Detective Gubb seated himself on it and thought. The side-show ladies
and gentlemen, having finished, entered the side-show tent--with the
exception of Syrilla, who remained to finish her meal. She ate a great
deal at meals, before meals, and after meals. Mr. Gubb, from his seat
on the wagon-pole, looked at Syrilla thoughtfully. He had not the
least doubt that Syrilla was the lost daughter of Mr. Jones (or
Medderbrook as he now called himself). The German-American tattoo
artist had sworn to complete the eagle by putting its claws on Mr.
Jones's daughter, if need be, and here were the claws on Syrilla's
arm. But, just as it is desirable at times to have a handwriting
expert identify a bit of writing, Mr. Gubb felt that if he could prove
that the claws tattooed on Syrilla's arm were the work of Mr.
Schreckenheim, his case would be complete. He longed for Mr.
Schreckenheim's presence, but, lacking that, he had a happy idea. Mr.
Enderbury, the tattooed man of the side-show, should be a connoisseur
and would perhaps be able to identify the eagle's claws. Leaving
Syrilla still eating, Mr. Gubb entered the side-show tent.
Mr. Enderbury, seated on a blue property case, was engaged in biting
the entire row of finger nails on his right hand, and a frown creased
his brow. He was enwrapped by a long purple bathrobe which tied
closely about his neck. As he caught sight of Mr. Gubb, he started
slightly and doubled his hand into a fist, but he immediately calmed
himself and assumed a nonchalant air. As a matter of fact, Mr.
Enderbury led a dog's life. For years he had loved Syrilla devotedly,
but he was so bashful he had never dared to confess his love to her,
and year after year he saw her smile upon one thin man after another.
Now it was Mr. Lonergan; again it was Mr. Winterberry--or it was Mr.
Gubb, or Smith, or Jones, or Doe; but for Mr. Enderbury she seemed to
have nothing but contempt. Mr. Enderbury had first seen her when she
was posing in the infant incubator, and had loved her even then, for
he was twenty when she was but five. The coming of a new rival always
affected him as the coming of Mr. Gubb had, but for good reason he
hated Mr. Gubb worse than any of the others.
"Excuse me for begging your pardon," said Mr. Gubb, "but in the
deteckative business questions have to be asked. Have you ever chanced
to happen to notice some tattoo work upon the arm of Miss Syrilla of
this side-show?"
"I have," said Mr. Enderbury shortly.
"A pair of eagle's claws," said Mr. Gubb. "Can you tell me, from your
knowledge and belief, if the work there done was the work of a Mr.
Herr Schreckenheim?"
"I can tell you if I want to," said Mr. Enderbury. "What do you want
to know for?"
"If those claws are the work of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim," said Mr.
Gubb, "I am prepared to offer to Miss Syrilla her daughterly place in
a home of wealth at Riverbank, Iowa. If those claws are Schreckenheim
claws, Miss Syrilla is the daughter of Mr. Jonas Medderbrook of the
said burg, beyond the question of a particle of doubt."
Mr. Enderbury looked at Mr. Gubb with surprise.
"That's non--" he began. "And if Schreckenheim did those claws, you'll
take Syrilla away from this show? Forever?" he asked.
"I will," said Philo Gubb, "if she desires to wish to go."
"Then I have nothing whatever to say," said Mr. Enderbury, and he
shut his mouth firmly; nor would he say more.
"Do you desire to wish me to understand that they are not the work of
Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?" persisted Mr. Gubb.
"I have nothing to say!" said Mr. Enderbury.
"I consider that conclusive circumstantial evidence that they are,"
said Detective Gubb, and he clanked out of the side-show.
Syrilla was still seated at the grub table, finishing her meal, and
Mr. Gubb seated himself opposite her. As delicately as he could, he
told of Jonas Medderbrook and his lost daughter, of the home of wealth
that awaited that daughter, and finally, of his belief that Syrilla
was that daughter. It was clear that Syrilla was quite willing to take
up a life of refinement and dieting if she was given an opportunity
such as Mr. Gubb was able to offer in the name of Jonas Medderbrook;
and, this being so, he questioned her regarding the eagle's claws.
