you that?"
"My girl. My girl is workin' for his girl. Fr'm
what she tells me old Gabe is pretty well worked up
about it. Said he'd get a spotter to foller Farry and
get some evidence on him if it did n't cost so blame
much. I bet the' won't be any divorces in that
family if old Gabe has to pay out any money."
182


THE PROGRESSIVE MURDER
“I bet they won't. And the ain't no detectives
workin' for nothin' so far as I hear. Not this
year."
“No, nor next year, neither," said the other;
and as this was in the nature of a joke they both
laughed.
But Philo Gubb did not join their laughter. He
felt his face grow red. His lean hands folded and
unfolded as he watched Farry Pierce disappear
around the corner of the bank building. If any one
felt like murdering old Gabe with a pea-shooter at
that moment, Philo Gubb did. Shadow and trail
Farry Pierce! The old skin-flint, coming with a
fairy tale and getting the only fully graduated de-
teckative in Riverbank to shadow and trail a son-
in-law and report daily! Divorce case evidence, hey?
Talking murderer and working a deteckative into
doing scandal sleuthing free of charge! Philo Gubb's
face reddened again with new anger as he put his
hand in his pocket and touched the beard and wig
he had placed there. But for this chance conversa-
tion he would have been following Farry Pierce
now, and making a fool of himself. But for this
chance conversation he would not have lost sight of
Farry Pierce by day or by night. He went back to
his office, put on his overalls, and went to his work
on a paper-hanging job.
At six he started for home. A block down the
street he met one of the loafers he had heard speak-
ing in Grammill's Cigar Store.
183


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"What do you think about it?" he asked Philo
Gubb.
"About what?" asked Philo in return.
"Ain't you heerd?" asked the man. "Why, it's
all over town by now. Farry Pierce murdered old
Gabe Hostetter not more'n twenty minutes after
we seen him comin' out of the bank. Shot him.
Killed him first shot. Yes, sir! Killed him instantly
with a little mite of a pistol with about as much
carry as a pea-shooter. Must have hit him in just
the right spot."
"Did you see the pistol?" asked Philo Gubb
nervously.
"No, I didn't," said his informant, "but that's
what the feller told me. 'Killed him instantly with
one of these here little pea-shooters,' was what he
said. What you lookin' so funny about?"
"If you insist to wish to know," said Philo Gubb,
"Mr. Gabe Hostetter was n't murdered instantly
at all. He was progressively murdered by inches
over a long considerable period of time, like little
drops of water."
For a minute the loafer stared at Mr. Gubb. Then
he laughed.
"Crazy!" he scoffed. "Crazy as a loon!" and he
walked away and left Mr. Gubb struggling for a
suitably crushing retort.


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
That evening Mr. Gubb received a short note from
Mr. Medderbrook that was in the form of a bill or
statement. It read: "Due from P. Gubb to J. Med-
derbrook, $11,900. Please remit," — so he put on
his hat and walked to Mr. Medderbrook's elegant
home.
"I want you to hurry up with what you owe me,"
said Mr. Medderbrook, when Mr. Gubb explained
that he could pay nothing on the Utterly Hopeless
Gold-Mine stock at the moment, "because I know
you are soft on Syrilla, and from a telegram I got
from her to-day it looks as if it would be no time at
all before she reduced her weight down to seven
hundred pounds and Mr. Dorgan of the side-show
broke his contract with her. And if you want to
read the telegram you can do so by paying half
what it cost me, which was three dollars."
Mr. Gubb paid Mr. Medderbrook one dollar and
a half, as any lover would, and read the telegram
from Syrilla. It said: —
Love is triumphing. Have given up all cereal diet.
Have given up oatmeal, rice, farina, puffed wheat, corn
flakes, hominy, shredded wheat, force, cream of wheat,
grapenuts, boiled barley, popcorn, flour paste, and rice
powder. Weigh now only nine hundred and twenty-five
pounds. Soft thoughts- to dearest Gubby.
I
185


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Mr. Gubb hesitated a moment and then said: —
"Far be it from me to say aught or anything,
Mr. Medderbrook, but I would wish the cost of
telegrams would reduce themselves down a little.
This one is marked onto its upper corner' PAID'—"
"Yes, the telegraph boy said that was a mis-
take," said Mr. Medderbrook hastily.
"And very likely so," said Mr. Gubb, "but for
a reduction of five pounds one dollar fifty is a high-
ish price to pay. Thirty cents a pound is too much."
"Well," said Mr. Medderbrook, "I don't want
to have any quarrel with you, so I 'll do this for you:
I will make you a flat price of twenty-five cents per
pound."
"Which is a fair and reasonable price for glad
tidings to a fond heart," said Mr. Gubb, and this
matter having been amicably settled, he returned to
his office.
That evening he sat on the edge of his cot bed
minus his coat, vest, and trousers, with his bare
feet comfortably extended. At his back a pillow
made a back-rest, and a bundle of wall-paper served
as a rather lofty footstool. He was deeply immersed
in Lesson Eleven, his bird-like face screwed into
tensity. From time to time he wiggled one toe or
another as a fly alighted on it. Sometimes, when
more than one fly alighted on his toes at once, he
wiggled all ten toes simultaneously.
A trunk, a varnished oak washstand and a cot
showed that the room was not only a decorator's
186


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
shop, but a living-place; and that this was the
office of Philo Gubb, detective, was shown by a row
of hooks from which hung various disguises used
by the celebrated detective, by a portrait of
William J. Burns, cut from a magazine and pasted
on the wall, and by a placard which read, "P. Gubb,
Graduate and Diploma-ist of the Rising Sun Detec-
tive Agency's Correspondence School of Detecting.
Detecting done by the Day or Job. Terms on Appli-
cation."
On the cot at Philo Gubb's side lay a copy of that
day's morning Chicago paper, with a two-column
spread headline reading, "Wife Offers $5000 Re-
ward," and it was this that had driven Philo Gubb,
the paper-hanger detective, to renewed study of
Lesson Eleven — "Procedure in Abduction and
Missing Men Cases."
Mr. Custer Master, of Chicago, had mysteriously
disappeared. One paragraph in the article had
caught Mr. Gubb's particular attention:—.
Mrs. Master feels that her husband is still alive, and
insists that Mr. Master will be found in one of the Iowa
towns on the Mississippi River. The police of these towns
have been notified, and detectives have gone to investi-
gate. 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 pro-
bated 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 en-
velope, to be read only by the executors and Mr. Master.
187


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
And so on. The paper pointed out that Mr. Mas-
ter had been a sufferer from dyspepsia for many
years, but this had not had a permanently depress-
ing effect on his mind. His home relations were
most satisfactory. His own business — he was a
dealer in laundry supplies and laundry machinery
— was doing well, and no trace of outside troubles
could be discovered.
On the morning of his disappearance, Mr. Master
had shown some signs of mental eccentricity. A
neighbor, happening to be at her window, saw Mr.
Master come hurriedly from the door of his house.
An hour later a friend passed him as he was stand-
ing on a corner six blocks from home. Mr. Master
seemed greatly distressed.
"I can't do it! It kills me; I can't do it!" he was
muttering to himself. "I never could do it. I said
so."
The next news of Mr. Master was gained from
the keeper of a bath-house and swimming-pool
known as the Imperial Natatorium. About ten
o'clock, Mr. Master entered the Natatorium hur-
riedly, asked the price of baths, and chose to pay
for a plunge in the big swimming-pool. He paid in
advance, removed his garments in one of the small
dressing-rooms, put on a swimming-suit and went
to the edge of the big pool. Here he grasped the
rail and extended one foot until his toes touched the
cold water, when he uttered a cry, rushed to the
dressing-room, and, as soon as he had thrown on
188


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
his clothes, dashed from the building. That was the
last seen of Mr. Master.
Philo Gubb, having finished reading Lesson
Eleven for the third time, had picked up the Chi-
cago paper when the silence of the Opera House
Building was disturbed by the sound of feet ascend-
ing the brass-clad stairs.
The nocturnal visitors seemed unacquainted with
the building, for, after two or three steps had been
taken, one lighted a match. It was evident to the
detective that these visitors were reading the names
on the doors as they progressed along the corridor,
and he was about to extinguish his lamp and pre-
pare for the worst, when the two men stopped
again, struck a match, and, after an instant's hesi-
tation, rapped sharply upon his door.
"Come in!" called Philo Gubb, at the same time
drawing his bed-sheet over his scantily clad legs.
He knotted the sheet behind, like an apron, and
arose to greet the comers. They were two. One of
them Mr. Gubb recognized at once; he was Billy
Gribble, proprietor of the Gold Star Hand Laundry,
just across the way on Main Street. The other man
was a stranger.
Under his arm, Billy Gribble carried a long,
cylindrical parcel enclosed in heavy wrapping paper.
The parcel was about six feet long and nearly as
large around as Billy himself. Under his other arm,
Billy carried a second parcel. This was about three
feet square. The trained eye of Detective Gubb
189


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
noted all this at a glance. Billy Gribble dropped
the two parcels on the floor.
"Gubby, old sport!" he said in his noisy way,
"this is—"
"Now, now!" said the stranger irritably. "Now,
wait! I said I would talk to him, did n't I? What
do you mean by — if you'll please let — you are
Detective Gubb, are you not?" he asked.
Philo Gubb gazed at the man. The man was tall
and thin, taller and thinner than Mr. Gubb him-
self. He was clean-shaven and his face showed deep
lines about the mouth and nose. His hair was
closely clipped, making his head seem pea-like in
its smallness.
But Mr. Gubb was not gazing at these things.
His bird-like eyes were fastened on the end of the
suitcase the stranger still held in his hand. On the
end of the case were painted in black the letters
"CM." and the word "Chicago." The stranger
glanced down at the suitcase and put it on the floor
with a suddenness that brought forth a thumping
sound.
"Clue!" he said, and he kicked the suitcase.
"I presume the honor of this call at this late hour
of time," said Philo Gubb, shifting his sheet a little,
"is on a matter of business. If it is of a social, soci-
ety sort, I 'll have to ask to be kindly excused whilst
I assume my pants."
"Business call, business call entirely, Mr.Gubb,"
said the tall stranger. "Don't put anything on. If
190


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
— if you feel embarrassed I'll take some off. My
name is — is —"
"Phineas Burke," said Billy Gribble, in a loud
whisper.
“Can't you keep still?" asked the stranger crossly.
“Don't you think I know my own name? Phineas
— that's my name, and I know it as well as you
do. Phineas Burns.”
“Burke, not Burns," whispered Billy Gribble.
The stranger turned red with exasperation.
“Look here! Don't I know my own name?” he
asked angrily. “My name is Phineas Burns."
“All right! All right!" said Billy Gribble. “Have
it your own way. You ought to know. Only — you
said Burke over at my place."
Mr. Burke-Burns glared at Billy Gribble.
"Now! There, now!” he cried. “Just for that
I'll tell you you don't know anything about it.
My name is n't Burke, and it is n't Burns. It's
it's Charles Augustus Witzel. Mr. Gubb, my name
is Charles Augustus Witzel.”
“Glad to know your acquaintance, sir," said Philo
Gubb. “Won't you be seated upon one of them
bundles of wall-paper?".
"I'm a detective," said Mr. Charles Augustus
Witzel. “Tell him about me, Gribble."
“Well, he — whatever his name is, but Burke
was what he told me — is a Chicago detective,"
said Billy Gribble. “Yes, sir, Mr. Gubb, Mr. - ah,
what is it?"
191


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Witzel," said Mr. Witzel.
"Mr. Witzel is one of the celebratedest Chicago
detectives," said Mr. Gribble, "and he's come over
here to hunt up this man Master that's disappeared.
See? So when he strikes town he comes straight to
me. That's how it is, ain't it?"
"Ex-act-ly!" said Mr. Witzel.
"Yes,- sir," said Billy Gribble. "So he comes to
my laundry, and I'm in the washroom —"
"You ain't!" said Mr. Witzel. "You're out, and
you know you're out!"
"And I'm out," said Billy Gribble. "Maybe I
was in the washroom and went out the back way.
Anyway, I'm out. Say," he said, as Mr. Witzel
squirmed, "if you don't like the way I'm telling
this, tell it yourself."
"I entered Mr. Gribble's laundry," said Mr.
Witzel. "You'll understand, being a detective,
Mr. Gubb. I entered the laundry. Here is the
counter. I walked up to the counter. I leaned over
and spoke to the girl there. 'My dear young lady,'
I said, 'is Mr. Gribble in?' 'Out,' she says. Natu-
rally, I looked down. A detective observes every-
thing. My toe has hit a suitcase. On the end of the
suitcase are the initials 'C. M.' and 'Chicago.' In
other words, 'Custer Master, Chicago,' — the man
I'm looking for."
"And did you get him?" asked Philo Gubb
tensely.
"Gone! Gone like a bird!" said Mr. Witzel.


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
"I waited for Gribble. I questioned Gribble. I asked
him if Mr. Master had been there —"
"Hold on!" said Mr. Gribble, and then, "Oh, all
right!"
"And he said, 'No,'" said Mr. Witzel, frowning.
'"Very well,' I said to Gribble, 'he'll be back. He'll
come back after the suitcase.' So Gribble hid me in
his private office. I waited." 1
"And he came back?" asked Detective Gubb
eagerly.
"He did not," said Mr. Witzel.
Philo Gubb sighed with relief. "Then I've got a
chance at an opportunity to get that five thousand
dollars," he said.
"Mr. Gubb," said Mr. Witzel, "you have a
chance to get twenty-five hundred. It was to offer
you the chance to get twenty-five hundred that I
came here. What did I say to you, Gribble?"
"You go ahead and tell it, if you want it told,"
said Gribble. "You don't like the way I tell things.
Tell 'em yourself."
"I said to Gribble," said Mr. Witzel slowly,
'"Gribble, is this the town where a detective by the
name of Grubb lives?'"
"Gubb is the name," said Mr. Gubb.
"Gubb. That's what I said," said Mr. Witzel.
"That made me think a bit. 'Gribble,' I says, 'by
to-morrow there will be forty Chicago detectives in
this town, all looking for Master. And I don't care
a whoop for any of them,' I says. 'I'm the leader
193


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
of them all, as anybody who has read the exploits
of — of George Augustus Wechsler —.'"
"Charles Augustus Witzel," said Gribble, cor-
rectingly.
"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'ma detective,
Witzel or Wotzel or Wutzel — who cares? We
understand each other. Don't we?"
"I presume to suppose we will do so in the course
of time," said Philo Gubb politely.
"Pre-cise-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. "So I said to
Gribble, 'I'm afraid of Gubb! He's the man who
will find Master, if I don't. But I've got an advan-
tage. I've got the clue.'"
He pointed to the suitcase.
"So Gribble says to me," said Mr. Witzel, "'Why
don't you and Gubb combine?' 'Great idea!' I
says, and — here I am. How about it, Mr.
Gobb?"
"Gubb is the name I adhere to when not deteckat-
ing," said Mr. Gubb kindly. "And as to how about
it, I would n't want to enter into a combination
shutting me out from using the ability taught to me
in Chapters One to Twelve inclusive, of the Corre-
spondence course. For the twenty-five hundred
which would fall to my share, I should expect to
detect to some considerable extent."
"Quite right! Quite right!" said Mr. Witzel
promptly. "That meets my plans entirely. I make
194


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
my headquarters here. I give you a free hand. I
am a — an inductive detective."
"Yes, sir. A Sherlock Holmes deteckative," said
Philo Gubb.
"Ex-act-ly!" said Mr. Witzel. "I think things
out. But you go out. You shadow and snoop and
trail. I remain here. For you see," he added, "I'm
so well known that if Master saw me he would dis-
appear instantly. Instantly!"
"I'm willing to transact it as a business bargain
onto them terms," said Philo Gubb, and it was agreed.
Mr. Gribble immediately cut the cords that bound
the two bundles, and released a canvas cot and a
bundle of bedding. Then he said good-night and
withdrew, closing the door behind him.
Mr. Gubb waited until he heard Mr. Gribble's
footsteps on the brass-clad stairs. /
"That Gribble man ain't what I'd term by name
of a — of a —" He hesitated. "He's not known as
a strictly reliable citizen in any respect," he ended.
"I would n't trust him any more than need be
necessary."
"Thank you," said Mr. Witzel, who was already
removing his garments. "I don't mean to. And
now, if you don't mind, I'll retire. Let's see if Mr.
Master has a night-shirt in his suitcase. I think it
helps the inductive mind to sleep in the night-shirt
of the man it is hunting."
He opened the suitcase, using — oddly enough —
a key from his own bunch of keys. He found a night-
195


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
any other persons whatsoever; the said Executors
are to be the sole judges of whether the said Custer
Master has carried out the instructions therein
contained."
This document was worn at the corners of the
folds, and slightly soiled, as if Mr. Master had car-
ried it in his pocket some time before dropping it in
his suitcase.
With the same caution, and following closely
Lesson Three and its directions for "Searching
Occupied Apartments, Etc.," Mr. Gubb examined
the articles of dress the Chicago detective had cast
aside. All were marked "C. Master" or "C. M."
or with a monogram composed of the letters
"C. M." interwoven.
As cautiously as he could, Philo Gubb crossed to
his trunk and took from the left-hand compartment
of the tray his trusty pistol. It was a large and
deadly looking pistol, about a foot and a half long,
with a small ramrod beneath the barrel. It was a
muzzle-loader of the crop of 1854, and carried a
bullet the size of a well-matured cherry. It was as
heavy as a vitrified paving-brick. Its efficiency as
a firearm was unknown, as Mr. Gubb had never
discharged it, but it looked dangerous. A man,
facing Philo Gubb's trusty weapon, felt that if the
gun went off he would be utterly and disastrously
blown to flinders. Mr. Gubb pointed it at the
sleeping Mr. Witzel, using both hands, and sighting
along the barrel.
197


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Wake up!" he exclaimed sternly.
Mr. Witzel sat straight up on the cot. For an
instant he was still dazed with sleep and did not
seem to know where he was; then a look of joy spread
over his face and he jumped from the cot and, with
both hands extended, moved toward Detective
Gubb.
"Superb!" he exclaimed. "A perfect specimen!
Wonderfully preserved!"
"Go back!" said Philo Gubb sternly. "This
article is a loaded pistol gun, prepared for momen-
tary explosion at any time at all. Go back!"
"Remarkable!" cried Mr. Witzel joyously. "A
superb specimen. Let me see it. Let me look at it."
He walked up to the gun and peered into its muz-
zle with one eye. He bent his head to read the en-
graving on the top of the barrel.
"A real Briggs & Bolton 53^ caliber, muzzle-
loading, 1854!" he exclaimed rapturously.
Mr. Gubb pushed him away with one hand.
"Go back there into range," he said sternly. "In
shooting I aim to kill, but not to blow into particles
of pieces."
"But, my dear sir!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "Do
you know what you have there?"
"It's a pistol gun," said Philo Gubb. "If you
don't stand back, I'll shoot you anyway."
"It's a Briggs & Bolton," said Mr. Witzel.
"That's what it is. It is the only well-preserved
specimen of Briggs & Bolton I ever saw."
. 198


