Chapter 8

"Well, I guess, if I was left alone long enough to get down from this ladder, I could clear him myself. I didn't study in the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating for nothing," said Philo Gubb. "Snooks hired me--"

"And he did well!" said Attorney Smith heartily. "I praise his acumen. I wonder if I might be permitted, on behalf of the powerful interests I represent, to contribute to the expense of the work you will do?"

"I guess you might," said Philo Gubb. "Deteckating runs into money."

"The interests I represent," said Mr. Smith, taking out his wallet, "will contribute ten dollars."

And they did. They put a crisp ten-dollar bill in Philo Gubb's hands.

"And now, having shown our unity of interest with young Mr. Turner, there can be no harm in telling us where that beer is, can there?"

He turned toward the kitchen door--for Nan Kilfillan stood there. Her eyes were red and swollen. Attorney Smith hastily excused himself and went away, and Nan came into the kitchen.

"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she exclaimed. "You _will_ get Snooks out of jail, won't you? It would break my heart if he was sent to the penitentiary, and I _know_ he has done nothing wrong! He is depending on you, Mr. Gubb. I brought you ten dollars--it is all I have left of last month's wages, but it will help a little, won't it?"

"Thank you," said Philo Gubb, taking the money. "I cannot estimate in advance what the cost of his clearance will be. It may be more, and it may be less. It is a complicated case. I am just about going to get down from this ladder and start working on it vigorously. If you--"

He stopped.

"If you wish to help us in this case, Miss Kilfillan," he said, "will you go to the jail and ask Snooks where is the beer and the beer-opener?"

"Where is--" Her face went white. "What beer and what beer-opener?" she asked tensely.

"Seven bottles and a beer-opener," said Philo Gubb.

"Oh!" she moaned. "And he said he didn't do it! He swore he didn't do it! Oh, Snooks, how could you--how could you!"

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

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

She was a stout woman, and she was almost out of breath. She had to stand a minute before she could speak, but as she stood she made gestures with her hands, as if _that_ much of her delivery could be given, at any rate, and the words might catch up with their appropriate gestures if they could.

"Mister Gubb! Mister Gubb!" she gasped. "Oh, this is terrible! Terrible! Miss Turner should never have dared it! Oh, my breath! Do you--do you know where the beer is?"

"I wouldn't advise you to take beer for shortness of the breath," said Philo Gubb. "Just rest a minute."

"But," gasped poor Mrs. Wilmerton, "I _told_ Miss Turner it was folly! She's so stubborn! Ah--h! I thought I'd never get a full breath again as long as I lived. How can we get rid of the beer?"

"There's plenty want to take it," said Mr. Gubb. "Attorney Smith--"

"Oh, I knew it! I knew it!" moaned Mrs. Wilmerton. "He threatened it!"

"Threatened what?" asked Philo Gubb.

"That he would find the beer in this house!" cried Mrs. Wilmerton. "He threatened Aunt Martha that if she did not give it to him freely, he would have it found here, and make a scandal! Beer hidden between the quilt and the mattress of Aunt Martha's bed, and she Secretary of the Ladies' Temperance League! It's awful! Martha is so headstrong! She's getting herself in an awful fix! She never should have had a thing to do with that Slippery fellow!"

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

"Well, she had plenty, and enough, and more than that to do with him," said Mrs. Wilmerton angrily. "Getting bottles of beer in her bed, and robbing houses at her time of life, and wanting the Ladies' Temperance League to have a special meeting this morning to approve of burglary and larceny! At her age!"

"Now, Miss Wilmerton," said Philo Gubb, from the top of the ladder, "I'd ought to warn you, before you go any farther, that Snooks Turner has engaged me and my services to detect for him in this burglar case. If Aunt Martha Turner burgled the burglary that Snooks is in jail for, maybe you ought not say anything about it to me. I got to do what I can to free Snooksy, no matter who it gets into trouble."

"Mr. Gubb!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton suddenly--"Mr. Gubb, I'm not authorized so to do, but I'll warrant I'll get the other ladies to authorize, or I'll know why. If I was to give you twenty dollars on behalf of the Ladies' Temperance League to help get Snooksy out of jail,--and land only knows why he is in jail,--would you be so kind as to beg and plead with Snooksy to leave Attorney Mullen alone, in the 'Eagle,' after this?"

She held four five-dollar bills up to Philo Gubb, and he took them.