"Mr. Gubb," she said, "I wish to die on the spot if I know how I got
them claws tattooed onto me. If you ask me, I'll say it is the mystery
of my life. They've been on me since I was a little girl no bigger
than--why, who is that?"
Mr. Gubb turned his head quickly, but he was not in time to see a
plump, good-natured looking little German-American slip quickly out of
sight behind the cook tent. Neither did he see the glitter of the sun
on a large silver golf cup the plump German-American carried under
his arm; but the German-American had recognized Mr. Gubb, even through
his disguise of a cowboy.
"No matter," said Syrilla. "But these claws have been on my arm since
I was a wee little girl, Mr. Gubb. I always thought they was a
trademark of a hospital."
"I was not knowingly aware that hospitals had trademarks," said Mr.
Gubb.
"Maybe they don't," said Syrilla. "But when I was a small child I had
an accident and had to be took to a hospital, and it wasn't until
after that that anybody saw the eagle's claws on me. I considered that
maybe it was like the mark the laundry puts on a handkerchief it has
laundered."
"I don't know much about the manners of the ways of hospitals,"
admitted Mr. Gubb, "and that may be so, but I have another idea. Did
you ever hear of Mr. Herr Schreckenheim?"
"Only that Mr. Enderbury is always cross on the days of the month that
he gets Mr. Schreckenheim's statements of money due. Mr. Schreckenheim
is the man that tattooed Mr. Enderbury so beautiful, but poor Mr.
Enderbury has never been able to pay him in full."
Philo Gubb arose.
"I am going to telegraph Mr. Medderbrook to come on to West Higgins
immediately by the three P.M. afternoon train," he said, "and you will
meet him as your paternal father and arrange to make your home with
him as soon as you desire to wish it."
* * * * *
At five o'clock that afternoon, Mr. Medderbrook, escorted by Mr. Gubb,
entered the side-show tent. The lady and gentlemen freaks were resting
before evening grub, and all were gathered around Syrilla's platform,
for the news that she was to leave the show to enter a home of wealth
and refinement had spread quickly. Syrilla herself was in tears. Now
that the time had come she was loath to part from her kind companions.
"I tell you, Mr. Gubb," Mr. Medderbrook said, as they entered the
side-show, "if you have indeed found my daughter you have made me a
happy man. You cannot know how lonesome my life has been. Now, which
is she?"
"She is the female lady in the pink satin dress on that platform,"
said Mr. Gubb.
Mr. Medderbrook looked toward Syrilla and gasped.
"Why, that--that's the Fat Woman! That's the Fat Woman of the
side-show!" he exclaimed. "I thought--I--why, my daughter wouldn't be
a Fat Woman in a side-show!"
"But she is," said Mr. Gubb.
"Great Scott!" exclaimed Mr. Medderbrook.
For years Mr. Medderbrook had retained a memory of his daughter
as he had seen her last, a tender babe in long clothes. As he rode
toward West Higgins, however, he had thought about his daughter and
he had revised his conception of her. She was older now, of course,
and he had finally settled the matter by deciding that she would be
a dainty slip of a girl--probably a tight-rope walker or one of the
toe-dancers in the Grand Spectacle, or perhaps even engaged as the
Ten-Thousand-Dollar Beauty. But a Fat Lady! Mr. Medderbrook walked
toward Syrilla. Every eye in the tent was upon him. There was utter
silence except for Syrilla's happy sobbing.
"Shess!" said a voice suddenly. "You bet I vos here! Und I vant my
money! Years I haf been collecding dot bill, und still you owe me. Now
I come, and you pay me all vot you owe or I make troubles!"
The voice came from outside the tent, and with surprising agility
Detective Gubb dived under the platform and wriggled under the canvas
wall.
"I don't owe you a cent!" exclaimed the voice of Mr. Enderbury. "I've
paid you for every bit of tattoo I have on me."
"Seven hunderdt dollars vos der contract," cried the voice of Herr
Schreckenheim. "Und ten dollars is due me yet. I vant it."
"Well, you'll keep on wanting it," said Mr. Enderbury's voice. "Look
here! Look at my chest. There's the eagle you did on me--do you see
any claws on it? No, you don't! Well, I'm not going to pay for claws
that are not on me. No, sir!"
"Claws? I do some claws on you, don't I, ven I do dot eagle?" asked
the German-American.