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
Mr. Gubb shook off the hand that clasped his arm.
"I don't care what it is," said Mr. Gubb. "It's
a pistol gun, and it's bung full of powder and bullet,
and when I point it at you I mean that if you make
a move I'm a-going to shoot."
"And I don't care what you mean," said Mr.
Witzel. "It's a Briggs & Bolton, and I warn you
that you have that gun so full of powder that if you
pull that trigger you 'll blow it to bits and ruin the
only perfect specimen of that gun I ever saw!"
"And I tell you," said Philo Gubb sternly, "that
I can't shoot you whilst you're rubbing your nose
right into this gun. Go back there where I can shoot
you."
"I won't!" said Mr. Witzel angrily.
Philo Gubb was slow to anger, but he was sorely
pressed now, and his temper failed him.
"Look here," he said to Mr. Witzel. "If you
don't go back where I can get a shot at you, I'll
— I'll smack you on the face."
"If you shoot off that gun, and bust it," said Mr.
Witzel, with equal anger, "I 'll — I 'll hit you on the
head."
"Go back!" cried Philo Gubb menacingly.
"One!"
"I'll give you fifty dollars for that gun, just as
she is," said Mr. Witzel.
"Two!" said Mr. Gubb.
"Sixty dollars!" said Mr. Witzel.
"Th—" said the paper-hanger detective, step-
199


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
ping backward to get room to sight along the long
barrel. Unfortunately the trunk was just behind
him and as he stepped back he tripped over it and
fell backward, doubling up like a jack-knife. But he
kept his presence of mind. The long barrel of the
Briggs & Bolton protruded from between the soles
of Philo Gubb's feet in Mr. Witzel's direction.
"Hands up!" he said.
Instantly Mr. Witzel raised his hands in the air.
"I 'll give you seventy dollars," he said.
"Make it seventy-five," said Mr. Gubb, "and
as soon as I'm done with it, you can have it."
"It's a bargain!" said Mr. Witzel happily. "It's
my pistol. Now, what's all this nonsense about
shooting me?"
"Nonsense is an insufficient word to use in rela-
tion to this here case," said Philo Gubb grimly.
"It won't be nonsense for you when you get through
with it. What did you do with the corpse?"
"With the — with the what?" cried Mr. Witzel.
"The remains," said Mr. Gubb. "What did you
do with them?"
"The remains of what?" asked Mr. Witzel.
"Of Mister Custer Master," said Philo Gubb,
easing himself a little by shifting one waving foot.
"There is no need to pretend to play innocent.
Where is the body?"
"My dear Mr. Detective Gubb!" exclaimed Mr.
Witzel. "I know nothing about any body. I am
George Augustus Wetzler —"
200


THE MISSING MR. MASTER
“Maybe you are," said Philo Gubb. “Maybe so.
But your clothes ain't. Your clothes are the clothes
of Mister Custer Master. The question is, ‘Did
you murder him alone, or did you and William
Gribble murder him together?”
Mr. Witzel-Wetzel-Wetzler's mouth fell open.
“Murder him!” he exclaimed aghast. “But —
but — "
“In the name of the law," said Philo Gubb, “I ,
take you into custody for the murder and disappear-
ing bodyliness of Mister Custer Master. Turn your
back and keep your hands up until I get from behind
this trunk, and I'll put handcuffs on you in proper
shape and manner. Turn!”
Mr. Witzel turned — all but his head. He kept
his face toward the priceless (or, more properly)
seventy-five-dollar Briggs & Bolton.
“Mr. Gubb," he said, "you are making a serious
mistake. I am a detective."
“You ain't!” said Philo Gubb. “I searched all
your things and you ain't got a silver badge nor a
false mustache nowhere. I'm going to turn you
right over to the police to-morrow morning.”
“To the police!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. “Don't
do that! Whatever you do, don't do that!” And
suddenly, like a nervous dyspeptic suddenly over-
wrought, Mr. Witzel broke down and, falling on the
cot, began to sob. Philo Gubb looked at him a mo-
ment with amazement. Then he dug a pair of hand-
cuffs out of his trunk and, walking to where Mr.
201


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Witzel lay, prodded him in the back with the muzzle
of the pistol. Mr. Witzel turned quickly, rolling
over like an eel.
"Stop it! You're tickling me. I can't stand tick-
ling!" he cried. "I — I can't stand lots of things.
I'm — I'm the most sensitive man in the world.
I — I can't stand cold water at all."
''Well, nobody is cold-watering you," said Philo
Gubb. "Handcuffs ain't cold water."
"But cold water is," said Mr. Witzel. "Cold
water kills me! It makes me shiver, and turn blue,
and goose-fleshy, and gives me cramps in the palms
of my hands and the soles of my feet. I — listen:
my doctor says cold baths will kill me. The shock
of 'em. Bad heart, you understand."
Philo Gubb's eyes blinked.
"I'll tell you," said Mr. Witzel, grasping Mr.
Gubb's hand. "I can't stand cold baths. They'd
kill me, you understand. It would be suicide! So —
so I knew Billy Gribble. Did n't I set him up in
business here, to get rid of him? Don't he owe me a
good turn?"
"Does he?" asked Philo Gubb.
"Hasn't he two bathrooms in connection with
his laundry. 'Hot and Cold Baths, All hours.
Ladies Tuesdays and Wednesdays Only?'" asked
Mr. Witzel. "Mr. Gubb, I will be frank. I am
Custer Master!"
"The reward for who — for who the reward,"
said Philo Gubb, seeking a grammatical form that
202


THE MISSING MR. MASTER


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
dollars by you," said Philo Gubb simply, "you can
give me a check for the whole amount in the morn-
ing, but if you go to take the bullet out of this pistol
you'll have to get an auger. I made the bullet
myself and it was too big, and I had to pound it into
the gun with a hammer and screw-driver. It's in
good and safe."
"And you would have dared to pull the trigger?"
asked Mr. Master.
"I would have dared so to do," said Mr. Gubb.
"It would have blown the pistol to atoms!"
exclaimed Mr. Master.
"It would so have done," said Mr. Gubb, "except
for the time I loaded it being the first beginning time
I ever loaded a pistol. In loading a Briggs & Bolton,
I have since subsequently learned, the powder
ought to go into it first, and the bullet second. I put
the bullet in first."
"Well, bless my stars!" exclaimed Mr. Master.
"Bless my stars! If that is the case — if that is the
case, I'm going to bed again. I have to get up before
daylight to take a bath."


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
It would not be true to say that Mr. Gubb had
become suspicious of Mr. Medderbrook's honesty.
The fact that the cashier of the Riverbank National
Bank told him the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine
stock was not worth the paper it was printed on did
pain him, however.
It pained Mr. Gubb to think his father-in-law-to-
be might be guilty of even unconscious duplicity,
and when Mr. Master paid him the six thousand
and seventy-five dollars Mr. Gubb decided that
only three thousand dollars of it should pass im-
mediately into Mr. Medderbrook's hands. Mr. Gubb
put two thousand dollars in the bank and invested
the balance in furniture for his office and in articles
and instruments that were needed for his detective
career. The three thousand dollars he took to Mr.
Medderbrook and paid it to him, leaving only
eight thousand nine hundred dollars unpaid.
Mr. Medderbrook was greatly pleased with this
and told Mr. Gubb so.
"This is a bully payment on account," he said,
"and if you keep on this way you'll soon be all paid
up, but you don't want to let that worry you, for
I'm having a brand-new lot of stock in a brand-
new mine printed, and I 'll sell you a whole lot of it
205


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
as soon as we are square. I'm going to call it the
Little Syrilla Gold-Mine —"
"I don't think I 'll buy any more gold-mine stock
after the present lot is paid up completely full," said
Mr. Gubb.
"That's all right," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I
have n't given the printer final orders yet and if you
prefer something else I'll make it Oil-Weil stock.
It is all the same to me. The property will produce
just as much oil as it will gold. Every bit!"
"Have you heard from Miss Syrilla recently of
late?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"Yes, I have," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I have
heard two dollars and a half's worth."
The telegram, which Mr. Medderbrook permitted
Mr. Gubb to read after he had paid the cash in
hand, said: —
Heaven smiles on us. Have given up all vegetable
diet. Have given up potatoes, beets, artichokes, fried
parsnips, Swiss chard, turnips, squash, kohl-rabi, boiled
radishes, sugar beets, corn on the cob, cow pumpkin,
mushrooms, string beans, asparagus, spinach, and canned
and fresh tomatoes. Have lost ten pounds more. Weight
now only nine hundred and fifteen pounds. Dorgan
worried. I dream of Gubby and love.
Mr. Gubb sighed happily. "I suppose," he said
blissfully, "that by the present moment of time
Miss Syrilla has only got left a remainder of six
double chins out of seven, dear little one!" And he
went back to his office feeling that it would not be
206


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
long now before the apple of his eye was released
from her side-show contract.
The next day Mr. Gubb had begun his labors on
a new and interesting case when the door opened.
"Gubb, come across the hall here!"
Gubb looked up from the labor in which he was
engaged and blinked at Lawyer Higgins.
"At the present time I am momently engaged
upon a case," said Mr. Gubb. "As soon as I am dis-
engaged away from what I am at, I expect to be
engaged at the next thing I have to do. I should n't
wish to assume to be rude, Mr. Higgins, but when a
deteckative is working up a case, and has a sign on
his door 'Out — Back at Midnight,' he generally
means he ain't receiving callers on no account."
"That's all right," said Higgins briskly, "but
this is business. I've got a real job for you."
"I am engaged upon a real job now," said Philo
Gubb.
"This is a detective job," said Mr. Higgins. "We
want you to find a man, and if you find him, there's
two hundred dollars in it for you. What sort of a job
is it you have on hand?"
"I am searching out the whereabouts of a lost
party," said Gubb earnestly. "I'm investigating
clues at the present time and moment."
Higgins stepped inside the door. He walked to
where Philo Gubb sat at an elaborate mahogany
desk, and looked at the apparatus Mr. Gubb was
using.
207


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"What the dickens?" he asked.
On the slide of the desk were grouped a number of
small articles, and a large and powerful microscope.
Through the lens of the microscope Mr. Gubb was
inspecting something that looked like frayed yellow-
brown wool yarn.
"You don't expect to find your missing party in
that wad of wool, do you, Gubb?" asked Mr. Hig-
gins jestingly.
"Maybe I do, and maybe the operations of the
deteckative mind are none of your particular affair
when conducted in the private seclusion of my
laboratory," said Gubb.
"Now, don't get mad," said Higgins. "It just
struck me as funny. Looks as if you were hunting
for fleas in a wisp of dog hair."
Philo Gubb looked up quickly. As a matter of
fact, he had but a moment before found a flea in the
wool he was examining, and the wool was indeed a
wisp of dog hair. The party Mr. Gubb had been
engaged to find was a dog, and Mr. Gubb was —
by the inductive method of detecting — trying to
reason out the location of the dog. By the aid of the
microscope, Mr. Gubb was searching for the slight
indications that mean so much to detectives. Un-
fortunately, however, Mr. Gubb had not yet found
anything from which he could deduce anything
whatever, unless the flea in the wool might lead to
the conclusion that the dog now, or once, had
fleas.
208


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
"Tell you what I want," said Mr. Higgins: "I
want you to find Mustard."
Detective Gubb swung suddenly in his chair and
faced Mr. Higgins.
"I don't want nothing more to do with that will!"
he said.
"I'm with you there!" said Higgins, laughing.
"When O'Hara made his will so that my client
could n't get her rights at once he did a mean trick,
and I dare say Mrs. Doblin will think so when she
gets my bill. But, just the same, Gubb, you're in
the detective business more or less, and it strikes
me you ought to take a job when it's offered to you.
You signed the will as a witness, and this man Bil-
ton, commonly known as Mustard on account of his
yellow complexion and hair, was the other witness,
was n't he? Now, if you can't give us the informa-
tion we want, and Mustard can, it looks to me as if
it was your duty, as a fellow witness, to hunt him
up. But we don't ask that. We're willing to pay
you if you find him."
"Are you prepared to contract to say you'll pay
me just for hunting for him?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"We'll give you two hundred dollars if you can
produce Mustard here in Riverbank," said Higgins.
"The job I've took on to hunt up another missing
party will occupy me for quite a while, I guess,"
said Gubb, "but maybe I might put in what extra
time I can spare looking for your party."
"Do it!" said Higgins. "I don't say you're the
209


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
best detective in the world, Gubb, but you do have
luck. You must have a magic talisman."
"The operation of the deteckative mind is always
like magic to the common folks," said Gubb gravely.
"All right, then," said Higgins. "Two hundred
if you find him. And now, will you just come across
the hall for one minute?"
Gubb left his microscope reluctantly. He was
sick and tired of the O'Hara will, but he followed
Mr. Higgins.
The second floor of the Opera House Block was
laid out in small offices arranged on two sides of a
corridor. One of these offices had been for many
years the office of Haddon O'Hara, who specialized
in commercial law, collections, and jokes, and he had
accumulated a snug little fortune. It was said he
could draw a contract no one could break except
himself.
On the streets and in his home and at his office —
except when at work on some especially difficult case
— his face always wore a quizzical smile. O'Hara
seemed to enjoy himself every moment. Walking
along the street he would suddenly stop some citi-
zen, enunciate a dozen or twenty cryptic words,
laugh, and proceed on his way, leaving the citi-
zen to puzzle over the affair, lose interest in it and
forget it. A week, a month, or a year later O'Hara
would stop the same citizen and utter ten more
words, the key to the cryptic joke. Then, chuckling,
he would hurry away. He had a lot of fun. His keen
210


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
brain felt equal to making fun of the whole town and
not letting the town know it. Money came to him
easily; he had no wife; his pleasure was in his books
— and he was probably a happy man. But he died.
He died and left a will.
For some years O'Hara lived with his niece, an
orphan. She was eighteen, and there might have
been some gossip, but O'Hara forestalled it by hir-
ing old Mrs. Mullarky.
O'Hara bought his niece a pup and had a dog-
house built and put in the yard. He christened the
pup himself, naming it Waffles, because, he said,
the minute he saw the pup it reminded him of Dolly.
The pup was just the color of the waffles Dolly
baked — "baked” is O'Hara's word. So he bought
Waffles and brought him home to Dolly, and the girl
loved the dog from the first minute. Then, just as
the dog had outgrown puppyhood, O'Hara died.
His will was found in the safe in his office. Old
Judge Mackinnon, who shared the office with
O'Hara, found the will the day after O'Hara died.
It was in a white legal envelope endorsed, “My Will,
Haddon O'Hara.” The Judge opened the envelope
- it was not sealed — and took out the will. The
will was not filled in on a printed form - it was a
holograph will, written in O'Hara's own hand. It
began in the usual formal manner and there were
two bequests. The first read: “To my niece,
Dorothy O'Hara, since she is so extremely fond
of her dog Waffles, I give and bequeath the dog-
211


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
house now on my property at 342 Locust Street,
Riverbank, Iowa." The second read: "Secondly,
to my cousin Ardelia Doblin I bequeath the entire
remainder and residue of my estate," etc.
Judge Mackinnon frowned as he read these two
bequests. He knew Ardelia Doblin as a spite-
ful, scandal-mongering woman. To cut off Dolly
O'Hara with a dog-house and give his entire estate
to Ardelia Doblin might be O'Hara's idea of a joke,
but the Judge did not like it. He read the final
clause, appointing him sole executor without bond.
O'Hara's signature was correctly appended. The
will was dated July 1, 1913. It was witnessed by
Philo Gubb and Max Bilton. The Judge knew
both witnesses. Gubb was the eccentric paper-
hanger who thought he was a detective because he
had taken a correspondence course, and Bilton was
a jaundiced loafer, commonly called Mustard. The
good old man sighed and was about to put the will
back in the envelope when he noticed three letters
at the bottom of the sheet. They were "P.T.O."
Now "P.T.O." is an English abbreviation that
means "Please Turn Over." The Judge turned the
paper over.
Suddenly he smiled. Then he looked grave again.
And then he grinned. After which he shook his
head.
The reverse of the sheet contained a will exactly
like that on the obverse. Word for word it was the
same. Line for line, punctuation mark for punctua-
212


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
tion mark, the two wills on the opposite sides of the
sheet were identical except for two words. In the
will the Judge was now reading, the name Sarah P.
Kinsey was substituted for the name Ardelia Doblin.
The date was the same. The witnesses were the
same. There were two wills, one written on one side
of the sheet and the other written on the other side
of the sheet, of the same date, with the same signa-
ture, and with the same witnesses. O'Hara had
joked to the last.
"This is a dickens of a joke!" exclaimed Judge
Mackinnon. "O'Hara should not have done this!"
He saw the property of Haddon O'Hara being
dissipated in lawsuits over this remarkable will.
He knew Sarah P. Kinsey as well as he knew Ardelia
Doblin, and she was just such another mean can-
tankerous individual.
"A joke's a joke, but you should n't have done
this, O'Hara!" said the Judge.
There was nothing to do but notify the parties
concerned. He went to see Dolly O'Hara first and
told her, as gently as he could, about the will. She
cried a little, softly, at first, and then she smiled
bravely.
''You must n't worry about it, Judge Mackinnon,"
she said. "I — of course I never thought what Uncle
Haddon would do with his money. And — and we
used to joke about the dog-house. He always said
he would leave it to me in his will. Uncle Haddon
loved to joke, Judge Mackinnon."
213


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"He was a joking jackanapes!" said Judge
Mackinnon angrily.
Ardelia Doblin and Sarah P. Kinsey took the
matter in quite a different spirit. Mrs. Doblin could
hardly wait until Judge Mackinnon was out of the
house before she hurried down to see Lawyer Hig-
gins, and Mrs. Kinsey did not wait until the Judge
was ready to go, but put on her hat in his presence,
so eager was she to hurry down to see Lawyer
Burch.
Ten hours later the O'Hara will was the one
matter talked about in Riverbank. Evidently there
must be some clue leading to the solution of the
mystery — some well-hidden, cleverly planned key
such as Haddon O'Hara would undoubtedly have
left in perpetrating such a joke. Common sense was
sufficient to tell any one that O'Hara could not have
written both wills simultaneously, that he had writ-
ten one will on one side of the paper, after which
he had turned the paper over and had written the
other will on the other side of the paper. The diffi-
culty was to tell which side he had written last.
Lawyer Higgins, Lawyer Burch, and Judge
Mackinnon went over both sides of the paper with
a microscope. The same ink had been used on both
sides. O'Hara's writing was the same on both sides.
Often, in writing as many words as occupied both
sides of the paper in question, a man's hand grows
involuntarily weary. There was nothing of this sort.
There seemed to be absolutely nothing on which the
214


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
greatest penmanship expert could base a plea that
either side was, in fact, the last will of Haddon
O'Hara. Either might be the last.
Nothing was left untested by Higgins and Burch.
The two sides of the paper on which the wills were
written were subjected to the minutest scrutiny.
Each will was witnessed by the same pair of wit-
nesses, and these were Philo Gubb and Max Bilton.
It was no trouble to get Philo Gubb to tell about
signing the will. Judge Mackinnon crossed the hall
and brought Philo Gubb to the office.
"Yes, sir," said Mr. Gubb. "I signed my signa-
ture onto that document two times as requested
so to do by the late deceased. He come over to my
official deteckative headquarters and asked me to
step across and do him the pleasure of a small favor
and I done so. Yes, sir, that's my signed signature.
And that's my signed signature also likewise."
"Did he say anything, Mr. Gubb?" asked the
Judge.
"He says, 'Gubb, this is my last will and testa-
ment, and I wish you to sign your signature onto it
as a witness.' So he put the paper in front of me.
'Where'll1 sign it?' I says. 'Sign it right here under
Mr. Bilton's name,' he says. So I signed my signa-
ture like he told me."
"Yes," said the Judge, "and Mr. O'Hara blotted
it with a piece of blotting-paper, did he not?"
"He so done," said Mr. Gubb.
"And then what?"
215


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Then he turned the paper over," said Mr. Gubb,
"and he says, 'Now, please sign this one.' So I
signed it."
"Under Mr. Bilton's name again?" said the
Judge.
"Why, no," said the paper-hanger detective.
"Not under it, because it was n't located nowhere to
have an under to it. Mr. Bilton had n't signed on
that side yet."
There was an instant sensation.
"Bilton hadn't signed that side?" said Mr.
Higgins. "Which side had n't he signed?"
"The other side from the side he had signed,"
said Mr. Gubb.
"Did you notice which side he had not signed?"
insisted Mr. Higgins. "Was it this side that men-
tions Mrs. Doblin, or this side that mentions Mrs.
Kinsey? Which was it?"
Mr. Gubb took the paper and examined it care-
fully. He turned it over and over.
"Could n'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 Macldnnon, with a smile, "you
can swear you signed both these wills as witness,
but you have no idea which you signed last, Mr.
Gubb."
"E-zactly so!" said Mr. Gubb with emphasis.