"From what I saw of his eye," said Mr. Gubb, "I guess Snooks will be willing to leave Attorney Mullen alone in every shape and form from now on. Now, maybe you can tell me how Snooks got into this business."

"I haven't the slightest idea in the world!" said Mrs. Wilmerton. "All I know about it is--"

Both Mrs. Wilmerton and Philo Gubb turned their heads toward the door. The greater duskiness of the kitchen was caused by the large form of City Attorney Mullen. He bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Wilmerton, who turned bright red with embarrassment, probably because of her part in the efforts of the League to have Mr. Mullen impeached by the City Council. Attorney Mullen was not, however, embarrassed.

"I am glad you are here, Mrs. Wilmerton," he said, "for I wish a witness. I do not wish to have any stigma of bribery rest on me. I came here," he continued, taking a leather purse from the inner pocket of his coat, "to give these twenty-five dollars to Mr. Gubb. Mr. Gubb, I have just visited Snooks--so called--Turner at the jail. I went there with the intention of bailing him out, pending the simple process of his ultimate and speedy release from the charges against him. I am convinced that I was wrong when I made the charge of burglary against him. I am convinced that no burglary was ever committed on my premises--"

"Oh!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton. "Not even seven bottles of beer and a beer-opener, I suppose!"

Attorney Mullen turned on her like a flash.

"What do you know about beer and beer-openers?" he snapped.

"I may not know as much as Detective Gubb, but I know what I know!" she answered, and Mr. Mullen restrained himself sufficiently to hide the glare of hatred in his eyes by turning to Philo Gubb.

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

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

"Now, then!" said Attorney Mullen, turning to Philo Gubb again, and handing him the twenty-five dollars, "I give you this money as my share of the fund that is to pay you for the work you do for Snooks Turner. I make no request, because of the money. It is yours. But if you love justice, for Heaven's sake, send word to him to come out of jail!"

"Won't he come out?" asked Philo Gubb, puzzled.

"No, he won't!" said Attorney Mullen. "I begged him to, but he said, 'No! Not until Philo Gubb gets to the bottom of this case.' But should we, as citizens, and as members of the Prohibition Party, permit you, Mr. Gubb, to land Aunt Martha Turner in the calaboose?"

"Well, if what I find out, when I get down from this ladder and start to work, sends her there, I don't see that I can help it," said Philo Gubb. "Deteckative work is a science, as operated by them that has studied in the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating--"

"Snooks says he don't know anything about any beer," said Nan Kilfillan, entering hastily, and then pausing, as she saw Mr. Mullen.

"Did you tell him it was upstairs, in bed?" asked Philo Gubb.

"In his room? In his bed?" said Attorney Mullen eagerly. "Why, that puts an entirely different aspect on the matter! That gives me, as City Attorney, all the proof I shall need to convict the respectable Miss Martha Turner and her honorable nephew of the 'Eagle.' And, by the gods! I _will_ convict them!"

He glared at Mrs. Wilmerton. Nan broke into sobs.

"Unless," he added gently, "this whole matter is dropped."

Philo Gubb took out all the money he had received and counted it, sitting cross-legged on the ladder.

"I guess," he said thoughtfully, "you had better run up to the jail and tell Snooksy I want to see him right away, Miss Kilfillan. Maybe he can stretch the jail that much again. Tell him I'm just going to get down from this ladder and start to work, and I want to ask his advice."

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

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

"Mr. Gubb," said the City Attorney, "I can tell you about those bottles of beer. If those bottles of beer came from my house Aunt Martha Turner goes to the penitentiary. If she does not go to the penitentiary, there are no bottles of beer and there is no beer-opener. And never were!"

"I told her she had done a foolish, foolish thing!" exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton.

"Just so! And it _was_ foolish," said Attorney Mullen, "_If_ it was done. And, if it was done, and Snooks Turner telephoned, and I thought he meant the burglary, I would, naturally, assault him."

"You hurt him bad," said Philo Gubb.

"And I meant to!" said Attorney Mullen.

All turned toward the door, where Policeman Fogarty entered with Snooksy and Nan.

"I've done ivrything I cud t' quiet th' matter up," said Fogarty to Mullen, thus explaining his interest in the affair.

"I like jail," said Snooks cheerfully. "I'm going to stay in jail."

Aunt Martha Turner interrupted him. She came into the kitchen like a gust of wind, scattering the others like leaves, and threw her arms around her nephew Snooksy.

"Oh, my Snooksy! My Snooksy!" she moaned. "Don't you love your old auntie any more? Won't you be a good boy for your poor old auntie? Don't you love her at all any more?"