"Yes, but they're not on me now, are they?" asked Mr. Enderbury, "You
can go and collect from the person that has them. What do I care for
her now? She's going to quit the circus business. I've paid for all
the tattoo that's on me; you go and collect ten dollars for those
claws from Syrilla."
"Und how does she get those claws on her?" asked Herr Schreckenheim
shrewdly.
"I'll tell you how," said Mr. Enderbury. "You remember when Griggs' &
Barton's Circus burned down years ago? Well, Syrilla was burned in
that fire--burned on the arm--and they took her to a hospital and her
arm wouldn't heal. So somebody had to furnish some skin for a
skin-grafting job, and I did it. The piece they took had those claws
on it. That's what happened. I gave those eagle's claws to cure her,
and I've hung around her all these years like a faithful dog, and she
don't care a hang for me, and now she's going away. Go and collect for
those claws from her. I haven't got them. She's going to be rich; she
can pay you!"
Simultaneously there was an exclamation from Mr. Medderbrook, a cry
from Syrilla, and a short, sharp yell from outside the tent. Mr. Gubb
entered, spurs first, creeping backward under the canvas. As he backed
from under the platform it was observed that he held a shoe--about No.
8 size--in one hand, and that a foot was in the shoe, and the foot on
a leg, and the leg on a short, plump, elderly German-American, who
yelled as he was dragged into the tent on his back. In one hand of the
German-American was a large silver golf cup with a deep dent on one
side. As Mr. Gubb arose to his feet, still holding the German-American
tattoo artist's foot in his hand, he said:--
"Mr. Medderbrook, the deteckative business is not always completely
satisfactory in all kinds of respects, and it looks as if it appeared
that the daughter I found for you is somebody else's, but if you will
look at the other end of the assaulter and batterer I have in hand,
you will see that I have recovered the silver golf cup trophy once
again for the second time."
"And that," said Mr. Medderbrook as he took the cup from the
German-American's hand, "is remarkable work. The ordinary detective is
usually satisfied to recover stolen property once, but you have
recovered this cup twice."
"The motto of my deteckative business," said Mr. Gubb modestly, "is
'Perfection, no matter how many times.'"
Mr. Gubb might have said more, but he was interrupted by Princess
Zozo, the Snake Charmer, who had walked around Syrilla and unhooked
two of the hooks at the top of Syrilla's low-necked gown.
"Look!" she exclaimed, and she pointed to a second pair of eagle's
claws tattooed between Syrilla's shoulder blades. Without a word Mr.
Medderbrook took five hundred dollars from his purse and handed them
to Mr. Schreckenheim.
"That pays you for the cup," he said. And then, turning to Syrilla:
"Come to my arms, my long-lost daughter!"
After Syrilla had hugged her father affectionately, Mr. Gubb and the
freaks laid him on the ground and, by fanning him vigorously, were
able to bring him back to life. Mr. Medderbrook's first act upon
opening his eyes was to hold out his hand to Mr. Gubb.
"Thank you, Gubb," he panted. "It's a big price, but I'll keep my
word. The ten thousand dollars shall be yours."
"Into ordinary circumstances," said Mr. Gubb gravely, "ten thousand
dollars would be a largely big price to pay for recovering back a lost
daughter, Mr. Medderbrook, but into the present case it don't amount
to more than ten dollars per pound of daughter, which ain't a largely
great rate per pound."
THE OUBLIETTE
The discovery that Syrilla was the daughter of Jonas Medderbrook (born
Jones) was a great triumph for Philo Gubb, but while the "Riverbank
Eagle" made a great hurrah about it, Philo Gubb was not entirely happy
over the matter. Having won a reward of ten thousand dollars for
discovering Syrilla and five hundred dollars for recovering Mr.
Medderbrook's golf cup, Mr. Gubb might have ventured to tell Syrilla
of his love for her but for three reasons.
The first reason was that Mr. Gubb was so bashful that it was
impossible for him to speak his love openly and immediately. If
Syrilla had returned to Riverbank with her father, Mr. Gubb would have
courted her by degrees, or if Syrilla had weighed only two hundred
pounds, Mr. Gubb might have had the bravery to propose to her
instantly, but she weighed one thousand pounds, and it required five
times the bravery to propose to a thousand pounds that was required to
propose to two hundred pounds.