216


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
“Now, just a minute," said Mr. Burch. “One of
these Bilton signatures is ‘M. Bilton' and the other
is ‘Max Bilton.' You don't recall which was on the
paper when you signed, do you?"
"Mr. Burch,” said Mr. Gubb, “I was n't taking
no extra time to find out if a no-account feller like
Mustard Bilton signed his name M. or Max or
Methuselah. No, sir."
“Do you know where Mustard Bilton is now?"
asked Judge Mackinnon.
“Don't know," said Mr. Gubb.
The three lawyers consulted for a minute or two.
Then the Judge turned to Gubb again.
“And did Mr. O'Hara say anything more on the
occasion when you signed the will?" asked the
Judge.
"He said, 'Thank you,'” said Mr. Gubb. "He
said, 'Thank you, Sherlock Holmes.'”
Higgins and Burch laughed, and even the Judge
smiled, and they told Mr. Gubb he could go.
An hour or three quarters of an hour after he had
been called to identify his signature to the wills, a
gentle tap at Mr. Gubb's door caused him to look
up from the pamphlet - Lesson Four, Rising Sun
Detective Agency's Correspondence School of De-
tecting — he was reading.
“Come on right in,” he called, and in answer the
door opened and a young woman entered. She was
a sweet-faced, modest-appearing girl, and when she
pushed back her veil, Mr. Gubb saw she had been
217


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
Miss O'Hara wiped her eyes. For a moment she
could not speak.
"He used to say," she continued in a moment,
"that I'd never break my heart over a lost uncle,
but that if I lost Waffles I'd die of grief. It was n't
so, of course. But I'm heart-broken to have Waffles
gone. He is all I 'll have to remember Uncle Haddon
by. And then — to have him — go!"
"I should take it a pleasure to be employed upon
a case to fetch him back," said Mr. Gubb.
"Oh, would you?" cried Miss O'Hara. "I'm
so glad! I was afraid a — a real detective might
not want to bother with a dog. Of course I'll
pay-"
"The remuneration will be minimum on account
of the smallness of the crime under the statutes
made and provided," said Mr. Gubb.
"But you must let me pay!" urged Miss O'Hara.
"One of the things Uncle Haddon said was, 'If you
ever lose that dog, Dolly, hire Detective Gubb.
Understand? He's a wonderful detective. He'll leave
no stone unturned. He'll find your dog. He'll pry
the roof off the dog-house to find a flea, and when
he's found the flea he'll hunt up a blond dog to
match it. Remember,' he said, 'if you lose the dog,
get Gubb.*"
"I consider the compliment the highest form of
flattery," said Mr. Gubb.
"So I want you to try to find Waffles, please, if
it is n't beneath you to hunt a dog," said Miss
219


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
O'Hara. "How much will you charge to find
Waffles, Mr. Gubb?"
"I'd ought to have five dollars —" Mr. Gubb
began doubtfully.
"Of course!" exclaimed Miss O'Hara. "Why, I
expected to pay far more."
"Well and good," said Mr. Gubb. "And now,
how aged was the dog when he was purloined away
from you?"
Philo Gubb secured a complete history of the
dog. Miss O'Hara had brought, also, two photo-
graphs of Waffles in pleasing poses, and when she
left, Mr. Gubb accompanied her to the late home of
Waffles. It was there he gathered the clues over
which he was poring with his microscope when Mr.
Higgins came to ask him to step across the hall and
to offer him two hundred dollars if he could produce
Mustard Bilton. Mr. Gubb went across the hall.
"Gubb," said Judge Mackinnon, when he had
introduced the detective to Mrs. Kinsey and Mrs.
Doblin, "was Mustard Bilton in this office when
you signed your name to these wills?"
"No, sir, he was not present in person," said Mr.
Gubb. "He was elsewhere."
"Well, ladies," said the Judge, "it seems to me
that until we can find Mustard we cannot proceed.
Mr. O'Hara's last will — whichever it is — must
be probated. If I took this will to the courthouse,
whichever side happened to be uppermost would be
probated first and the other side would naturally

220


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
why O'Hara wanted to worry them, but he has paid
them back well for whatever they ever did to him."
"And the dog has disappeared away, too," said
Mr. Gubb. "I am proceeding on my way at the
present time to help discover where the dog is."
"Hope you find the poor child's pet," said the
Judge as he turned off in the opposite direction.
Mr. Gubb proceeded to the late home of Haddon
O'Hara. He followed the brick walk to the back of
the house. He was already familiar with the premises.
The dog-house — the only recently painted struc-
ture in the neighborhood — stood opposite the
kitchen door. It was perhaps three feet in height
and four feet long, with a pointed roof. As a door
it had an open arch, and at one side of this was a
staple to which a chain could be attached. The
grass in front of the dog-house was worn away,
leaving the soil packed hard. The detective, arriv-
ing at the dog-house, walked around it, gazing at it
closely.
The inductive method had failed — as it always
failed for Mr. Gubb — and he meant now to try
following a clue in person, if he could find a clue to
follow. Mr. Gubb dropped to his hands and knees
and crept around the dog-house, seeking a clue hid-
den in the grass. When he reached the front of the
dog-house he paused.
"Ye look that like a dog I was thinkin' ye'd howl
for a bone," said Mrs. Mullarky suddenly from the
kitchen door.

222


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
Mr. Gubb turned and eyed her with disapproval.
"The operations of deteckating are strange to the
lay mind," he said haughtily. "Those not under-
standing them should be seen and not heard."
"An' hear the man!" cried Mrs. Mullarky. "Does
a dog-house drive all of ye crazy? T' see a human
bein' crawlin' around on his four legs an' callin' it
detectin' where a dog is that ain't there! Go awn,
if ye wish! Crawl inside of ut!"
"I'm going to do so," said Mr. Gubb, and he
did.
Inside, or as far inside as he could get, Mr. Gubb
struck a match and examined the floor of the house.
There was straw on it, but nothing even remotely
suggesting a clue. No dog thief had left a glove
there. Mr. Gubb began to back out, and as he
backed his head touched something softer than a
pine board. He craned his long neck and looked up-
ward. Tacked to the inside of the roof of the house
was a long envelope. Mr. Gubb put up his hand
and pulled it loose. Then he backed into the day-
light. He sat on the bare spot before the dog-house
and examined the envelope.
The envelope was sealed, but on the face of it was
written: —
To be delivered to Judge Mackinnon, after Waffles has
been returned to his house and home. Waffles will be
found in the old cattle-shed on the, Illinois side of the
river, north from the turnpike at the far end of the
bridge. H. O'H.
223


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
It was a clue! Without stopping to silence the
scornful laughter of Mrs. Mullarky, Philo Gubb
jumped to his feet and made for the Illinois side
of the long bridge as rapidly as his long legs could
carry him. He reached the old cattle-shed and there
he found Mustard Bilton seated at the door, smok-
ing a cob pipe in lazy comfort.
"Come for the dog?" asked Mustard carelessly.
“Sort of thought you'd come for him about now.
Been expectin' you the last couple o' days."
"Expecting me?" said Philo Gubb. “I've been
doing deteckative work on this case — "
“Yes, Had' O'Hara reckoned you'd detect around
awhile before you got track of me," said Mustard
without emotion. “He says, when I'd signed that
there will for him, “Day or so after I kick the bucket,
Mustard, you go up and steal Waffles,' he says, 'and
fetch him over to the cattle-shed on the Illinoy side,'
he says, 'and keep him there until Gubb comes for
him. Take a day or so, maybe,' he says, 'for Dolly
to remember I told her to get Gubb, and take Gubb
a day or two to scrooge round before he hits on the
clue I've fixed up to point him to you, but he'll
come. He's a wonder, Gubb is,' says O'Hara, 'and
no mistake. If a feller was to steal the sardines out
of a can,' he says, 'bet you Gubb would want to see
what was inside the empty can before he'd start out
to find the feller. You just sit quiet an' wait till
Gubb snoops round enough,' he says, 'and he'll
come.""
224


WAFFLES AND MUSTARD
"You have possession of the Waffles dog at the
present time?" asked Detective Gubb.
"In yonder," said Mustard, pointing over his
shoulder. "Say, what's the joke O'Hara was cooldn'
up, anyway?"
"You accompany yourself with me to the office
of Judge Mackinnon," said Mr. Gubb, "and you'll
discover it out for yourself and I 'll remunerate you
to twenty dollars also. Fetch the dog."
Mr. Gubb, quite properly, left Mustard and
Waffles in his own office while he visited Mr. Higgins
and Mr. Burch, collecting two hundred dollars from
each. Then he turned Mr. Mustard Bilton over to
them.
"You signed those wills of O'Hara's," said Mr.
Burch when all had gathered in Judge Mackinnon's
office. "Do you know which you signed last?"
"Sure, I do," said Mustard.
Mr. Burch handed him the double will.
"Which did you sign last?" asked Mr. Burch
energetically.
Mustard took the document and looked at it.
The Kinsey side was toward him.
"It was n't this one," he said positively.
"Ah, ha!" cried Lawyer Higgins, turning the
paper over. "Then it was this one you signed
last!"
"No," said Mustard, glancing at the Doblin side
of the paper. "I signed this'n the same time as I
signed the other side of it. I signed both these the
r
225


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
first day of the month. The one I signed last I
signed on the second of the month.”
"Ah, yes!” said Judge Mackinnon, looking at a
document he had taken from the envelope Philo
Gubb had handed him. “You mean this one: -
Last will and testament - and all else with which I
may die possessed — to my niece Dorothy O'Hara - and
hope she can take a joke — Haddon O'Hara.
You mean this one, Mr. Bilton?"
“Yep,” said Mustard, looking at the document
that gave to Dolly O'Hara every jot and tittle
of Haddon O'Hara's property. “That's the one.
That's the one I signed last. Me and old Sam
Fliggis signed her — same day O'Hara hired me
to steal the dog. Well, I guess I'll be takin' the dog
back home. So 'long, gents. Old Had' was bound to
have his joke, was n't he?"
“Mr. Gubb," said Judge Mackinnon suddenly,
"would you be betraying a professional secret if
you told us how you found this document?”
“In the pursuit of following my deteckative pro-
fession," said Detective Gubb, “according to Lesson
Six, Page Thirty-two."


THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
Any one reading a history of the detective work
of Philo Gubb, the paper-hanger detective, might
imagine that crime stalked abroad endlessly in
Riverbank and that criminals crowded the streets,
but this would be mere imagination. For weeks be-
fore he took on the case of the Anonymous Wiggle,
he had been obliged to revert to his side-line of
paper-hanging and decorating.
Four hundred of the dollars he had earned by
solving the mystery of the missing Mustard and
Waffles he had paid to Mr. Medderbrook, together
with five dollars for a telegram Mr. Medderbrook
had received from Syrilla. This telegram was a
great satisfaction to Mr. Gubb. It brought the
day when she might be his nearer, and showed that
the fair creature was fighting nobly to reduce. It
had read: —
None but the brave deserve the thin. Have given up
all liquids. Have given up water, milk, coca-cola, beer,
chocolate, champagne, buttermilk, cider, soda-water, root
beer, tea, koumyss, coffee, ginger ale, bevo, Bronx cock-
tails, grape juice, and absinthe frappe. Weigh eight hun-
dred ninety-five net. Love to Gubby from little Syrilla.
Crime is not rampant in Riverbank. P. Gubb
therefore welcomed gladly Miss Petunia Scroggs

227


THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
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 boast-
ing tone," said Miss Petunia gently. "You ought
to be ashamed of it."
"Yes, ma'am," said Philo Gubb, "but you was
conversationally speaking of some deteckative
work—"
"And I'm leading right up to it all the time,"
said Miss Scroggs. "Peace of mind is why I have
remained single up to now, and peace of mind I have
had, but I won't have it much longer if this Anony-
mous Wiggle keeps on writing me letters."
"Somebody named with that cognomen is writ-
ing letters to you like a Black Hand would?" asked
Mr. Gubb eagerly.
"Cognomen or not," said Miss Scroggs, "that's
what I call him or her or whoever it is. Snake would
be a better name," she added, "but I must say the
thing looks more like a fish-worm. Now, here," she
said, opening her black hand-bag, "is letter Number
One. Read it."
Mr. Gubb took the envelope and looked at the
address. It was written in a hand evidently dis-
guised by slanting the letters backward, and had
been mailed at the Riverbank post-office.
"Hum!" said Mr. Gubb. "Lesson Nine of the
Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence
229


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
School of Deteckating gives the full rules and regu-
lations for to elucidate the mystery of threatening
letters, scurrilous letters, et cetery. Now, is this a
threatening letter or a scurrilous letter?"
"Well, it may be threatening, and it may not be
threatening," said Miss Scroggs. "If it is a threat,
I must say I never heard of a threat just like it. And
if it is scurrilous, I must say I never heard of any-
thing that scurriled in the words used. Read it."
Philo Gubb pulled the letter from the envelope
and read it. It ran thus: —
Petunia: —
Open any book at page fourteen and read the first
complete sentence at the top of the page. Go thou and
do likewise.
For signature there was nothing but a waved line,
drawn with a pen. In some respects it did resemble
an angle-worm.
Philo Gubb frowned. "The advice of the inditer
that wrote this letter seemingly appears to be sort
of unexact," he said. "'Most every book is apt to
have a different lot of words at the top of page
fourteen."
"Just so!" said Miss Scroggs. "You may well
say that. And say it to myself I did until I started
to open a book. I went to the book-case and I took
down my Bible and I turned to page fourteen."
"As the writer beyond no doubt thought you
would," said P. Gubb.
"I don't know what he thought," said Miss
230


THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
Scroggs, "but when I opened my Bible and turned
to page fourteen there was n't any page fourteen in
it. Page fourteen is part of the' Brief Foreword from
the Translators to the Reader,' so I thought maybe
it had got lost and never been missed. So I took up
another book. I took up Emerson's Essays, Volume
"And what did you read?" asked Philo Gubb.
"Nothing," said Miss Scroggs, "because I
could n't. Page fourteen was tore out of the book.
So I went through all my books, and every page four-
teen was tore out of every book. There was only
one book in the house that had a page fourteen left
in it."
"And what did that say?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"It said," said Miss Petunia, "'To one quart of
flour add a cup of water, beat well, and add the
beaten whites of two eggs.'"
"Did you do all that?" inquired Mr. Gubb.
"Well," said Miss Petunia, " I did n't see any harm
in trying it, just to see what happened, so I did it."
"And what happened?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"Nothing," said Miss Petunia. "In a couple of
days the water dried up and the dough got pasty
and moulded, and I threw it out."
"Just so!" said Philo Gubb. "You'd sort of
expect it to get mouldy, but you wouldn't call it
threatening at the first look."
"No," said Miss Petunia. "And then I got this
letter Number Two."
Two."

