Philo Gubb

“ 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 [Pg 61] 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. ”

“ For an instant he imagined he was a disembodied spirit, his body having been dissolved in benzine, but as he became wider awake he was conscious of a noise beneath him. Wixy was shifting twenty or thirty bricks that had fallen from the kiln upon a truss of straw, used the last winter to cover new-moulded bricks to protect them from the frost against their drying. He was preparing a bed. He muttered to himself as he worked, and Philo Gubb, placing his eye to a crack between the boards of the roof, tried to observe him. The darkness was so absolute he could see nothing whatever. ”

“ One only chance remains for your life, and, blackened with crime though we are, we offer you that chance. If you will swear to leave the State, never to return, we will spare you. What say you, Philo Gubb?”
It was an offer no mortal could refuse. Life, after all, is sweet. Philo Gubb, the relentless Correspondence School detective, opened his mouth, but as he turned his head upward, he closed it again and licked his lips twice. ”

“ Walking close along the wall, to avoid the creaking floor boards, Philo Gubb, paper-hanger and student of the Rising Sun Detective Agency’s Correspondence School of Detecting, tiptoed to the door of the bedroom he shared with the mysterious Mr. Critz. In appearance Mr. Gubb was tall and gaunt, reminding one of a modern Don Quixote or a human flamingo; by nature Mr. Gubb was the gentlest and most simple-minded of men. Now, bending his long, angular body almost double, he placed his eye to a crack in the door panel and stared into the room. ”

“ Many sought the mysteries. I have been unusually successful in Riverbank.” He stopped short and looked at Philo Gubb suspiciously. “You don’t believe in transmigration, do you?” he asked.
“Not without I do without knowing it,” said Mr. Gubb. “What is it?”
“Transmigration,” repeated Alibaba Singh. “It—Hindoos believe in it. At death the souls of the good enter higher forms of life; the souls of the bad enter lower forms of life. If you were a bad man and died you would become a—a dog, or a horse, or—or something. ”

“ Philo Gubb, although not a dancer, had been on the barge when it was attacked, because he was a lover of ice-cream. He too had been lined up and robbed. He had been robbed not only of forty perfectly good cents, but his pirate had seen his opal scarf-pin and had rudely taken it from Mr. Gubb’s tie. The pirate was, Mr. Gubb noticed, a short, heavy man with greasy hands. As the motor-boat dashed away, Mr. Gubb pressed to the rear of the barge and looked after it.
As the boat regained her speed, Philomela Brooks approached him. ”

“ There were four or five cars, however, that attracted Philo Gubb’s attention, and one in particular made his heart beat rapidly. This car bore the words, “World’s Monster Combined Shows Freak Car.” And as Mr. Winterberry had gone as a social reform agent to the side-show, Mr. Gubb rightly felt that here if anywhere [Pg 31] he would find a clue, and he was doubly agitated since he knew the beautiful Syrilla was doubtless in that car.
Walking around the car, he heard the door at one end open. He crouched under the platform, his ears and eyes on edge. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Herr Schreckenheim,” said Mr. Gubb, “I am prepared to offer to Miss Syrilla her daughterly place in a home of wealth at Riverbank, Iowa. If those claws are Schreckenheim claws, Miss Syrilla is the daughter of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook of the said burg, beyond the question of a particle of doubt.”
Mr. Enderbury looked at Mr. Gubb with surprise.
“That’s non—” he began. “And if Schreckenheim did those claws, you’ll take Syrilla away from this show? Forever?” he asked.
“I will,” said Philo Gubb, “if she desires to wish to go.” ”

“ Mr. Gubb turned his head and saw the long lanky man approaching.
“All right,” said the long, lanky man, “I give up. You’ve got me. I surrender. When a detective gets that close, a man hasn’t any chance. I own up. I did it.”
“You did what?”
“Now, quit!” said the long, lanky man. “No use rubbin’ it in after I’ve owned up. You know as well as I do—I’m the man that stole Farmer Hopper’s calf. I give up. I surrender.”
“I’m much obliged to you,” said Philo Gubb.
“Well, I ain’t obliged to you,” said the lanky man, “but I wish you’d tell me how you found out I was the calf thief.” ”

“ Burns,” said Philo Gubb, “I took on a job of chicken-thief detecting, and I had to detect for two diems to do it, and that would be twenty dollars, wouldn’t it?”
“It would,” said the Bald Impostor.
“Which is fair and proper,” said Philo Gubb, “but the old gent wouldn’t pay it. So I ask you [Pg 257] 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 felt his face grow red. His lean hands folded and unfolded as he watched Farry Pierce disappear around the corner of the bank building. If any one felt like murdering old Gabe with a pea-shooter at that moment, Philo Gubb did. Shadow and trail Farry Pierce! The old skin-flint, coming with a fairy tale and getting the only fully graduated deteckative in Riverbank to shadow and trail a son-in-law and report daily! Divorce case evidence, hey? Talking murderer and working a deteckative into doing scandal sleuthing free of charge! ”