"Sure," said Snooks happily. "A fellow can love you in jail, can't he?"

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

"Oh, I like it in jail," said Snooks. "It gives me time for meditation. Well, good-bye, folks, I'll be going back."

His aunt grasped him firmly by the arm and wailed. So did Nan.

"But, Snooksy," begged Mrs. Turner, "don't you know they'll send me to the penitentiary if you go back to that old jail?"

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

"Snooks Turner!" said his aunt. "You know as well as I do that Mr. Mullen will forgive and forget, if you will. Would you rather see me go to prison--suffer?"

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

"I might start in trailing and shadowing somebody that hasn't anything to do with this case," suggested Philo Gubb. "That wouldn't discommode none of you folks, and I'd sort of feel as if I was giving you your money's worth. Somebody has been writin' on the front of the Methodist Church with black chalk. I might try to detect who done that."

"But that would be a very difficult job," said Snooks.

"It would be some hard," admitted Philo Gubb.

"Then you ought to have more money," said Snooks. "Aunt Martha ought to contribute to the fund. If Aunt Martha contributes to the fund, I'll be good. I'll come out of jail."

Aunt Martha opened her shopping bag, and fumbled in it with her old fingers. Philo Gubb took from his pocket the bills he had been given during the morning. He counted them. He had exactly one hundred dollars, just enough to send to Mr. Medderbrook.

"How much should I give you, Mr. Gubb?" asked Aunt Martha tremulously, and Philo Gubb stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes. When he spoke, his words were cryptic to all those in the room.

"Well, ma'am," he said, "I guess ten cents will be about enough. I've got a two-cent postage stamp myself."

"Ain't detectives wonderful?" whispered Nan, clinging to Snooks's arm. "You can't ever tell what they really mean."

Nobody seemed to care what Philo Gubb meant, but a week later Snooks stopped him on the street and asked him why he had asked for ten cents.

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

THE CHICKEN

Philo Gubb, with three rolls of wall-paper under his arm and a pail of mixed paste in one hand, walked along Cherry Street near the brick-yard.

On this occasion Mr. Gubb was in a reasonably contented frame of mind, for he had just received his share of the reward for capturing the dynamiters and had this very morning paid the full amount to Mr. Medderbrook, leaving but eleven thousand six hundred and fifty dollars still to be paid that gentleman for the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine Stock, and upon the further payment of seventy-five cents--half its cost--Mr. Medderbrook gave him a telegram he had received from Syrilla. The telegram was as follows:--

Rapidly shrinking. Have given up all soups, including tomato soup, chicken soup, mulligatawny, mock turtle, green pea, vegetable, gumbo, lentil, consommé, bouillon and clam broth. Now weigh only nine hundred and fifty pounds. Wire at once whether clam chowder is a soup or a food. Fond remembrances to Gubby.

Mr. Gubb was thinking of this telegram as he walked toward his work. Just ahead of him a short lane led, between Mrs. Smith's house and the Cherry Street Methodist Chapel, to the brick-yard. Mrs. Smith's chicken coop stood on the fence line between her property and the brick-yard!

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

"Oh, Mr. Gubb!" she panted. "You got to excuse me for speakin' to you when I don't know you. Mrs. Miffin says you're a detective."

"Deteckating is my aim and my profession," said Mr. Gubb.

"Well," said Mrs. Smith, "I want to ask a word of you about crime. I've had a chicken stole."

"Chicken-stealing is a crime if ever there was one," said Philo Gubb seriously. "What was the chicken worth?"

"Forty cents," said Mrs. Smith.

"Well," said Philo Gubb, "it wouldn't hardly pay me."

"It ain't much," admitted Mrs. Smith.

"No. You're right, it ain't," said Philo Gubb. "Was this a rooster or a hen?"

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

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

"Oh, my land!" exclaimed Mrs. Smith. "It would be cheaper for me to pay somebody five dollars to come and steal the rest of the chickens. It seems to me, that you ought to make the thief pay. I ain't the one that did the crime, am I? It's only right that a thief should pay for the time and trouble he puts you to, ain't it?"

"I never before looked at it that way," said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully, "but it stands to reason."

"Of course it does!" said Mrs. Smith. "You catch that thief and you can offer yourself a million dollars reward if you want to. That's none of my business."