231


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
get letters like these I would n't worry much about
them. I'd let them come."
"You may say that," said Miss Petunia, "be-
cause you are a man, and big and strong and brave-
like. But when a person is a woman, and lives alone,
and has some money laid by that some folks would
be glad enough to get, letters coming right along
from she don't know who, scare her. Every time
I get another of those Anonymous Wiggle letters
I get more and more nervous. If they said, 'Give
me five thousand dollars or I will kill you,' I would
know what to do, but when a letter comes that says,
like that one does, 'Swedish iron is largely used in
the manufacture of upholstery tacks,' I don't know
what to think or what to do."
"I can see to understand that it might worry you
some," said Mr. Gubb sympathetically. "What do
you want I should do?"
"I want you should find out who wrote the let-
ters," said Miss Scroggs.
Mr. Gubb looked at the pile of letters.
"It's going to be a hard job," he said. "I've got
to try to guess out a cryptogram in these letters.
I ought to have a hundred dollars."
"It's a good deal, but I'll pay it," said Miss
Petunia. "I ain't rich, but I've got quite a little
money in the bank, and I own the house I live in and
a farm I rent. Pa left me money and property worth
about ten thousand dollars, and I haven't wasted
it. So go ahead."
234



Rising
Sun
PUN T
Mummitml
Talhiwarudi
mmmmmmmmmllimmm!
ப
mlund buntis
u
Inn
ummium Iuull Inயாய
minim
IN ID
Shuninin
HATUNUTTUM
MUL
“ YOU ARE A MAN, AND BIG AND STRONG AND BRAVE-LIKE"





THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
"IH so do," said Philo Gubb; "and first off I'll
ask you who your neighbors are."
"My neighbors!" exclaimed Miss Petunia.
"On both sides," said Mr. Gubb, "and who comes
to your house most?"
"Well, I declare!" said Miss Petunia. "I don't
know what you are getting at, but on one side I have
no neighbors at all, and on the other side is Mrs.
Canterby. I guess she comes to my house oftener
than anybody else."
"I am acquainted with Mrs. Canterby," said Mr.
Gubb. "I did a job of paper-hanging there only
last week."
"Did you, indeed?" said Miss Scroggs politely.
"She's a real nice lady."
"I don't give opinions on deteckative matters
until I'm sure," said Mr. Gubb. "She seems nice
enough to the naked eye. I don't want to get you
to suspicion her or nobody, Miss Scroggs, but about
the only clue I can grab hold of is that first letter
you got. It said to look on page fourteen, and all
the pages by that number was torn out of your
books—"
"Except my cook-book," said Miss Petunia.
"And a person naturally would n't go to think
of a cook-book as a real book," said Mr. Gubb. "If
you stop to think, you'll see that whoever wrote
that letter must have beforehand tore out all the
page fourteens from the books into your house, for
some reason."
235


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
“Why, yes!” exclaimed Miss Scroggs, clapping
her hands together. “How wise you are!"
“Deteckative work fetches deteckative wisdom,"
said Mr. Gubb modestly. “I don't want to throw
suspicion at Mrs. Canterby, but Letter Number
One points at her first of all.”
“Oh, yes! Oh my! And I never even thought
of that!” cried Miss Petunia admiringly.
"Us deteckatives have to think of things,” said
Philo Gubb. “And so we will say, just for cod, like,
that Mrs. Canterby got at your books and ripped
out the pages. She'd think: ‘What will Miss Petunia
do when she finds she has n't any page fourteens to
look at? She'll rush out to borrow a book to look
at.' Now, where would you rush out to borrow a
book if you wanted to borrow one in a hurry?”
“To Mrs. Canterby's house!" exclaimed Miss
Petunia.
"Just so!" said Mr. Gubb. “You'd rush over
and you'd say, “Mrs. Canterby, lend me a book!
And she would hand you a book, and when you
looked at page fourteen, and read the first full sen-
tence on the page, what would you read?”
“What would I read?" asked Miss Scroggs breath-
lessly.
“You would read what she meant you to read,"
said Mr. Gubb triumphantly. “So, then what? If I
was in her place and I had written a letter to you,
meaning to give you a threat in a roundabout way,
and it went dead, I'd write some foolish letters to you
236


THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
to make you think the whole thing was just foolish-
ness. I'd write you letters about weather and tacks
and cats and lime and trout, and such things, to
throw you off the scent. Maybe," said Mr. Gubb,
with a smile, "I'd just copy bits out of a news-
paper."
"How wonderfully wonderful!" exclaimed Miss
Petunia.
"That is what us deteckatives spend the midnight
oil learning the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's
Correspondence School lessons for," said Mr. Gubb.
"So, if my theory is right, what you want to do
when you get back home is to rush over to Mrs.
Canterby's and ask to borrow a book, and look
on page fourteen."
"And then come back and tell you what it
says?" asked Miss Petunia.
"Just so!" said Philo Gubb.
Miss Petunia arose with a simper, and Mr. Gubb
arose to open the door for her. He felt particularly
gracious. Never in his career had he been able to
apply the inductive system before, and he was well
pleased with himself. His somewhat melancholy
eyes almost beamed on Miss Petunia, and he felt
a warm glow in his heart for the poor little thing
who had come to him in her trouble. As he stood
waiting for Miss Scroggs to gather up her feather
boa and her parasol and her black hand-bag, he felt
the dangerous pity of the strong for the weak.
Miss Petunia held out her hand with a pretty
237


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
gesture. She was fully forty-five, but she was kit-
tenish for her age. There was something almost
girlish in her manner, and the long, dancing brown
curls that hung below her very youthful hat added
to the effect. When she had shaken Mr. Gubb's
hand she half-skipped, half-minced out of his
office.
"An admirable creature," said Mr. Gubb to him-
self, and he turned to his microscope and began to
study the ink of the letters under that instrument.
His next work must be to find the identical ink
and the identical writing-paper. He had no doubt
he would find them in Mrs. Canterby's home. The
ink was a pale blue in places, deepening to a strong
blue in other places, with grainy blue specks. He
decided, rightly, that this "ink" had been made of
laundry blue. The paper was plain note-paper,
glossy of surface and with blue lines, and, in the
upper left corner, the maker's impress. This was
composed of three feathers with the word "Excel-
lent" beneath. The envelopes were of the proper
size to receive the letters. They bore an unmistak-
able odor of toilet soap and chewing-gum.
"Dusenberry!" said Mr. Gubb, and smiled.
Hod Dusenberry kept a small store near the home
of Mrs. Canterby. There seemed no doubt that the
coils of the investigation were tightening around
Mrs. Canterby, and Mr. Gubb put on his hat and
went out. He went to Hod Dusenberry's store.
Mr. Dusenberry sat behind the counter.
238


THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
"I came in," said Mr. Gubb, "to purchase a
bottle of ink off of you."
"There, now!" said Mr. Dusenberry self-accus-
ingly. "That's the third call for ink I've had in
less'n two months. I been meanin' to lay in more
ink right along and it alius slips my mind. I told
Miss Scroggs when she asked for ink —"
"And what did you tell Mrs. Canterby when she
asked for ink?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"Mrs. Canterby?" said Hod Dusenberry. "May-
be I ought to see the joke, but I'm feelin' stupid to-
day, I reckon. What's the laugh part?"
"It was n't my intentional aim to furnish laugh-
able amusement," said Detective Gubb seriously.
"What did Mrs. Canterby say when she asked for
ink and you did n't have none?"
"She did n't say nothin'," said Mr. Dusenberry,
"because she never asked me for no ink, never!
She don't trade here. That's all about Mrs. Can-
terby."
The Correspondence School detective had been
leaning on the show-case, and with the shrewdness
of his kind had let his eyes search its contents. In
the show-case was writing-paper of the very sort the
Anonymous Wiggle letters had been written on—
also envelopes strangely similar to those that had
held the letters.
Mr. Gubb smiled pleasantly at Mr. Dusenberry.
"I'd make a guess that Mrs. Canterby don't buy
her writing-paper off you neither?" he hazarded.
239


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
“You guess mighty right she don't,” said Mr.
Dusenberry.
“And maybe you don't recall who ever bought
writing-paper like this into the case here?" said Mr.
Gubb.
"I guess maybe I do, just the same," said Mr.
Dusenberry promptly. “And it ain't hard to recall,
either, because nobody buys it but Miss 'Tunie
Scroggs. 'Tunie is the all-firedest female I ever did
see. Crazy after a husband, 'Tunie is." He chuck-
led. “If I was n't married already I dare say 'Tunie
would have worried me into matrimony before now.
'Tunie's trouble is that everybody knows her too
well — men all keep out of her way. But she's a
dandy, 'Tunie is. They tell me that when Hinter-
man, the plumber, hired a new man up to Derling-
port and 'Tunie found out he was a single feller,
she went to work and had new plumbing put in her
house, just so's the feller would have to come within
her reach. But he got away."
“He did?" said Mr. Gubb nervously.
“Oh, yes," said Mr. Dusenberry. “He stood
'Tunie as long as he could, and then he threw up his
job and went back to Derlingport. They tell me she
don't do nothin' much now but set around the house
and think up new ways to git acquainted with men
that ain't heard enough of her to stay shy of her.
Sorry I ain't got no ink, Mr. Gubb."
“It's a matter of no consequential importance,
thank you," said Mr. Gubb, and he went out. He
240


THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
was distinctly troubled. He recalled now that Miss
Scroggs had smiled in a winning way when she spoke
to him, and that she had quite warmly pressed his
hand when she departed. With a timid bachelor's
extreme fear of designing women, Mr. Gubb dreaded
another meeting with Miss Scroggs. Only his faith-
fulness to his Correspondence School diploma had
power to keep him at work on the Anonymous
Wiggle case, and he walked thoughtfully toward the
home of Mrs. Canterby. He went to the back door
and knocked gently. Mrs. Canterby came to the
door.
"Good-afternoon," said Mr. Gubb. "I been a
little nervous about that paper I hung onto your
walls. If I could take a look at it —"
"Well, now, Mr. Gubb, that's real kind of you,"
said Mrs. Canterby. "You can look and welcome.
If you just wait until I excuse myself to Miss
Scroggs—"
"Is she here?" asked Mr. Gubb with a hasty
glance toward his avenues of escape.
"She just run in to borrow a book to read," said
Mrs. Canterby, "and she's having some trouble
finding one to suit her taste. She's in my lib'ry sort
of glancing through some books."
"Does — does she glance through to about near
to page fourteen?" asked Mr. Gubb nervously.
"Now that you call it to mind," said Mrs. Can-
terby, "that's about how far she is glancing through
them. She's glanced through about sixteen, and
241


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
she's still glancing. She thinks maybe she'll take
‘Myra's Lover, or The Hidden Secret,' but she ain't
sure. She come over to borrow ‘Weldon Shirmer,'
but I had lent that to a friend. She was real dis-
appointed I did n't have it."
Mr. Gubb wiped the perspiration from his face.
He too would have liked at that moment to have
seen a copy of “Weldon Shirmer," and to have read
what stood at the top of page fourteen.
"If it ain't too much trouble, Mrs. Canterby,"
he said, “I wish you would sort of fetch that Myra
book out here without Miss Scroggs's knowing you
done so. I got a special reason for it, in my detecka-
tive capacity. And I wish you would n't mention
to Miss Scroggs about my being here."
"Land sakes!” said Mrs. Canterby. "What's
up now? Miss Scroggs she's right interested in you,
too. She made inquiries of me about you when you
was working here. She says she thinks you are a
real handsome gentleman."
Mrs. Canterby laughed coyly and went out, and
Mr. Gubb dropped into a chair and wiped his face
again nervously. His eye, falling on the kitchen
table, noted a sheet of writing-paper. It was the
same style of paper as that on which the Anony-
mous Wiggle letters had been written. He bent for-
ward and glanced at it. In blue ink evidently made
of indigo dissolved in water, was written on the
sheet a recipe. The writing, although undisguised
and slanting properly, was beyond doubt the same
242





THE ANONYMOUS WIGGLE
of allowing Fate to decree that one particular Cor-
respondence School solver of mysteries should marry
Miss Petunia Scroggs. He hurried to his office.
At the office door he paused to take his key from
his pocket, but when he tried it in the lock he found
the door had been left unlocked and he opened
the door hastily and hurried inside. Miss Petunia
Scroggs was sitting in his desk-chair, a winning
smile on her lips and " Myra's Lover, or The Hidden
Secret," in her lap.
"Dear, wonderful Mr. Gubb!" she said sweetly.
"It was just as you said it would be. Here is the
book Mrs. Canterby loaned me."
For a moment Mr. Gubb stood like a flamingo
fascinated by a serpent.
"You detectives are such wonderful men!" cooed
Miss Petunia. "You live such thrilling lives! Ah,
me!" she sighed. "When I think of how noble and
how strong and how protective such as you are—"
Mr. Gubb kept his bird-like eyes fixed on Miss
Petunia's face, but he pawed behind himself for the
door. He felt his hand touch the knob.
"And when I think of how helpless and alone I
am," said Miss Petunia, rising from her chair, "al-
though I have ample money in the bank —"
Bang! slammed the door behind Mr. Gubb.
Click I went the lock as he turned the key. His feet
hurried to the stairs and down to the nearest street
almost falling over Silas Washington, seated on the
lowest step. The little negro looked up in surprise.

245


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
“Do you want to earn half a dollar?" asked Mr.
Gubb hastily.
“'Co'se Ah do,” said Silas Washington. “What
you want Ah shu'd do fo' it?".
“Wait a portion of time where you are," said Mr.
Gubb, "and when you hear a sound of noise up-
stairs, go up and unlock Mister Philo Gubb, De-
teckative, his door, and let out the lady."
“Yassah!” said Silas.
“And when you let her exit out of the room," said
Mr. Gubb, “say to her: ‘Mister Gubb gives up the
case.' Understand?"
“Yassah!"
“Yes," said Mr. Gubb, and he glanced up and
down the street. “And say — because it don't
make no particle bit of difference who the lady is,
Mister Gubb would n't marry nobody at no time
of his life.""
“Yassah!" said the little negro.


THE HALF OF A THOUSAND
Philo Gubb sat in his office in the Opera House
Block with a large green volume open on his knees,
reading a paragraph of some ten lines. He had read
this paragraph twenty times before, but he never
tired of reading it. It began —
Gubb, Philo. Detective and decorator, b. Higginsville,
la., June 26, 1868. Educated Higginsville, la., primary
schools. Entered decorating profession, 1888. Graduated
with honors, Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspond-
ence School of Detecting, 1910.
He hoped that some day this short record of his
life might be lengthened by at least one line, which
would say that he had "m. Syrilla Medderbrook,"
and since his escape from Petunia Scroggs and her
wiles, and the latest telegram from Syrilla, he had
reason for the hope. As Mr. Gubb had not tried to
collect the one hundred dollars due him from Miss
Scroggs, he had nothing with which to pay Mr.
Medderbrook more on account of the Utterly Hope-
less mining stock, but under his agreement with
Mr. Medderbrook he had paid that gentleman
thirty-seven dollars and fifty cents for the last
telegram from Syrilla. This had read: —
Joy and rapture! Have given up all forms of food.
Have given up spaghetti, fried rabbit, truffles, brown
betty, prunes, goulash, welsh rabbit, hoecake, sauerkraut,
247


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Philadelphia scrapple, haggis, chop suey, and mush.
Have lost one hundred and fifty pounds more. Weigh
seven hundred forty-five. Going down every hour. Kiss
Gubby for me.
Mr. Gubb, therefore, mused pleasantly as he
read the book that contained the short but inter-
esting reference to himself.
The book with the green cover was "Iowa's
Prominent Citizens," sixth edition, and was a sort
of local, or state, "Who's Who." In its pages, for
the first time, Philo Gubb appeared, and he took
great delight in reading there how great he was. We
all do. We are never so sure we are great as when
we read it in print.
It is always comforting to a great man to be
reassured that he was "b. Dobbinsville, la., 1869,"
that he "m. Jane, dau. of Oscar and Siluria Botts,
1897,'' and that he is not yet "d." There are some of
us who are never sure we are not "d." except when
we see our names in the current volume of "Who's
Who," "Who's It," or " Iowa's Prominent Citizens."
Outside Philo Gubb's door a man was standing,
studying that part of " Iowa's Prominent Citizens"
devoted to the town of Riverbank. The man was
not as young as he appeared to be. His garments
were of a youthful cut and cloth, being of the sort
generally known as "College Youth Style," but they
were themselves no longer youthful. In fact, the
man looked seedy.
Notwithstanding this he had an air — a some-

248


THE HALF OF A THOUSAND
thing — that attracted and held the attention. A
cane gave some of it. The extreme good style of his
Panama hat gave some of it. His carriage and the
gold-rimmed eyeglasses with the black silk neck-
ribbon gave still more. When, however, he removed
his hat, one saw that he was partly bald and that
his reddish hair was combed carefully to cover the
bald spot.
The book in his hand was a small memorandum
book, and in this he had pasted the various notices
cut from "Iowa's Prominent Citizens" and one —
only — cut from "Who's Who," relating to citizens
of Riverbank. He had done this for convenience as
well as for safety, for thus he had all the Riverbank
prominents in compact form, and avoided the neces-
sity of carrying "Iowa's Prominent Citizens" and
"Who's Who" about with him. That would have
been more or less dangerous. Particularly so, since
he had been exposed by the New York "Sun" as
The Bald Impostor.
The Bald Impostor, to explain him briefly, was
a professional relative. He was the greatest son-
cousin-nephew in the United States, and always he
was the son, cousin, or nephew of one of the great,
of one of the great mentioned in "Who's Who." He
was as variable as a chameleon. Sometimes he was
a son, cousin, or nephew of some one beginning with
A, and sometimes of some one beginning with Z,
but usually of some one with about twelve to four-
teen lines in "Who's Who."
249


THE HALF OF A THOUSAND
"Liens and Torts" is the one volume written by
Judge Orley Morvis mentioned in "Who's Who."
The Judge becomes mellower than ever.
"Ah, yes!" says the Judge, tickled, "and how
is your uncle, may I ask?"
"In excellent health considering his age. You
know he is ninety-seven," says the Bald Impostor,
having got the "b. June 23, 1817" from "Who's
Who." "But his toe still bothers him. A man of
his age, you know. Such things heal slowly."
"No! I didn't hear of that," says the Judge,
intensely interested. He is going to get some inti-
mate details.
"Oh, it was quite dreadful!" says the Bald Im-
postor. "He dropped a volume of Coke on Littleton
on it last March — no, it was April, because it was
April he spent at my mother's."
All this is pure invention, and that is where the
Bald Impostor leads all others. Even as he invents
details of the sore toe, you see, he introduces his
mother.
"She was taken sick early in April," he says, and
presently he has Dr. Somebody-Big out of "Who's
Who" attending to the Chief Justice's sore toe and
advising the mother to try the Denver climate.
And the next thing the Judge knows the Bald Im-
postor is telling that he is now on his way back from
Denver to Chicago.
So then it comes out. The Bald Imposter sits on
the edge of his chair and becomes nervous and per-
251


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
spires. Perspiring is a sure sign a man is unaccus.
tomed to asking a loan, and the Bald Impostor is
entitled to start the first School of Free Perspiring
in America. He can perspire in December, when the
furnace is out and the windows are open. All his
head pores have self-sprinklers or something of the
sort. He is as free with beads of perspiration as the
early Indian traders were with beads of glass. He
mops them with a white silk handkerchief.
So he perspires, and out comes the cruel admis-
sion. He needs just one dollar and eighty cents!
As a matter of fact, he has stopped at Riverbank
because his uncle had so often spoken of Judge Orley
Morvis — and really, one dollar and eighty cents
would see him through nicely.
“But, my dear boy!” says the Judge kindly.
“The fare is six dollars. And your meals?".
"A dollar-eighty is enough," insists the Bald
Impostor. "I have enough to make up the fare,
with one-eighty added. And I could n't ask you to
pay for my meals. I'll — I have a few cents and
can buy a sandwich.”
“My dear boy!" says Judge Orley Morvis, of
Riverbank (and it is what he did say), “I could n't
think of the nephew of a Chief Justice of the United
States existing for that length of time on a sand.
wich. Here! Here are twenty dollars! Take them -
I insist! I must insist!"
Some give him more than that. We usually give
him five dollars.
252