“ 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. ”

“ Gubb as if he could not imagine any man so foolish.
“Now, that’s it!” said Alibaba Singh. “That’s why I came to you. All this is strictly confidential, of course? Thanks. I can speak right out, Mr. Gubb? I have in the past taught some things I did not absolutely believe.”
“Quite likely true,” admitted Philo Gubb.
“We—we occulists get carried on by our eloquence,” said Alibaba Singh. “We—we go too far sometimes. Far too far! I admit it. I admit that frankly. When our clients reach out to us for more and more, we—we sometimes go too far. ”

“ To get out of the cellar, the un-burglar had had to wiggle himself out of the small window, and had crushed the pansies flat. Detective Gubb felt carefully among the crushed pansies, and his hand found something hard and round. It was the drumstick bone of a chicken’s leg. Detective Gubb threw it away. Even [Pg 107] an un-burglar would not have chosen a chicken’s leg bone as a weapon. Evidently Billy Getz had not left any clue in the pansy-bed.
Philo Gubb had no doubt that Billy was putting up a joke on him. ”

“ Detective Gubb, when it was time to go to the Marshal’s office, pinned his large nickel-plated star on his vest, put three false beards in his pocket, and went.
The Marshal received him cordially. Billy Getz was there.
“You understand,” said Wittaker, “I have nothing to do with putting you on this case. But I want to ask you to report to me every evening.”
“I could write out a docket,” said Philo Gubb. “That’s what them French deteckatives did always.”
“Good idea!” said Wittaker. “Write out a docket, and bring it in every night. ”

“ Witzel to Mr. Gubb. “You’ll understand that perfectly. You are a detective, and I’m a detective, Witzel or Wotzel or Wutzel—who cares? We understand each other. Don’t we?”
“I presume to suppose we will do so in the course of time,” said Philo Gubb politely.
“Pre-cise-ly!” said Mr. Witzel. “So I said to Gribble, ‘I’m afraid of Gubb! He’s the man who will find Master, if I don’t. But I’ve got an advantage. I’ve got the clue.’”
He pointed to the suitcase. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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.” ”

“ 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. ”

“ Mr. Dorgan read. “‘Won by Jonas Medderbrook.’ How did that get there?”
“Jonas Medderbrook,” said Mr. Gubb, “is a man of my own local town.”
“He is, is he?” said Mr. Dorgan. “And what’s your name?”
“Gubb,” said the detective. “Philo Gubb, Esquire, deteckative and paper-hanger, Riverbank, Iowa.”
“Then this is for you,” said Mr. Dorgan, and he handed the telegram to Mr. Gubb. The detective opened it and read:—
Gubb,
Care of Circus,
Bardville, Ia.
My house robbed circus night. Golf cup gone. Game now rotten: never win another. Five hundred dollars reward for return to me. ”

“ 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.” ”

“ It was a Six Star whiskey label. He turned his head from it with his bird-like twist of the neck and let his eyes rest on Billy Getz.
“We know who dynamited those houses!” said Billy Getz suddenly. “Do you know Jack Harburger?”
“No,” said Philo Gubb. “I don’t know him.”
“Well, we do,” said Billy Getz. “He’s the slickest ever. He was the boss of the gang. Read this!”
He slid a sheet of note-paper across to Philo Gubb, and the detective read it slowly:—
Billy: Send me five hundred dollars quick. I’ve got to get away from here.J. H.
“And we made him our friend,” said Billy Getz resentfully. ”

“ 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. ”

“ 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. ”

“ Wixy was not letting any cowardice disturb his repose, at all events, and Philo Gubb considered how he could best get himself off the roof.
The sleeping man was immediately beneath him; the ladder was a full ten yards away; every motion made the loose boards complain. Looking down, Mr. Gubb saw that the top of the kiln reached within a few feet of where he lay, and that the partially removed sides had left a series of giant steps.
Mr. Gubb loosened his pistols in his belt. Now that he had the chicken thief so near, he meant to capture him. ”

“ All I ever felt was the sting of it when it hit me.”
“Maybe,” said Philo Gubb eagerly, “maybe it ain’t a pea-shooter. Maybe it’s a twenty-two short pistol with a silencer onto it. Maybe it’s only because he’s been afraid to come nigh enough to you that he ain’t killed you yet. It don’t seem to me that any man would try to murder any one with a pea-shooter.”
“Humph!” said old Gabe. “Maybe you are right, at that. That’s something I never thought of. It sounds likely, too.”
“A deteckative has to think of all them things,” said Philo simply. ”