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

At seven the evening was still light, and Philo Gubb, to cover his intentions and avert suspicion in case his interview with Mrs. Smith had been observed by the thief, put a false beard in his pocket and a revolver beside it and left his office in the Opera House Block cautiously. He slipped into the alley and glided down it, keeping close to the stables. A detective must be cautious.

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

A ladder leaning against one of the poles gave access to the roof. In the darkness it was impossible for Philo Gubb to find a finger-print of the culprit on the kilns, although he looked for one. He did not even find the usual and highly helpful button, torn from its place in the criminal's eagerness to depart. He found only an old horseshoe and a broken tobacco pipe. As there were evidences that the pipe had been abandoned on that spot several years earlier, neither of these was a very valuable clue.

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

Philo Gubb entered the chicken-house and looked around, lighting his dark lantern and throwing its rays here and there that he might see better. The house was so low of roof that he had to stoop to avoid the roosts, and the tails of the chickens brushed his hat. It needed brushing, so this did no harm. The hens and the two roosters complained gently of this interruption of their beauty sleep, and moved along the roosts, and Mr. Gubb went outside again. It was quite evident that the thief had had no great hardships to undergo in robbing that roost. All he had to do was to enter the chicken-house, choose a chicken, and walk away with it.

Why had he not taken ten chickens? Mr. Gubb, as he put the keg hoop over the end board of the gate, studied this.

The theory that Mr. Gubb adopted was that the thief, coming for a raid on the coop, had been surprised to find it so poorly guarded. It had been so easy to enter the coop and steal the chicken that he had decided it would be folly to take eight or ten chickens and thus arouse instant suspicion and reprisal. Instead of this he had taken but one, trusting that the loss of one would be unnoticed or laid to rats or cats or weasels. Thus he would be able to return again and again as fowl meat was needed or desired, and the chickens would be like money in the bank--a fund on which to draw. This theory was so sound that Mr. Gubb believed it would require nothing more than patience to capture the criminal. The thief would come back for more chickens!

Philo Gubb looked around for an advantageous position in which to await the coming of the thief, and be unseen himself, and the loose board roof of the brick-kiln met his eye. No position could be better. He climbed the ladder inside the kiln, pushed one of the boards aside enough to permit him to squeeze through onto the roof, and creeping carefully over the loose boards, reached the edge of the roof. Here he stretched himself out flat on the boards, and waited.

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

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

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

He was tremendously sleepy. Sleep fairly pushed his eyelids down over his eyes, and he put his crooked arm under his head and, after thinking fondly of Syrilla for a few minutes, went to sleep so suddenly that it was like falling off a cliff into dreamland. He dreamed, uneasily, of having been captured by an array of forty chicken thieves, of having been led in triumph before the Supreme Court of the United States, and of having been condemned as a Detective Trust on the charge of acting in restraint of trade--as injuring the Chicken Stealers' Association's business--and required to dissolve himself.

The dream was agonizing as he tried one dissolvent after another without success. Turpentine merely dissolved his skin; alcohol had no effect whatever. He imagined himself in a long room in which stood vast rows of vats bearing different labels, and in and out of these he climbed, trying to obey the order of the court, but nothing seemed capable of dissolving him, and he suddenly discovered that he was made of rubber. He seemed to remember that rubber was soluble in benzine, and he started on a tour of the vats, trying to find a benzine vat.

He walked many miles. Sometimes he arose in the air, with ease and grace, and flew a few miles. Finally he found the vat of benzine, immersed himself in it, and began to dissolve calmly and with a blessed sense of having done his duty.

It was then that Philo Gubb entered the dreamless sleep of the utterly weary, and, about the same time, two men slunk under the roof of the brick-kiln and after looking carefully around took seats on the fallen bricks, resting their backs against the partly demolished kiln. They arranged the bricks as comfortably as possible before seating themselves, and when they were seated, one of them drew a whiskey bottle from his pocket and, after taking a good swig, offered it to his partner.

"Nope!" said he. "I'm going to steer clear of that stuff until I know where I'm at, and you're a fool for not doing the same, Wixy. First thing you know you'll be soused, and if you are, and anything turns up, what'll I do? I got all I can do to take care of you sober."

"Ah, turn up! What's goin' to turn up 'way out here?" asked Wixy. "They ain't nobody follerin' us anyway. That's just a notion you got. Your nerves has gone back on you, Sandlot."

"My nerve is all right, and don't you worry about that," said Sandlot. "I've got plenty of nerve so I don't have to brace it up with booze, and you ain't. That's what's the matter with you. You saw that feller as well as I did. Didn't you see him at Bureau?"