►מות ותוח(נניחת
R
.
HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION





THE HALF OF A THOUSAND
I admit that when the Bald Impostor visited me
and asked for one dollar and eighty cents I gave
him five dollars and an autographed copy of one of
my books. He was to send the five back by money-
order the next day. Unfortunately he seems to have
no idea of the flight of time. For him to-morrow
never seems to arrive. For me it is the five that
does not arrive. The great body of us consider
those who give him more than five to be purse-
proud plutocrats. But then we sometimes give him
autographed copies of our books or other touching
souvenirs. And write in them, "In memory of a
pleasant visit." I do wonder what he did with my
book!
Judge Orley Morvis was the only Who's Whoer
in Riverbank, but the town was well represented in
"Iowa's Prominent Citizens," and after collecting
twenty dollars from the Judge the Bald Impostor
proceeded to Mr. Gubb's office.
"Detective and decorator," he said to himself.
"I wonder if William J. Burns has a son? Better
not! A crank detective might know all about Burns.
I'm his cousin. Let me see — I'm Jared Burns. Of
Chicago. And mother has been to Denver for the
air." He took out the memorandum book again.
"The Waffles-Mustard case. The Waffles-Mustard
case. Waffles! Mustard! I must remember that."
He knocked on the door.
"Mr. Gubb?" he asked, as Philo Gubb opened
the door. "Mr. Philo Gubb?"
253


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
“I am him, yes, sir,” said the paper-hanger
detective. “Will you step inside into the room?"
"Thank you, yes," said the Bald Impostor, as
he entered.
Philo Gubb drew a chair to his desk, and the Bald
Impostor took it. He leaned forward, ready to begin
with the words, “Mr. Gubb, my name is Jared
Burns. Mr. William J. Burns is my cousin -"
when there came another rap at the door. Mr.
Gubb's visitor moved uneasily in his chair, and
Mr. Gubb went to the door, dropping an open letter
carelessly on the desk-slide before the Bald Im-
postor. The new visitor was an Italian selling
oranges, and as Mr. Gubb had fairly to push the
Italian out of the door, the Bald Impostor had time
to read the letter and, quite a little ahead of time,
began wiping perspiration from his forehead.
The letter tias from the Headquarters of the
Rising Sun Detective Agency, and was brutally
frank in denouncing the Bald Impostor as an im-
postor, and painfully plain in describing him as
bald. It described in the simplest terms his mode
of getting money and it warned Mr. Gubb to be on
the outlook for him “as he is supposed to be working
in your district at present." The Bald Impostor
gasped. “A number of victims have organized,"
continued the letter, “what they call the Easy
Marks' Association of America and have posted a
reward of fifty dollars for the arrest of the fraud."
The Bald Impostor glanced toward Philo Gubb
254


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Mr. Burns," said Philo Gubb heartily. “It is a
pleasure to meet anybody from the offices of the
Rising Sun Deteckative Agency. And if you ever
see the man that wrote the 'Complete Correspond-
ence Course of Deteckating,' I wish —".
The false Mr. Burns smiled.
“I wrote it," he said modestly.
“I am most very glad to meet you, sir!" exclaimed
Philo Gubb, and again he shook his visitor's hand.
“Because —"
“Ah, yes, because —" queried the Bald Impostor
pleasantly.
"Because," said Philo Gubb, “there's a question
I want to ask. I refer to Lesson Seven, ‘Petty
Thievery, Detecting Same, Charges Therefor.' I
have had some trouble with 'Charges Therefor.""
“Indeed? Let me see the lesson, please," said
the Bald Impostor.
“The charges for such services,'” Philo Gubb
read, pointing to the paragraph with his long fore-
finger, “should be not less than ten dollars per
diem.' That's what it says, ain't it?"
"It does,” said the Bald Impostor.
“Well, Mr. Burns," said Philo Gubb, “I took
on a job of chicken-thief detecting, and I had to
detect for two diems to do it, and that would be
twenty dollars, would n't it?".
“It would," said the Bald Impostor.
“Which is fair and proper," said Philo Gubb,
256


THE HALF OF A THOUSAND
if you'd be kindly willing to go to him along with
me in company and tell him I charged right and
according to rates as low as possible?"
“Of course I will go," said the Bald Impostor.
“All right!” said Philo Gubb, rising. “And the
old gent is a man you'll be glad to meet. He's
a prominent citizen gentleman of the town. His
name is Judge Orley Morvis."
The Bald Impostor gasped. Every free-acting
pore on his head worked immediately.
“And, so he won't suspicion that I'm running
in some outsider on him," said Philo Gubb, “I'll
fetch along this letter you wrote me, to certify your
identical identity.”
He picked up the warning letter from the Rising
Sun Agency, and stood waiting for the Bald Im-
postor to arise. But the Bald Impostor did not arise.
For once at least he was flabbergasted. He opened
and shut his mouth, like a fish out of water. His
head seemed to exude millions of moist beads. He
saw a smile of triumph on Philo Gubb's face. Mr.
Gubb was smiling triumphantly because he was
able now to show Judge Orley Morvis a thing or
two, but the Bald Impostor was sure Philo Gubb
knew he was the Bald Impostor. He was caught
and he knew it. So he surrendered.
"All right!” he said nervously. “You've got
me. I won't give you any trouble."
“It's me that's being a troubling nuisance to
you, Mr. Burns," said Philo Gubb.
257


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
The paper-hanger detective stopped short. A
look of shame passed across his face.
"I hope you will humbly pardon me, Mr. Burns,"
he said contritely. “I am ashamed of myself. To
think of me starting to get you to attend to my
business when prob’ly you have business much more
important that fetched you to Riverbank.”
A sudden light seemed to break upon Philo Gubb.
“Of a certain course!” he exclaimed. “What
you come about was this — this" — he looked at the
letter in his hand — "this Bald Impostor, was n't
it?"
Philo Gubb's visitor, who had begun to breathe
normally again, gasped like a fish once more. He
saw Philo Gubb finish reading the description of the
Bald Impostor, and then Philo Gubb looked up and
looked the Bald Impostor full in the face. He
looked the Bald Impostor over, from bald spot to
shoes, and looked back again at the description.
Item by item he compared the description in the
letter with the appearance of the man before him,
while the Impostor continued to wipe the palms of
his hands with the balled handkerchief. At last
Philo Gubb nodded his head.
"Exactly similar to the most nominal respects,"
he said. “Quite identical in every shape and man-
ner.'”
"Oh, I admit it! I admit it!" said the Bald
Impostor hopelessly.
“Yes, sir!" said Philo Gubb. “And I admit it
258


THE HALF OF A THOUSAND
the whilst I admire it. It is the most perfect disguise
of an imitation I ever looked at."
"What?" asked the Bald Impostor.
"The disguise you've got onto yourself," said
Philo Gubb. "It is most marvelously similar in
likeness to the description in the letter. If you will
take the complimentary flattery of a student, Mr.
Burns, I will say I never seen no better disguise got
up in the world. You are a real deteckative artist."
The Bald Impostor could not speak. He could
only gasp.
"If I did n't know who you were of your own self,"
said Philo Gubb in the most complimentary tones,
"I'd have thought you were this here descriptioned
Bald Impostor himself."
His visitor moistened his lips to speak, but Mr.
Gubb did not give him an opportunity.
"I presume," said Mr. Gubb, "you have so done
because you are working upon this Bald Impostor
yourself."
"Yes. Oh, yes!" said the Bald Impostor hoarsely.
"Exactly."
"In that case," said Mr. Gubb, "I consider it a
high compliment for you to call upon me. Us deteck-
atives don't usually visit around in disguises."
The visitor moistened his lips again.
"I wanted to see," he said, but the words were so
hoarse they could hardly be heard, — "I wanted to
"Well, now," said Philo Gubb contritely, "you
see —
it

259


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
must n't feel bad that I did n't take you for that
fraud feller right away off. I had n't read the letter
through down to the description quite. If I had I
would have mistook you for him at once. The re-
semblance is most remarkably unique."
"Thank you!" said the Bald Impostor, regaining
more of his usual confidence. "And it was a hard dis-
guise for me to assume. I'm not naturally reddish
like this. My hair is long. And black. And — and
my taste in clothes is quiet — mostly blacks or dark
blues. Now the reason I am in this disguise —"
He was interrupted by a loud and strenuous
knock on the door.
Mr. Gubb went to the door, but before he reached
it his visitor had made one leap and was hidden be-
hind the office desk, for a voice had called, impa-
tiently, "Gubb!" and it was the voice of Judge Orley
Morvis. When Detective Gubb had greeted his new
visitor he turned to introduce the Judge — and a
look of blank surprise swept his features. Detective
Burns was gone!
For a moment only, Detective Gubb was puzzled.
There was but one place in the room capable of
concealing a full-grown human being, and that was
the space behind the desk. He placed a chair for
the Judge exactly in front of the desk and himself
stood in a negligent attitude with one elbow on the
top of the desk. In this position he was able to
turn his head and, by craning his neck a little, look
down upon the false Mr. Burns. Mr. Burns made
260


THE HALF OF A THOUSAND
"Why, you see," said the Bald Impostor glibly, —
"you see — if you introduced me to him — why —
why, he'd know me."
"He'd know you?" said Philo Gubb.
"He'd know me," repeated the false Mr. Burns.
"I'll tell you why. The Bald Impostor call on
him."
"Honest?"
"I was there," said the Bald Impostor. "The
Judge gave him twenty dollars and a copy of some
book or other he had written, and he wrote his auto-
graph in the book. Remember that. The Judge
wrote his autograph in a book — and gave it to the
fellow. I'm telling you this so you can tell the Judge.
Tell him I told you. Tell him the fellow's mother is
much better now. Tell him Judge Bassio Bates's
toe is quite well. And then ask him for the twenty
dollars he owes you. You 'll get it."
"And you was there?" asked Philo Gubb,
amazed.
"Out of sight, but there," said the false Mr.
Burns glibly. "Just ready to put my hand on the
fellow — but I could n't. I had n't the heart to do
it. I thought of the ridicule it would bring down on
the poor old Judge. You know he's an uncle of
mine. I'm his nephew."
"He said," said Philo Gubb hesitatingly, "he'd
never heard of you."
"He never did," said the Bald Impostor promptly.
"I was his third sister's adopted child — I am an
263


DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN
PHILO GUBB sat on an upturned bundle of rolls of
wall-paper in the dining-room of Mrs. Pilker's fa-
mous Pilker mansion, in Riverbank, biting into a
thick ham sandwich. It was noon.
Mr. Gubb ate methodically, taking a large bite of
sandwich, chewing the bite long and well, and then
swallowing it with a wonderful up and down gliding
of his knobby Adam's apple. From time to time he
turned his head and looked at the walls of the dining-
room. The time was Saturday noon, and but one
wall was covered with the new wall-paper, a natural
forest tapestry paper, with lifelike representations
of leafy trees. He had promised to have the Pilker
dining-room completed by Saturday night. It
seemed quite impossible to Philo Gubb that he
could finish the Pilker dining-room before dark,
and it worried him.
Other matters, even closer to his heart, worried
Mr. Gubb. He had had a great quarrel with Mr.
Medderbrook, the father of the fair Fat Lady of the
World's Greatest Combined Shows. Judge Orley
Morvis had paid Mr. Gubb twenty dollars for cer-
tain detective work, but Mr. Gubb had not turned
all this over to Mr. Medderbrook, and Mr. Medder-
brook had resented this. He told Mr. Gubb he was
a cheap, tank-town sport.
266


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"Fifty dollars, please, sah," he said.
"What!" cried Mr. Gubb.
"Yes, sah," said the negro. "That's the amount
Mistah Meddahbrook done say."
Mr. Gubb could hardly believe it, but he wrote
his check for the fifty dollars and then read the tele-
gram. It ran: —
Excelsior! Have lost two hundred pounds since last
wire. Now weigh only four hundred pounds. Every one
guys me when I am ballyhooed as Fat Lady. Affection
to Gubby.
Mr. Gubb was greatly pleased by this, but when,
the next day, the colored butler again appeared and
asked for fifty dollars Mr. Gubb was worried. The
telegram this time read: —
Frightened. Have lost two hundred pounds since last
wire, now weigh only two hundred. If lose two hundred
more will weigh nothing. Have resumed potatoes and
water. Love to Gubby.
That same afternoon the negro brought Mr. Gubb
another telegram, on which he collected seven dol-
lars and fifty cents. This telegram contained these
words: —
Am indeed frightened. Have resumed bread diet, soup,
fish, meat, and cereals, but have lost fifty pounds more.
Weigh only one hundred and fifty. Taking tonic.
Hope for the best. Tell Gubby I think of him as much
as when I weighed half a ton.
Mr. Gubb was much distressed. He had no doubt
that his Syrilla would rapidly recover a part of her
\
268



A
ARTIN
A MAN WHO LOOKED LIKE NAPOLEON BONAPARTE GONE TO SEED





DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN
lost weight, but he felt as if at the moment he had
lost Syrilla. He could not picture her as a sylph of
one hundred and fifty pounds. He was worried,
indeed, as he sat eating his lunch in Mrs. Pilker's
mansion. It was then he heard a voice: —
"Say, are you the feller they call Bugg?"
Mr. Gubb looked up. In the dining-room door
stood a man who looked like Napoleon Bonaparte
gone to seed.
"If the party you are looking for to seek," said
Mr. Gubb with somewhat offended pride, "is Mister
P. Gubb, him and me are one and the same party.
My name is P. Gubb, deteckative and paper-
hanger."
"Well, youse is the party I'm looking for," said
the stranger. "I got a hunch from Horton, the wall-
paper-store feller, that youse was up here and that
youse wanted a helper. Does youse?"
"If you know paper-hanging as a trade and pro-
fession and can go to work immediately at once, I
could use you," said Mr. Gubb. "I've got more jobs
than I can handle alone by myself."
"Say, me a paper-hanger?" said the stranger
scornfully. "Why, sport, I've hung more wall-
paper than youse ever saw, see? Honest, when I
butted in here and saw that there Dietz's 7462
Bessie John on the wall —"
"That what?" asked Philo Gubb.
"That there Dietz's 7462 Bessie John, on the
wall there," explained the stranger. "Don't youse
269


DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN
moved his greasy coat, threw his greasy cap into a
corner, wiped his greasy hands on a wad of trim-
mings and set to work. When Mr. Gubb had com-
pleted his modest luncheon he asked his name.
"Youse might as well call me Greasy," said the
new employee. "I'm greasier than anything. Got
it off'n my motor-boat."
During the afternoon Philo Gubb learned some-
thing of his assistant's immediate past. "Greasy"
had saved some money, working at St. Paul, and
had bought a motor-boat — "Some boat!" he said;
"Streak o' Lightnin' was what I named her, and she
was"— and he had come down the Mississippi.
"She can beat anything on the Dad," he said.
The "Dad" was his disrespectful paraphrase of
"The Father of Waters," the title of the giant Mis-
sissippi. He told of his adventures until he men-
tioned the Silver Sides. Then he swore in a manner
that suited his piratical countenance exactly.
He had been floating peacefully down the river
with the current, his power shut off and himself
asleep in the bottom of the boat, doing no harm to
any one, when along came the Silver Sides, and
without giving him a warning signal, ran him down.
"Done it a-purpose, too," he said angrily.
He had managed to keep the boat afloat until he
reached Riverbank, but to fix her up would take
more money than he had. So he had hunted a job
in his own line, and found Philo Gubb.
The Silver Sides, Captain Brooks, owner, was a
271


DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN
toward incident, but at eleven o'clock on the night
of July 15 something frightful did occur. It spread
it across the top of the first page of the "Daily
Eagle" in the one shocking word — PIRATES!
The Silver Star had started on the return trip
and had reached a point about two miles below
Towhead Island when a rifle or revolver bullet
crashed through the glass window on the western
side of the pilot-house. Uncle Jerry — as most
people called Captain Brooks — turned his head,
stared out at the moonlit waters of the river, and
saw bearing down upon him from the northwest a
long, low craft. Four men stood in the forward part
of the boat, and a fifth sat beside the motor. In the
bright moonlight, Captain Brooks could see that
all the men wore black masks. He also saw that all
were armed, and that from the staff at the stern
of the boat floated a jet-black flag on which was
painted in white the skull and cross-bones that
have always been the insignia of pirates. Even as
he looked one of the men in the motor-boat raised
his arm: Uncle Jerry saw a flash of fire, and another
pane of glass at his side jingled to the floor.
The low black craft swept rapidly across the bows
of the Silver Sides; the sputtering of its motor
ceased; and the next moment the pirates were
aboard the barge, lining up the dancers at the
points of their pistols, and preparing to take away
their ice-cream money.
And they did take it. They began at the bow of
273


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
the barge and walked to the stern, making one after
another of the excursionists deliver his valuables,
and then slipped quietly over the stern of the barge;
the pirate craft began to spit and sputter furiously;
and the next moment it was tearing through the
water like a streak of lightning.
To chase a speed-boat in an elderly river packet
would have been nonsense. Uncle Jerry signaled
full speed ahead and kept to the channel, where
his'boat belonged. Presently Mrs. Brooks, panting,
climbed to the pilot-house.
"Well, Pa," she said, "pirates has been and
robbed us."
"Don't I know it?" said Uncle Jerry testily.
"No need of comin' to tell me."
"They got all the ice-cream money," said Mrs.
Brooks.
"Well, 'twa'n't ourn, was it?" snapped Uncle
Jerry.
"Why, Pa, what a way to talk!" exclaimed Mrs.
Brooks. "It's like you thought it wa'n't nothin',
to be pirated right here in the forepart of the twen-
tieth century in the middle of the Mississippi River
in broad daylight —"
"'T ain't daylight," said Uncle Jerry shortly.
"It's midnight, and it's goin' to be long past mid-
night before we git ashore. A man can't get even
part of a night's rest no more. Everybody pirootin'
round, stoppin' boats an' stealin' ice-cream money!
Makes me 'tarnel mad, it do."
274


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
sternly, “we try to do all the good we can do,
whether we can do it or not." And he turned away
and sought a more secluded spot.
The affair of the pirate craft caused a tremendous
sensation in Riverbank. Before eight o'clock the
next morning every one in Riverbank seemed to
have heard of the affair, and when, at eight o'clock,
Philo Gubb entered the vacant Himmeldinger
house, which he was decorating, he started with
surprise to see Greasy already there. He had not
expected to see him at all. But there he was, trim.
ming the edge of a roll of Dietz's 7462 Bessie John,
and as he turned to greet Mr. Gubb, the detective
saw in Greasy's greasy tie what seemed to be his
own opal scarf-pin.
“That there," said Mr. Gubb sternly, “is a nice
scarf-pin you've got into your tie."
"Ain't it?" said Greasy proudly. “Me new lady.
friend give it to me last night."
To Greasy, Detective Gubb said nothing. He
was not yet ready to act. But to himself he mut-
tered:-
“Scarf-pin - scarf-pin. That there is a clue I
had ought to look into."
In the town excitement was high all day. There
was some time wasted while the Chief of Police and
the County Sheriff tried to discover which was com-
pelled by law to fight pirates, but the Chief of Police
finally put the job on the Sheriff's hands, and the
old Fourth of July cannon was loaded with powder
276


DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN
and nails and put on the bow of the good ferry-
boat Haddon P. Rogers, a posse of about three hun-
dred men with shotguns and army muskets was
crowded aboard, and the pirate-catcher got under
way.
This was, of course, Monday, and Monday the
Silver Sides made her usual down-river trip to
Bardenton, leaving in the morning and returning
late at night. It was usually two o'clock at night
when she tied up at the Riverbank levee, but this
time two o'clock came without the Silver Sides.
There was a good reason. As the packet neared
Hog Island, about two miles below the Towhead,
on her return trip, Uncle Jerry heard the sputter of
a gas engine and saw dart out from below Hog
Island the same low black craft that had carried
the pirates before. Even before the craft was within
range, the revolvers began to spit at the Silver Sides.
"Well, dang them pirates to the dickens!" ex-
claimed Uncle Jerry. "If they be goin' to keep up
this nonsense I'm goin' to get down-right mad at
'em." But he signaled the engine-room to slow down,
as if it was getting to be a habit with him. One of
the upper panes, just above his line of vision, clat-
tered down as he pulled the bell-rope.
At the first volley, Ma Brooks and her daughters
dashed into the galley and slammed the door. The
remainder of the male Brookses made two jumps to
the coal bins and began burrowing into the coal,
and the three non-Brooks members of the crew
277


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
voyage of vengeance, but now he changed his
mind.
A barn, large and vacant, would be an excellent
place in which to hide the proceeds of a pirate raid.
Lest possibly — the barn should recognize him
and hide itself, Mr. Gubb first went to his office in
the Opera House Building, disguised himself as a
hostler, with cowhide boots, a cob pipe, a battered
straw hat, and blue jean trousers. Lest his face be
recognized by the barn he wore a set of red under-
chin whiskers, which would have been more natural
had they been a paler shade of scarlet. Thus dis-
guised, he crept softly down the Opera House Build-
ing stairs and ran full into Billy Getz, Riverbank's
best example of the spoiled only-son species, and
the town's inveterate jester. Mr. Getz put a hand
on Mr. Gubb's arm.
"Sh-h!” he said mysteriously. “Not a word.
Only by chance did I recognize you, Mr. Gubb.
Now, about this pirate business — it has to stop."
“I am proceeding to the deteckative work pre-
liminary to so doing," said Mr. Gubb.
“Good!" said Billy Getz. “Because I can't have
such things happening on my Mississippi River. I
hate to see the dear old river get a bad name, Mr.
Gubb. I'm just organizing the Dear Old River
Anti-Pirate League – to suppress pirates, you
know. And we want you as our official detective.
In the meantime — Greasy! That's all I say — just
Greasy! Tough-looking character. Lives in a barn."
280



0
0
HE WORE A SET OF RED UNDER-CHIN
WHISKERS





DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN
"I am just proceeding to locate the whereabouts
of the barn," said Mr. Gubb.
"That's easy," said Billy Getz. "Hampton's
barn — Eighth Street alley. I know, because I've
been there. He's doing our scenery for the Kalmuck
summer show. You go straight up this street — or
no, you'd go in the opposite direction, and three
miles into the country, and back across the ceme-
tery, as advised in Lesson Thirteen, would n't you?"
"There are only twelve lessons," said Mr. Gubb
haughtily and stalked away. He went, however, to
Hampton's barn, climbed in through the alley win-
dow, and searched the place.
The barn contained nothing of interest. A cot
stood at one end of the hay-loft; and stretched
across the wall at the other end was a canvas on
which was a partly completed scene of a ruined
castle, with mountains in the distance. On the floor
were pails and brushes, bundles of dry colors, glue,
and the various articles needed by a scene-painter.
Mr. Gubb looked behind the canvas. No loot was
concealed there. He returned to his office, discarded
his disguise, and went back to the Himmeldinger
house. Seated on the front steps, quite neglecting
his work, was Greasy, and beside him sat a girl.
"This," said Greasy, "is Maggie Tiffkins. Youse
ought to know her. Mag, consider this a proper
knockdown to P. Gubb, my boss."
That night the Silver Sides was attacked by the
pirates on her return from Derlingport. The next
281


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
“Say, honest!" said Greasy, "if my boat was
workin' I'd go out alone in her and cop off them
hundred dollars. Youse is a detective, Gubb; why
don't youse get to work and grab them dollars?"
“Your boat is not into a workable condition?"
asked Philo Gubb.
"She's all but that,” said Greasy. “She's hauled
up on the levee, rottin' like a tomato. I tried to sell
her to Muller, the grocery feller where Mag gets
them raisins you liked, and I tried to trade her for a
ring to Calloway, the jewelry man what Mag got
my opal scarf-pin of, but I can't get rid of her no-
how. If I had her workin' I'd find them pirates or
I'd know why."
"I have remembered the thought of something;
I've got to go downtown," said Mr. Gubb, and he
left Greasy and went to question Mr. Muller and
Mr. Calloway. The one admitted selling Mag the
raisins, and the other the pin, and thus two perfectly
good clues went bad. Mr. Gubb turned toward
Fifth Street, when Billy Getz caught him by the
arm.
“Come on and hunt pirates," he said. “The good
cruiser Haddon P. Rogers is going to hit a new trail
- up-river this time. Come on along."
Billy Getz escorted him aboard the Haddon P.
Rogers and led him straight to the Sheriff on the
upper deck.
“Sheriff," he said, “we've got 'em now! This
time we've got 'em sure. Here's Gubb, the famous
284


DIETZ'S 7462 BESSIE JOHN
I
P. Gubb, detective, and after many solicitations he
has consented to accompany us. We will have the
pirate craft ere we return. P. Gubb never fails."
The Sheriff smiled good-naturedly.
"Always kidding, ain't you, Billy," he said.
The boat started. She steamed slowly up the river,
the members of the posse on the upper deck on either
side, scanning the shores carefully. Occasionally the
ferry-boat backed and ran closer to shore to permit
a nearer inspection of some skiff or to view some log
left on the shore by the last flood. Billy Getz, stand-
ing beside the Sheriff and P. Gubb, called their atten-
tion to every shadow and lump on the shore. The
boat proceeded on her slow course and reached the
channel between an island and the Illinois shore.
The wooded bank of the island rose directly from the
water, some of the water-elms dipping their roots
into the river. There was no place where a boat could
be hidden, and the ferry steamed slowly along. Billy
Getz poked solemn-faced fun at Mr. Gubb in the
most serious manner, and Mr. Gubb was sternly
haughty, knowing he was being made sport of. His
eyes rested with bird-like intensity on the wooded
shore of the island.
"Now, this combination of paper-hanging and
detecting has its advantages," said Billy Getz, with
a wink at the Sheriff. "When a man —"
Philo Gubb was not hearing him.
"The remarkableness of the similarity of nature
to art is quite often remarkable to observe," he said

285


HENRY
and twenty-five and going down rapidly. If worse goes
to worst, love to Gubby.
It is not surprising that Mr. Gubb sighed as he
lifted the exaggeratedly thin-waisted frock coat
from the package, but there came a tap on the door
and he hastily covered the coat with the wrapping
paper and turned to the door.
"Enter in," he said. And the door opened cau-
tiously and a short, ruddy-faced man entered, peer-
ing into the room first and then closing the door
behind him as cautiously as he had opened it.
"Are you this here detective feller?" he asked
bluntly.
"I am Mister P. Gubb, deteckating and paper-
hanging done, to command at your service," ad-
mitted Mr. Gubb. "Won't you take a seat onto a
chair?"
"Depends," said Mr. Gubb's visitor, keeping his
hand on the doorknob. "I"ll put it to you like this:
Say some guy stole something from me, and I was
willing to pay you for finding out who stole it and for
getting it back — you'd take a job like that and say
nothing about it to anybody, would n't you?"
"Most certainly sure," agreed Mr. Gubb.
"That's the idee! You'd keep it dark. It would
n't be nobody's business but yours and mine, would
it? It would be a quiet little deal between you and
me, and nobody would know anything about it.
Hey?"
"Exactly sure," said Philo Gubb. "The detecka-
289


HENRY
"Pleased to meet your acquaintance," said Mr.
Gubb. "What can I aim to do for you?"
Mr. Alibaba Singh brought a chair close to Mr.
Gubb's desk and seated himself. He leaned close to
Mr. Gubb — so close that Mr. Gubb scented the
rank odor of cheap hair-oil — and whispered.
"Everything is to be strictly confidential — most
strictly confidential. That's understood?"
"Most absolutely sure."
"Of course! Now, you must have heard of me —
I've made quite a stir here in Riverbank since
I came. Theosophical lectures — first lessons in
Nirvana — Buddhistic philosophy — mysteries of
Vedaism — et cetery."
"I read your advertisement notices into the news-
papers," admitted Mr. Gubb.
"Just so. I have done well here. Many sought the
mysteries. I have been unusually successful in
Riverbank." He stopped short and looked at Philo
Gubb suspiciously. "You don't believe in transmi-
gration, do you?" he asked.
"Not without I do without knowing it," said Mr.
Gubb. "What is it?"
"Transmigration," repeated Alibaba Singh. "It
— Hindoos believe in it. At death the souls of the
good enter higher forms of life; the souls of the
bad enter lower forms of life. If you were a bad
man and died you would become a — a dog, or a
horse, or — or something. You don't believe that,
do you?"

291


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
“Most certainly not at all!" said Mr. Gubb.
“I - I teach it,” said Alibaba Singh uneasily.
“It is part of my teaching."
“You don't aim to believe nothing of that sort,
do you?" asked Mr. Gubb as if he could not imagine
any man so foolish.
“Now, that's it!” said Alibaba Singh. “That's
why I came to you. All this is strictly confidential,
of course? Thanks. I can speak right out, Mr.
Gubb? I have in the past taught some things I did
not absolutely believe."
“Quite likely true," admitted Philo Gubb.
“We— we occulists get carried on by our elo-
quence," said Alibaba Singh. “We - we go too far
sometimes. Far too far! I admit it. I admit that
frankly. When our clients reach out to us for more
and more, we — we sometimes go too far. I won't
say we string them along. I would n't say that. But
we - we lead them farther than we have gone our.
selves, perhaps. You understand?"
“Almost absolutely," said Mr. Gubb.
"Just so! Mr. Gubb, one of my clients was greatly
interested in transmigration of souls — greatly
interested. She was interested in all things mystical
- in reincarnation; in the return of the spirits of
the dead; in everything like that. I— really, Mr.
Gubb, it was hard for me to keep up with her.”
“And you proceeded to go ahead and teach her
about this transmigration of souls that you don't
believe into yourself," said Mr. Gubb helpfully,
292


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
vage the pig for me, like one feller will help out
another in time of trouble. So I come down to River-
bank on the train, expecting Gus would show up at
the hotel and tell me where the pig was hid. All
right! Gus shows up. “Gus,' I says, 'where's Henry?'
Gus lets on to be worried. 'Stolen!' he says. Some
guy lifted him when I was n't looking.' Of course I
knew that was a lie, and I told him so. “Now,' he
says, ' you 'll never get Henry back. I meant to give
him back to you, but after you have talked to me
like that I'll never give him back. I'll keep him,'
he says, 'if I can find him.' So there you are, Mr.
Gubb. Henry is in Riverbank, and I want Henry.
This story about Henry being stolen is a lie. Henry
is hid, and Gus Smith knows where."
Mr. Gubb looked at Mr. Watts thoughtfully.
“Now, if you're one of these fellers with a con-
science," said Three-Finger, “you can send Henry
back to the Sheriff. But I won't have Greasy Gus
putting a trick like this over on me! No, sir!"
He shook hands with Mr. Gubb again and went
out. It was fully fifteen minutes before Mr. Gus P.
Smith, who must have been waiting across the
street, came in. He closed the door and locked it.
“I saw old Three-Finger come out of this build-
ing," he said. “What did he want?" :
“He came upon confidential business which can't
be mentioned," said Mr. Gubb.
"Just so!" said Mr. Smith. “He wanted you to
find Henry, the Educated Pig. Now, listen to me.
296


HENRY
I skipped out with that pig to do Three-Finger a
favor and save part of his show for him, and that's
the truth, but he don't believe it — not him! He
called me a thief and worse, he did. He had the
nerve to say I wanted that pig myself, to start in
business with, and that's a lie. No man can insult
me like that, Mr. Gubb. Look at this —"
He took from his pocket a couple of feet of whip-
cord and handed it to Philo Gubb.
"What is this?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"That's all that's left of Henry," said Greasy
Gus. "That's his total remains up to date. That's
the rope I led Henry with after I quit the wagon of
a farmer that rode us out of Derlingport. That cord
was tied to Henry's left hind foot. Look at the end
without the knot —. was that cut or was n't it?"
"I most generally reserve my opinion until later
than right at first," said Philo Gubb.
"All right, reserve it!" said Greasy Gus. "Looks
to me like it was cut. No matter. The main thing
I want is for you to find Henry. How's that?"
"Under them certain specifications," said Philo
Gubb, "I can take up the case and get right to
work onto it."
"All right, then," said Greasy Gus. "Now, here's
what I know abput it. I got out of Derlingport with
Henry, and when the farmer dumped us from his
wagon I hitched this whipcord to Henry's leg and
drove him along the road. After while I hit this town
of Riverbank. I thought maybe the police would
297


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
be looking for Henry. So I took to an alley instead
of a regular street, and along we came. We came
down the alley, and of a sudden I began to wonder
what I'd do with Henry now I'd got him into town.
It would look kind of suspicious for me and Henry
to go to a hotel. 'I know what I'll do,' I says to
myself: 'What I want to do is to go alone and rent
a barn and say I'm thinking of buying a pig if I
can get a place to keep him.' So that's what I
did."
. “You left the pig alone in the alley by itself?"
asked Philo Gubb.
“Yes, sir!” said Mr. Smith. “I found an alley
fence that had a staple in it, and I tied one end of
the whipcord to the staple and went down the alley
to find a barn I could put Henry in. About the fifth
barn I tried I found a place for Henry and then I
went back to get him, and he was gone!"
“And no clue?" asked Mr. Gubb.
“This tag end of the rope," said Greasy Gus.
“And that's all I know about where Henry went,
but my idee is somebody come along and seen him
there and just thought he'd have a pig cheap."
"It's a pretty hard case to work onto," said Mr.
Gubb doubtfully. “Somebody might have come
along with a wagon and loaded him in."
“Sure!" said Mr. Smith. “No telling at all.
That's why I come to you. If he was where I could
fall over him, I would n't need a detective, would I?
And if you find Henry I'll just give you these four
298


HENRY
five-dollar bills. I'm no millionaire, but I 'll blow
that much for the satisfaction of getting back at
Three-Finger Watts. Is it a go?"
"Under them certain specifications," said Mr.
Gubb, using the exact words he had used before,
"I can take up the case and get right to work onto
it."
Mr. Smith shook hands to bind the bargain and
departed.
He had hardly disappeared before Mr. Alibaba
Singh opened the door cautiously, put his head
inside and then entered.
"I thought that man would stay forever," he
said with annoyance. "He is n't in any way inter-
ested in my affairs or in the affairs of Mrs. Henry
K. Lippett, is he?"
"Nobody has been here that is interested into
anything you are interested into in the slightest
form or manner," Mr. Gubb assured him, and
Alibaba Singh sighed with relief.
"You never knew Henry K. Lippett, did you?"
he asked.
L "Never at all," said Mr. Gubb.
"He broke his neck," said Alibaba Singh, "and
it killed him."
He hesitated and seemed lost in thought. He
drew himself together sharply.
"It isn't possible!" he exclaimed with irritation
and with no connection with what he had just said.
"I don't believe it! I —I—".
299


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Mr. Guffins paused and groaned.
“But she would have it,” he went on. “She
would have me make the attempt. So —".
Mr. Guffins looked at Mr. Gubb appealingly.
“You don't believe I could do it, do you?" he
pleaded.
“Not in any manner of means," said Mr. Gubb.
“That's what I want you to prove to her," said
Mr. Guffins. “That's why I came to you. Every-
body knows you are a detective. I want you to
to get on my trail.”
“You want me to arrest you!" cried Mr. Gubb
with surprise.
“I want you to be looking for me as if you wanted
to arrest me,” said poor Mr. Guffins; “as if you had
received word that I was a fraud, and that you had
traced me to Mrs. Lippett's. You can go there and
say: 'Gone! I am too late! He has escaped.' And
then you can tell her it could n't be."
“That what could n't be?" asked Mr. Gubb.
“The room was darkish,” said Mr. Guffins.
“The lights were dim. I stood in the light of the red
globe, and it gave me a weird look. I held the crystal
globe in one hand and the jade talisman in the other.
The incense arose from the incense-burner. As if
out of the empty air, a sweet-toned bell rang three
times. I bowed low three times as the bell rang
and muttered the magic words. I made them up as
I said them, but they sounded mystic. Mrs. Lippett
was sitting on the edge of her chair, breathless with
302


HENRY
emotion. The curtains were drawn across the door
at the back of the room. You could have heard a
pin drop. We were alone, just we two. I felt creepy
myself. I turned toward the curtains. I said,
'Henry, appear!'"
"Yes?" queried Philo Gubb.
Mr. Guffins threw out both hands with a gesture
of utter despair.
"A pig came under the curtains," he groaned.
"A pig — a great, fat, double-chinned, pinky-white
pig, the kind you see at county fairs — came under
the curtains and grunted twice. It stood there and
raised its head and grunted twice."
Mr. Guffins wrung his hands nervously.
"It — it surprised me," he said, — "but only for
a minute. I said, 'Get out, you beast!' and was
going to kick it, but Mrs. Lippett rose slowly from
her chair. She half-tottered for an instant, and then
she covered her face with her hands. She began to
weep. 'I knew it!' she sobbed; 'I knew it! Oh,
Henry, I knew you ate too much. I told you and told
you again and again you were making a pig of
yourself. Oh, Henry, if you had only been less of a
pig when you were alive before!' And what do you
think that pig did?"
"What did it do?" asked Philo Gubb.
"It sat up on its hind legs and begged," said Mr.
Guffins, "begged for food. It was awful! Mrs.
Lippett could n't stand it. She wept. 'He was
always so hungry in his other life,' she said. 'I
r

303


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
can't begin to be stern with him now. To-morrow,
but not when he has just come back to me. Come,
Henry!'
"She went into the dining-room," continued Mr.
Guffins, "and Henry — or the pig, for it could n't
have been Henry— followed her. And what do
you think it did?"
"What?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"It went right to the dining-room table and
climbed into a chair. Pigs don't do that, do they?
But you don't believe it could have been Henry,
do you? It got up in the chair and sat in it, and put
its front feet on the table and grunted. And Mrs.
Lippett hurried about saying, 'Oh, Henry! Oh,
poor, dear Henry!' and brought a plate of fried
hominy and sliced apple and set it before him. And
he would n't touch it! He would n't eat. So Mre.
Lippett wept harder and got a napkin and tied it
around the pig's neck. Then the pig ate. He almost
climbed into the plate, and gobbled the food down.
And then he grunted for more. And Mrs. Lippett
wept and said: 'It's Henry! He always did tie a
napkin around his neck — he spilled his soup so.
It's Henry! It acts just like Henry. He never did
anything at the table but eat and grunt.' And so,"
said Mr. Guffins sadly, "she thinks it's Henry.
She's fixed up the guest bedroom for him."
"The idea of such a notion!" said Mr. Gubb.
"Well, that's it," said Mr. Guffins sadly. "I
ain't sure but it is Henry. Do you know, that pig
304


SHE THINKS IT S HENRY. SHE S FIXED UP THE GUEST
BEDROOM FOR HIM"





PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
an educated show-pig, and its name is Henry,
and —"
"And what?" asked Mr. Guffins eagerly.
"If you want to get rid of the pig out of Mrs.
Lippett's house, all you have to do is to write to
the Sheriff of Derling County, Derlingport, Iowa,
and you need n't trouble yourself into it no fur-
ther."
"Great Scott!" cried Mr. Guffins. "And you can
tell all that from that piece of cord!"
Mr. Gubb assumed a look of wisdom.
"Us gents that is into the deteckative business,"
he said carelessly, "has to learn twelve correspond-
ence lessons before we get our diplomas. The de-
teckative mind is educated up to such things."


* PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
pounds. Later discovered scales were one hundred and
five pounds out of balance, registering one hundred and
five pounds too much. I cannot marry you, now or ever,
Gubby dear, as cannot permit your faithful heart to wed
one who weighs five pounds less than nothing. Good-bye
forever.
SYRILLA.
The blow was a severe one to Mr. Gubb, as it
would have been to any lover who loved a half-ton
of beauty only to have her shrink to five pounds less
than nothing. For several days he remained locked
in his office, hardly touching food, and then, with a
sad heart he resumed his customary occupations.
He would never have learned the truth about Syrilla
had it not been for a tramp called Chi Foxy.
Chi Foxy made the long walk from Derlingport,
and night found him on the outskirts of Riverbank.
He begged a hand-out from one of the small houses
and hunted a place to spend the night. He found
it underneath a tool-house alongside the railway
tracks, and that it had been used as sleeping-
quarters by other tramps was shown by the heap of
crushed straw, the bread-crusts, and the remnants
of a small fire.
Chi Foxy crawled in and stretched himself out for
a comfortable night. He lighted his pipe, loosened
the laces of his shoes, and settled back for a com-
fortable smoke.
Just outside the rear of his sleeping quarters ran
the wire right-of-way fence, which was also the back
fence of a small piece of property on which stood a
308


BURIED BONES
the breeze, just like you blew in. No more free
board and gentle stone-pile massage in this town.
Drift along, bo!"
He turned up the first cross-street. He went from
house to house begging a hand-out, but the residents
were colder than the weather. At the twelfth house
he knocked on the back door, but he was beginning
to feel hopeless. A thin streamer of smoke was is-
suing from the kitchen chimney, and where there
is smoke there is food; but here, instead of a hard-
faced woman coming to the door, a man put his
face to the kitchen window and looked out. It was
the face of a tall, thin man with a long neck and
prominent Adam's-apple, and as the man peered out
of the window he looked something like a flamingo.
He opened the door.
"Come right into the inside," said Philo Gubb
pleasantly, "and heat yourself up warm. The
temperature is full of cold weather to-day."
Chi Foxy entered. He looked around the kitchen.
There was a brisk fire in the stove, but no sign of food.
"Say, pard," he said, "how about giving me a
, bite? I have n't had a bite this morning. I ain't
too late, am I?"
His host looked at him.
"You are not too late," he answered, "because it
may be some days of time before there is any eats
here, for what's burning into that stove is the un-
valueless trimmings off of wall-paper. I'm not the
regular resider at this house by no means."
3"


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Chi Foxy looked at his host again.
“You're a paper-hanger, ain't you?" he said.
“Paper-hanger and deteckative," said his host
proudly. “My name is Mister P. Gubb, graduate
of the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspond-
ence School of Deteckating in twelve lessons. And
paper-hanging done in a neat manner.”
Chi Foxy held out his hand eagerly.
“Shake, pard!” he asked. “That's my line,
too."
“Paper-hanging?" asked Philo Gubb.
“Detecting,” said Chi Foxy promptly. “I'm
one of the most famousest gum-shoe fellers in the
world. Me and this here great detective feller —
what's his name, now? — used to work team-work
together."
“Burns?" suggested Philo Gubb.
“Holmes,” said Chi Foxy, “Shermlock Holmes.
Me and him pulled off all them big jobs you maybe
have read about in the papers."
He pronounced the name of the celebrated de-
tective of fiction “Shermlock Hol-lums.”
“Oh, yes," said the tramp, “me and Shermlock
is great chums. And me and the kid!”
“To what kid do you refer to?" asked Philo Gubb.
“Why, my old side partner's little son, Sherm-
lock Hollums the Twoth," said Chi Foxy without a
blink. “And a cunnin' little feller he was — took
after his father like a cat after fish, he did. Me
and old Shermlock we used to hide things — candy
312


BURIED BONES
and — and oranges — and let little Shermlock go
and detect where they was. He was a great little
codger, he was."
He noticed that Mr. Gubb was looking at him
sharply. He looked down at his ragged garments.
"Disguise," he said briefly. "Nobody'd know a
swell dresser like I am in this rig, would he? Say,
pard, how about giving me a half-dollar to get
breakfast? Us detectives ought to have es-spirit
dee corpse, hey? We ought to stick by each other,
hey?"
The celebrated paper-hanger detective considered
Chi Foxy. It was evident that P. Gubb doubted
the authenticity of the tramp-detective.
"In times of necessary need," he said slowly, " I
often assume onto me the disguise of a tramp, but
I don't assume it onto me so complete that I go
asking for money to buy breakfast."
"You don't, hey?" said Chi Foxy scornfully.
"Well, you must be a swell detective, you must.
When I get into a tramp disguise I'm a tramp all
through."
"Most certainly," said P. Gubb. "And so am I.
But there's a difference into the way you are doing
it now. You ain't deteckating now. You are coming
at me as one deteckative unto another."
Chi Foxy laughed.
"Say,"he said, "I'd like to see this here Corre-
spondence School you graduated out of, I would.
I'd like to see the lessons they learn you, I would.
313


BURIED BONES
me on the head. And when I got into my own room
I kept right on being a tramp. Took off my clothes
— still a tramp. Took off my false whiskers — still
a tramp. I'd be there stark naked and I'd still be
a tramp. Yes, sir. That's the kind of detective dis-
guising I did. And then I'd take a bath. Then I was
myself again. Yes, sir. When I'd scrubbed myself
in the bathtub I figured I'd got rid of the tramp dis-
guise right down into the skin, and I'd be myself
again — and not until then."
He looked at P. Gubb out of the corner of his
eye.
"Why, I remember one time," he said briskly,
"I was asked to the Dook's palace to a swell party.
Me and Shermlock was both asked, because they
knew one of us would n't go unless the other did.
Well, sir, I had been out detecting in a tramp dis-
guise that day — findin' stolen jools and murderers
and that sort of business — and I went and took my
bath and rigged all up in swell clothes, and called
my limmy-seen automobile, and when the feller I
hired to drive the limmy-seen come to open the door
of the car at the Dook's palace I dodged. Yes, sir,
I dodged like I thought he was going to hit me
because I had n't no business in my own limmy-seen
automobile. That was funny, was n't it? So I went
up the steps into the Dook's palace, and the gentle-
man he had to open the door opened the door, and
he called out my name and up come the Dookess —
Mrs. Dook of Sluff, as they call her, but I always
315


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
called her Maggie, like she called me Mike. So she
says to me,'Mike, I'm mighty glad to see you here.
We're going to have a swell party.' And I started
to say back something pleasant, but what I said was,
'Please, missus, won't you give a poor cove a hand-
out?"*
"What seemed to be the reason you said that?"
asked Philo Gubb with interest.
"That's what worried me," said Chi Foxy. "I
did n't mean to say it. I just said it against my will,
as you might say. But I guess she thought I was
tryin' to be smart, for she just says, 'Naughty,
naughty, Mike,' and whistled to the Dook to come
and blow me off to the feeds. So the Dook come and
led me into the dining-room, and stacked me up
against the table for a stand-up feed. Swell feed,
bo! Samwiches till you could n't rest — ham sam-
wiches and chicken samwiches and tongue sam-
wiches and club samwiches and — and all kinds of
samwiches. And what did I do? I grabbed half a
dozen of them samwiches and rammed them into
my pants pocket, just like a tramp would do it.
The Dook looked surprised, but he begun to haw-
haw, and he slapped me on the back and said, 'Good
joke, ol' chap, good joke!' So that passed off all
right. Then I went into the jool room, because the
Dook had told me his son, the Dookette, or what
you might call the little Dookerino, was in there. So
in I went, and the first thing I knew I was hiding
one of the Dook's gold crowns inside my vest. In a
316


BURIED BONES
I'm starvin'. Gimme fifty cents, mister. Gimme a
quarter if you won't give me fifty. Come on, now,
be a good feller."
"A deteckative like you are ought n't to need
twenty-five cents so bad as that," said P. Gubb.
"A deteckative acquainted with the knowing of a
Dook and of Sherlock Holmes don't have to beg."
Chi Foxy actually gritted his teeth. He was
angry with himself. He had talked too well. He
had proved so thoroughly that he was a detective
that P. Gubb would not believe he was hungry.
"See here, bo," he said suddenly, "is this straight
about you being a detective, or is that a bluff, too?"
Philo Gubb showed Chi Foxy the badge he had
received upon completion of his correspondence
course of twelve lessons.
"I'm the most celebrated and only deteckative
in the town of Riverbank, Iowa," he said seriously,
"and you can ask the Sheriff or the Chief of Police
if you don't believe me. I'm working right now onto
a case of quite some importance, into which a calf
was stolen, but up to now the clues ain't what they
should be. If you don't think I'm a deteckative you
can ask Farmer Hopper. He hired me for to get the
capture of the guilty calf-stealer aforesaid."
,. Chi Foxy studied P. Gubb's simple face.
"And you can arrest a feller and lodge him in
jail?" he asked.
"I've arrested many and lodged them into jail,"
P. Gubb assured him.

319





BURIED BONES
here. Take me down to the lock-up. Me and you
can hold me all right."
"It's somewhat out of the ordinary common run
for a feller to be a deteckative and the criminal
murderer he's chasing both at once," said P. Gubb
doubtfully.
"That's so, ain't it?" agreed Chi Foxy. "It looks
that way. But facts are facts, ain't they?"
"Quite occasionally they are such," agreed P.
Gubb.
"That's right," said Chi Foxy. "And all you've
got to do is to explain them. You see, bo, I was a
young feller when I murdered this old miser —"
"What did you say his name was?" asked P.
Gubb.
"Smith," said Chi Foxy promptly. "John J.
Smith, and he lived right here in this town. And
I murdered the old feller and got away. Nobody
cared much whether the old feller was murdered or
not, and nothin' much might have been said of it ex-
cept that the old feller had a nephew. His name
was Smith — Peter P. Smith."
"What did he do?" asked P. Gubb.
"He offered a reward of a thousand dollars,"
said Chi Foxy. "It was one of them unsolved
mystery cases — one of them cases that never get
solved because no detective is smart enough to
solve it. Nobody knew who killed old John J.
Smith but me, and I was't going around telling it."
"I should think not," said P. Gubb.
321


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"No, sir!" said Chi Foxy. "So I was as safe
as a babe unborn. I skipped up the river to Min-
neapolis, and nobody thought of lookin' for me,
because I was n't suspected. And then I did a fool
thing."
"Murderers 'most always does," said P. Gubb.
"Sure!" said Chi Foxy. "I thought I'd go to
New Orleans. It was all right — nice trip — until
we got to Dubuque, and then what happened?
The old steamboat blew up. I went sailin' up in
the air like one of these here skyrockets, I did, and
when I come down I lit head first."
"It is a remarkable wonder it did n't kill you to
death," said P. Gubb.
"Ain't it?" said Chi Foxy. "But it did worse
than kill me. It knocked my senses out of me.
When I come to I did n't know what had happened.
I did n't remember a thing out of my past — not
a thing. I was like a newborn babe. I did n't have
an idea or a memory left in me. When they picked
me up and I opened my eyes I could just say 'Ah-
goo* and 'Da-da' and things like that, and I did n't
know who I was or where I'd been or anything. So
some kind folks took me and sent me to kinder-
garden, and I started in to learn my A-B-C's and
things like that. I learned fast, and pretty soon I
was in the high school, and pretty soon I graduated,
and the name I graduated under was Mike Higgs,
Higgs being the name of the family that adopted
322


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
point of a pin," said Chi Foxy, "crushed into ti.
carpet by the old miser's bed, where he had been
killed. I picked up the speck of red pepper and
microscoped it, and I saw that along one edge it was
sort of brown, where it had been burned a little."
"Have you got it now?" asked P. Gubb.
"Got it?" said Chi Foxy. "I should say not.
While I was lookin' at it a breeze come and blowed
it away, and I never saw it again, but that was
enough for me. 'Red pepper,' I says, 'partly
burned,' and I began to tremble. 'Cause why?
'Cause I never was able to get smoking tobacco
strong enough to suit me, and to make it taste
snappy I always put a little red pepper in my pipe.
I turned as white as a sheet. 'Red pepper partly
burned!' I says to myself. 'Nobody in the world
but me puts red pepper in his tobacco.'
"Well, sir, I started tracing myself back and I
found out I was the murderer. And I was the detec-
tive after the murderer. I was everybody concerned.
In a moment I was overcome by criminal fear and
I fled. I fled all over Europe, Asia, and Africa, and
wherever I went I was right after myself, ready to
arrest me."
Chi Foxy paused and glanced at P. Gubb ques-
tioningly. With a solemn face the great Corre-
spondence School detective blinked his bird-like
eyes at Chi Foxy.
"So now arrest me," said Chi Foxy.
Philo Gubb rubbed his chin. "I'd like to favor
.,,J —4HHb
324



BURIED BONES
you by so doing, Mr. Jones," he said, "for I can easy
see, Mr. Higgs, that you can't arrest yourself, but it
is against the instructions in Lesson Six of the Ris-
ing Sun Correspondence School of Deteckating for a
graduate to arrest a man without a good clue, and
the only clue you had was blowed away."
For a moment this seemed to annoy Chi Foxy,
but his face suddenly brightened.
"Clue?" he said. "Say, friend, I would n't ask
you to arrest me on any such clue as a speck of
red pepper. No, sir! But I've got a clue that'll
mean something. I can tell you right where I
buried that old miser's bones, I can. You go up the
river road until you come to a tool-house on the
railway, and just back of the tool-house is a dwell-
in'-house — old and unpainted. All right! Right
in that yard, close to the railway fence, the bones
is buried. Now, you turn me over to the law, and
you go up there —"
"We'd best go up there immediately first before
anything else," said Philo Gubb, starting to remove
his paper-hanger's apron. "Putting off clues until
sometime else is against Paragraph Four, Lesson
One. If you come up there with me —"
"Look here," said Chi Foxy, "will you buy me a
feed on the way up if I go with you?"
"Quite certainly sure," said P. Gubb, and so it
was agreed.
The paper-hanger detective and the criminal-
detective stopped at Hank's restaurant and Chi
325


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Foxy ate a heavy meal, and then led the way to the
tool-house, and pointed over the wire fence to the
spot where the bones of the murdered miser were
supposed to repose.
"Right there!" he said, but when P. Gubb had
climbed the fence and had turned to look for Chi
Foxy, the late detective-criminal was gone. Mr.
Gubb's face turned red, but as he hung his head in
shame he noticed that the ground at his feet had
lately been spaded. He stooped to look at it, and
then walked to the weather-beaten house and
knocked. A lanky, loose-jointed man came to the
door, and a woman peered at Mr. Gubb from behind
the man.
“I hope you'll pardon," said Mr. Gubb politely,
“but my name is P. Gubb, deteckative and paper-
hanger, and I'm looking up a case. Might I trouble
you for the loan of a spade or shovel?"
“What you want with it?" asked the man
gruffly.
“To dig," said Mr. Gubb.
The man reluctantly handed Mr. Gubb a spade
on which there were still traces of soft, sandy soil.
Mr. Gubb walked to the rear of the yard and jabbed
the spade into the soft soil. It struck something
hard. In a moment or two Mr. Gubb had the
evidences of crime completely uncovered. There
were bones buried there many bones. Mr. Gubb
looked up and wiped his brow. Then he looked down
at the bones. One was a skull. Mr. Gubb stared at
326


BURIED BONES
it. It was indeed a skull, but it was the skull of a
calf. All the bones were calf bones — not bones
of the human calf, but bones of the veal calf. Mr.
Gubb turned his head and saw the long lanky man
approaching.
"All right," said the long, lanky man, "I give up.
You've got me. I surrender. When a detective gets
that close, a man has n't any chance. I own up.
I did it."
"You did what?"
"Now, quit!" said the long, lanky man. "No
use rubbin' it in after I've owned up. You know
as well as I do — I'm the man that stole Farmer
Hopper's calf. I give up. I surrender."
"I'm much obliged to you," said Philo Gubb.
"Well, I ain't obliged to you" said the lanky
man, "but I wish you'd tell me how you found out
I was the calf thief."
Mr. Gubb smiled an inscrutable smile.
"A deteckative acquires dexterity in the way of
capturing up the criminal classes," he said with
oracular yet modest simplicity.
The next day, when Mr. Gubb returned to his
paper-hanging job he found Chi Foxy waiting for
him.
"Boss," he said with a laugh, "I showed you
where that murdered man's bones was buried, won't
you stake me to a meal?"
"Are you hungry again?" asked Mr. Gubb.
327


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
“Hungry?" said Chi Foxy. “I'm so hungry that
I feel like a living skeleton. I'm so hungry that a
square meal would make me feel like Syrilla, that
Fat Lady I seen at Derlingport a couple of days
ago."
“What's that you remarked about?" asked Mr.
Gubb, pinning Chi Foxy with his eye. “Did I
understand the meaning of what you said was that
you saw a Fat Lady named Syrilla?".
“At Derlingport,” said Chi Foxy. “A swell guy
named Medderbrook give me a meal and a ticket
to the big show. It was a performance de luxe, so
to say. Special attraction, bo. You'd have laughed
your head off. This here Syrilla Fat Lady got
married to the Living Skeleton in the middle ring,
and she had the Snake Charmer for a bridesmaid.
Say! you'd have laughed -".
But Mr. Gubb did not laugh. He never laughed
again.


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
Philo Gubb, wrapped in his bathrobe, went to the
door of the room that was the headquarters of his
business of paper-hanging and decorating as well as
the office of his detective business, and opened the
door a crack. It was still early in the morning, but
Mr. Gubb was a modest man, and, lest any one
should see him in his scanty attire, he peered through
the crack of the door before he stepped hastily into
the hall and captured his copy of the "Riverbank
Daily Eagle." When he had secured the still damp
newspaper, he returned to his cot bed and spread
himself out to read comfortably.
It was a hot Iowa morning. Business was so
slack that if Mr. Gubb had not taken out his set of
eight varieties of false whiskers daily and brushed
them carefully, the moths would have been able to
devour them at leisure.
P. Gubb opened the " Eagle." The first words that
met his eye caused him to sit upright on his cot. At
the top of the first column of the first page were the
headlines.
MYSTERIOUS DEATH OF HENRY SMITZ
Body Found In Mississippi River By Boatman Early This A.M.
Foul Play Suspected
329


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Mr. Gubb unfolded the paper and read the item
under the headlines with the most intense interest.
Foul play meant the possibility of an opportunity
to put to use once more the precepts of the Course
of Twelve Lessons, and with them fresh in his mind
Detective Gubb was eager to undertake the solution
of any mystery that Riverbank could furnish. This
was the article: —
Just as we go to press we receive word through Police-
man 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 Brown son
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 sus-
pected.
"I should think foul play would be suspected," ex-
claimed Philo Gubb, " if a man was sewed into a bag
and deposited into the Mississippi River until dead."
He propped the paper against the foot of the cot
bed and was still reading when some one knocked
on his door. He wrapped his bathrobe carefully
about him and opened the door. A young woman
with tear-dimmed eyes stood in the doorway.
"Mr. P. Gubb?" she asked. "I'm sorry to dis-
turb you so early in the morning, Mr. Gubb, but I
could n't sleep all night. I came on a matter of

330


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
business, as you might say. There's a couple of
things I want you to do."
"Paper-hanging or deteckating?" asked P. Gubb.
"Both," said the young woman. "My name is
Smitz — Emily Smitz. My husband —"
"I'm aware of the knowledge of your loss,
ma'am," said the paper-hanger detective gently.
"Lots of people know of it," said Mrs. Smitz.
"I guess everybody knows of it — I told the police
to try to find Henry, so it is no secret. And I want
you to come up as soon as you get dressed, and
paper my bedroom."
Mr. Gubb looked at the young woman as if he
thought she had gone insane under the burden of
her woe.
"And then I want you to find Henry," she said,
"because I've heard you can do so well in the de-
tecting line."
Mr. Gubb suddenly realized that the poor crea-
ture did not yet know the full extent of her loss. He
gazed down upon her with pity in his bird-like eyes.
"I know you'll think it strange," the young
woman went on, "that I should ask you to paper
a bedroom first, when my husband is lost; but if
he is gone it is because I was a mean, stubborn
thing. We never quarreled in our lives, Mr. Gubb,
until I picked out the wall-paper for our bedroom,
and Henry said parrots and birds-of-paradise and
tropical flowers that were as big as umbrellas would
look awful on our bedroom wall. So I said he had n't
331


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
suspenders over his bony shoulders, looked at Mr.
Wiggins with keen eyes.
"Well, just because him and me had words in
fun," said Mr. Wiggins, “I leave it to you, can't a
man say words in fun once in a while?”.
“Certainly sure," said Mr. Gubb.
“I guess so," said Mr. Wiggins. “Anybody'd
know a man don't mean all he says. When I went
and told Hen Smitz I'd murder him as sure as
green apples grow on a tree, I was just fooling. But
this fool policeman -—"
“Mr. O'Toole?"
“Yes. They gave him this Hen Smitz case to
look into, and the first thing he did was to arrest me
for murder. Nervy, I call it."
Policeman O'Toole opened the door a crack and
peeked in. Seeing Mr. Gubb well along in his
dressing operations, he opened the door wider
and assisted Mrs. Smitz to a chair. She was still
limp, but she was a brave little woman and was
trying to control her sobs.
"Through?” O'Toole asked Wiggins. “If you
are, come along back to jail.”
“Now, don't talk to me in that tone of voice,"
said Mr. Wiggins angrily. “No, I'm not through.
You don't know how to treat a gentleman like a
gentleman, and never did.”
He turned to Mr. Gubb.
“The long and short of it is this: I'm arrested
for the murder of Hen Smitz, and I did n't murder
334


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
him and I want you to take my case and get me
out of jail."
"Ah, stuff!” exclaimed O'Toole. “You mur-
dered him and you know you did. What's the use
talkin'?"
Mrs. Smitz leaned forward in her chair.
“Murdered Henry?" she cried. “He never mur-
dered Henry. I murdered him."
“Now, ma'am,” said O'Toole politely, “I hate
to contradict a lady, but you never murdered him at
all. This man here murdered him, and I've got the
proof on him.”
“I murdered him!” cried Mrs. Smitz again. “I
drove him out of his right mind and made him kill
himself."
“Nothing of the sort,” declared O'Toole. “This
man Wiggins murdered him.”
“I did not!” exclaimed Mr. Wiggins indignantly.
“Some other man did it."
It seemed a deadlock, for each was quite positive.
Mr. Gubb looked from one to the other doubtfully.
“All right, take me back to jail," said Mr. Wig-
gins. “You look up the case, Mr. Gubb; that's all
I came here for. Will you do it? Dig into it, hey?"
"I most certainly shall be glad to so do," said Mr.
Gubb, “at the regular terms."
O'Toole led his prisoner away.
For a few minutes Mrs. Smitz sat silent, her
hands clasped, staring at the floor. Then she looked
up into Mr. Gubb's eyes.
335



PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
"You will work on this case, Mr. Gubb, won't
you?" she begged. "I have a little money — I'll
give it all to have you do your best. It is cruel —
cruel to have that poor man suffer under the charge
of murder when I know so well Henry killed himself
because I was cross with him. You can prove he
killed himself — that it was my fault. You will?"
"The way the deteckative profession operates
onto a case," said Mr. Gubb, "is n't to go to work
to prove anything particularly especial. It finds a
clue or clues and follows them to where they lead to.
That I shall be willing to do."
"That is all I could ask," said Mrs.Smitz gratefully.
Arising from her seat with difficulty, she walked
tremblingly to the door. Mr. Gubb assisted her
down the stairs, and it was not until she was gone
that he remembered that she did not know the body
of her husband had been found — sewed in a sack
and at the bottom of the river. Young husbands
have been known to quarrel with their wives over
matters as trivial as bedroom wall-paper; they have
even been known to leave home for several days at
a time when angry; in extreme cases they have even
been known to seek death at their own hands; but
it is not at all usual for a young husband to leave
home for several days and then in cold blood sew
himself in a sack and jump into the river. In the
first place there are easier ways of terminating one's
life; in the second place a man can jump into the
river with perfect ease without going to the trouble
336


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
of sewing himself in a sack; and in the third place
it is exceedingly difficult for a man to sew himself
into a sack. It is almost impossible.
To sew himself into a sack a man must have no
little skill, and he must have a large, roomy sack.
He takes, let us say, a sack-needle, threaded with
a good length of twine; he steps into the sack and
pulls it up over his head; he then reaches above his
head, holding the mouth of the sack together with
one hand while he sews with the other hand. In hot
anger this would be quite impossible.
Philo Gubb thought of all this as he looked
through his disguises, selecting one suitable for the
work he had in hand. He had just decided that the
most appropriate disguise would be "Number 13,
Undertaker," and had picked up the close black wig,
and long, drooping mustache, when he had another
thought. Given a bag sufficiently loose to permit
free motion of the hands and arms, and a man, even
in hot anger, might sew himself in. A man, intent
on suicidally bagging himself, would sew the mouth
of the bag shut and would then cut a slit in the front
of the bag large enough to crawl into. He would then
crawl into the bag and sew up the slit, which would
be immediately in front of his hands. It could be
done! Philo Gubb chose from his wardrobe a black
frock coat and a silk hat with a wide band of crape.
He carefully locked his door and went down to the
street.
On a day as hot as this day promised to be, a frock

337



HE WAS FOLLOWED BY A LARGE AND GROWING GROUP INTENT ON WATCHING
A DETECTIVE DETECT


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
I look at it is that an assistant-suicide is jest the
same as a murderer."
The crowd murmured approval, but Mr. Gubb
held up his hand for silence.
"In certain kinds of burlap bags it is possibly
probable a man could sew himself into it," said Mr.
Gubb, and the crowd, seeing the logic of the re-
mark applauded gently but feelingly.
"You ain't seen the way he was sewed up," said
ILong Sam, "or you would n't talk like that."
"I have n't yet took a look," admitted Mr. Gubb,
"but I aim so to do immediately after I find a clue
onto which to work up my case. An A-i detecka-
tive can't set forth to work until he has a clue, that
being a rule of the game."
"What kind of a clue was you lookin' for?" asked
Long Sam. "What's a clue, anyway?"
"A clue," said P. Gubb, "is almost anything
connected with the late lamented, but generally
something that nobody but a deteckative would
think had anything to do with anything whatsoever.
Not infrequently often it is a button."
"Well, I've got no button except them that is
sewed onto me," said Long Sam, "but if this here
sackneedle will do any good —"
He brought from his pocket the point of a heavy
sack-needle and laid it in Philo Gubb's palm. Mr.
Gubb looked at it carefully. In the eye of the needle
still remained a few inches of twine.
"I cut that off'n the burlap he was sewed up in,"

341


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
immediately on the river's edge, together with the
"yards" or pens, all enclosed by a high board fence,
constituted the plant of the packing company, and
as Mr. Gubb appeared at the gate the watchman
there stood aside to let him enter.
"Good-morning, Mr. Gubb," he said pleasantly.
"I been sort of expecting you. Always right on the
job when there's crime being done, ain't you?
You'll find Merkel and Brill and Jokosky and the
rest of Wiggins's crew in the main building, and I
guess they'll tell you just what they told the police.
They hate it, but what else can they say? It's the
truth."
"What is the truth?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"That Wiggins was dead sore at Hen Smitz,"
said the watchman. "That Wiggins told Hen he'd
do for him if he lost them their jobs like he said he
would. That's the truth."
Mr. Gubb — his admiring followers were halted
at the gate by the watchman — entered the large
building and inquired his way to Mr. Wiggins's
department. He found it on the side of the building
toward the river and on the ground floor. On one
side the vast room led into the refrigerating room of
the company; on the other it opened upon a long
but narrow dock that ran the width of the building.
Along the outer edge of the dock were tied two
barges, and into these barges some of Wiggins's
crew were dumping mutton — not legs of mutton
but entire sheep, neatly sewed in burlap. The large
343


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
room was the packing and shipping room, and
the work of Wiggins's crew was that of sewing the
slaughtered and refrigerated sheep carcasses in bur-
lap for shipment. Bales of burlap stood against one
wall; strands of hemp twine ready for the needle
hung from pegs in the wall and the posts that sup-
ported the floor above. The contiguity of the refrig-
erating room gave the room a pleasantly cool at-
mosphere.
Mr. Gubb glanced sharply around. Here was the
burlap, here were needles, here was twine. Yonder
was the river into which Hen Smitz had been thrown.
He glanced across the narrow dock at the blue river.
As his eye returned he noticed one of the men care-
fully sweeping the dock with a broom — sweeping
fragments of glass into the river. As the men in the
room watched him curiously, Mr. Gubb picked up a
piece of burlap and put it in his pocket, wrapped a
strand of twine around his finger and pocketed the
twine, examined the needles stuck in improvised
needle-holders made by boring gimlet holes in the
wall, and then walked to the dock and picked up one
of the pieces of glass.
"Clues," he remarked, and gave his attention to
the work of questioning the men.
Although manifestly reluctant, they honestly ad-
mitted that Wiggins had more than once threatened
Hen Smitz — that he hated Hen Smitz with the
hatred of a man who has been threatened with the
loss of his job. Mr. Gubb learned that Hen Smitz
344


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
had been the foreman for the entire building — a
sort of autocrat with, as Wiggins's crew informed
him, an easy job. He had only to see that the crews
in the building turned out more work this year than
they did last year. "'Ficiency" had been his motto,
they said, and they hated '"Ficiency."
Mr. Gubb's gallery was awaiting him at the gate,
and its members were in a heated discussion as to
what Mr. Gubb had been doing. They ceased at
once when he appeared and fell in behind him as he
walked away from the packing house and toward
the undertaking establishment of Mr. Holworthy
Bartman, on the main street. Here, joining the
curious group already assembled, the gallery was
forced to wait while Mr. Gubb entered. His task
was an unpleasant but necessary one. He must visit
the little "morgue" at the back of Mr. Bartman's
establishment.
The body of poor Hen Smitz had not yet been re-
moved from the bag in which it had been found, and
it was to the bag Mr. Gubb gave his closest atten-
tion. The bag — in order that the body might be
identified — had not been ripped, but had been cut,
and not a stitch had been severed. It did not take
Mr. Gubb a moment to see that Hen Smitz had not
been sewed in a bag at all. He had been sewed
in burlap — burlap "yard goods," to use a shop-
keeper's term — and it was burlap identical with
that used by Mr. Wiggins and his crew. It was
no loose bag of burlap — but a close-fitting wrap-

345


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
ping of burlap; a cocoon of burlap that had been
drawn tight around the body, as burlap is drawn
tight around the carcass of sheep for shipment, like
a mummy's wrappings.
It would have been utterly impossible for Hen
Smitz to have sewed himself into the casing, not
only because it bound his arms tight to his sides, but
because the burlap was lapped over and sewed from
the outside. This, once and for all, ended the suicide
theory. The question was: Who was the murderer?
As Philo Gubb turned away from the bier, Under-
taker Bartman entered the morgue.
"The crowd outside is getting impatient, Mr.
Gubb," he said in his soft, undertakery voice. "It
is getting on toward their lunch hour, and they want
to crowd into my front office to find out what you've
learned. I'm afraid they'll break my plate-glass
windows, they're pushing so hard against them.
I don't want to hurry you, but if you would go out
and tell them Wiggins is the murderer they'll go
away. Of course there's no doubt about Wiggins
being the murderer, since he has admitted he asked
the stock-keeper for the electric-light bulb."
"What bulb?" asked Philo Gubb.
"The electric-light bulb we found sewed inside
this burlap when we sliced it open," said Bartman.
"Matter of fact, we found it in Hen's hand. O'Toole
took it for a clue and I guess it fixes the murder on
Wiggins beyond all doubt. The stock-keeper says
Wiggins got it from him."

346


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
"And what does Wiggins remark on that sub-
ject?" asked Mr. Gubb.
"Not a word," said Bartman. "His lawyer told
him not to open his mouth, and he won't. Listen
to that crowd out there!"
"I will attend to that crowd right presently,"
said P. Gubb, sternly. "What I should wish to know
now is why Mister Wiggins went and sewed an
electric-light bulb in with the corpse for."
"In the first place," said Mr. Bartman, "he
did n't sew it in with any corpse, because Hen
Smitz was n't a corpse when he was sewed in that
burlap, unless Wiggins drowned him first, for Dr.
Mortimer says Hen Smitz died of drowning; and
in the second place, if you had a live man to sew in
burlap, and had to hold him while you sewed him,
you'd be liable to sew anything in with him.
"My idea is that Wiggins and some of his crew
jumped on Hen Smitz and threw him down, and
some of them held him while the others sewed him
in. My idea is that Wiggins got that electric-light
bulb to replace one that had burned out, and that
he met Hen Smitz and had words with him, and
they clinched, and Hen Smitz grabbed the bulb,
and then the others came, and they sewed him into
the burlap and dumped him into the river.
"So all you 've got to do is to go out and tell that
crowd that Wiggins did it and that you 'll let them
know who helped him as soon as you find out. And
you better do it before they break my windows."
347


PHILO GUBB, THE DETECTIVE
Detective Gubb turned and went out of the
morgue. As he left the undertaker's establishment
the crowd gave a slight cheer, but Mr. Gubb walked
hurriedly toward the jail. He found Policeman
O'Toole there and questioned him about the bulb;
and O'Toole, proud to be the center of so large and
interested a gathering of his fellow citizens, pulled
the bulb from his pocket and handed it to Mr. Gubb,
while he repeated in more detail the facts given by
Mr. Bartman. Mr. Gubb looked at the bulb.
"I presume to suppose," he said, "that Mr.
Wiggins asked the stock-keeper for a new bulb to
replace one that was burned out?"
"You're right," said O'Toole. "Why?"
"For the reason that this bulb is a burned-out
bulb," said Mr. Gubb.
And so it was. The inner surface of the bulb was
darkened slightly, and the filament of carbon was
severed. O'Toole took the bulb and examined it
curiously.
"That's odd, ain't it?" he said.
"It might so seem to the non-deteckative mind,"
said Mr. Gubb, "but to the deteckative mind,
nothing is odd."
"No, no, this ain't so odd, either," said O'Toole,
"for whether Hen Smitz grabbed the bulb before
Wiggins changed the new one for the old one, or
after he changed it, don't make so much difference,
when you come to think of it."
"To the deteckative mind," said Mr. Gubb, "it

Tl
348


PHILO GUBB'S GREATEST CASE
Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of
Detecting's Course of Twelve Lessons, says: —
In cases of extreme difficulty of solution it is well for
the detective to reenact as nearly as possible the prob-
able action of the crime.
Mr. Philo Gubb had done so. He had also proved
that a man may be sewn in a sack and drowned in
a river without committing willful suicide or being
the victim of foul play.
THE END


Che Riverside Press
CAMBRIDGE . MASSACHUSETTS
U.S.A












UNIVERSITY OF MICHIGAN
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