The second reason was that Mr. Dorgan, the manager of the side-show,
would not release Syrilla from her contract.
"She's a beauty of a Fat Lady," said Mr. Dorgan, "and I've got a
five-year contract with her and I'm going to hold her to it."
Mr. Medderbrook and Mr. Gubb would have been quite hopeless when Mr.
Dorgan said this if Syrilla had not taken them to one side.
"Listen, dearies," she said, "he's a mean, old brute, but don't you
fret! I got a hunch how to make him cancel my contract in a perfectly
refined an' ladylike manner. Right now I start in bantin' and dietin'
in the scientific-est manner an' the way I can lose three or four
hundred pounds when I set out to do it is something grand. It won't be
no time at all until I'm thin and wisp-like, an' Mr. Dorgan will be
glad to get rid of me."
This information greatly cheered Mr. Gubb. While he admired Syrilla
just as she was, a rapid mental calculation assured him that she would
still be quite plump at seven hundred pounds and he knew he could love
seven tenths of Syrilla more than he could love ten tenths of any
other lady in the world.
The third reason had to do with the ten-thousand-dollar reward. When
Mr. Gubb and Mr. Medderbrook were proceeding homeward on the train,
Mr. Medderbrook brought up the subject of the reward again.
"I'm going to pay you that ten thousand dollars, Gubb," he said, "but
I'm going to pay it so it will be worth a lot more than ten thousand
dollars to you."
"You are very overly kind," said Mr. Gubb.
"It's because I know you are fond of Syrilla," said Mr. Medderbrook.
Mr. Gubb blushed.
"So I ain't going to give you ten thousand dollars in cash," said Mr.
Medderbrook. "I'm going to do a lot better by you than that. I'm going
to give you gold-mine stock. The only trouble--"
"Gold-mine stock sounds quite elegantly nice," said Mr. Gubb.
"The only trouble," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is that the gold-mine stock
I want to give you is in a block of twenty-five thousand dollars. It's
nice stock. It's as neatly engraved as any stock I ever saw, and it is
genuine common stock in the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine Company."
"The name sounds sort of unhopeful," ventured Mr. Gubb timidly.
"That shows you don't know anything about gold mines," said Mr.
Medderbrook cheerfully. "The reason I--the reason the miners gave it
that name is because this mine lies right between two of the best
gold-mines in Minnesota. One of them is the Utterly Good Gold-Mine,
and the other is the Far-From-Hopeless. So when I--so when the miners
named this mine they took part of the names of the two others and
called this one the Utterly Hopeless. That's the way I--the way it is
always done."
"It's very cleverly bright," said Mr. Gubb.
"It's an old trick--I should say an old and approved method," said
Mr. Medderbrook. "So what I'm going to do, Mr. Gubb, is to let you in
on the ground floor on this mine. It's a chance I wouldn't offer to
everybody. This mine hasn't paid out all its money in dividends. I
tell you as an actual fact, Mr. Gubb, that so far it hasn't paid out a
cent in dividends, not even to the preferred stock. No, sir! And it
ain't one of these mines that has been mined until all the gold is
mined out of it. No, sir! Not an ounce of gold has ever been taken out
of the Utterly Hopeless Mine. Not an ounce."
"It is all there yet!" exclaimed Mr. Gubb.
"All there ever was," said Mr. Medderbrook. "Yes, sir! If you want me
to I'll give you a written guarantee that the Utterly Hopeless Mine
has never paid a cent in dividends and that not an ounce of gold has
ever been taken out of the mine. That shows you I'm square about this.
So what I'm going to do," he said impressively, "is to turn over to
you a block of twenty-five thousand dollars' worth of Utterly Hopeless
Gold-Mine stock and apply the ten thousand dollars I owe you as part
of the purchase price. All you need to do then is to pay me the other
fifteen thousand dollars as rapidly as you can."
"That's very kindly generous of you," said Mr. Gubb gratefully.
"And that isn't all," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I own every single share
of the stock of that mine, Mr. Gubb, and as soon as you get the
fifteen thousand dollars paid up I'll advance the price of that stock
one hundred per cent! Yes, sir, I'll double the price of the stock,
and what you own will be worth fifty thousand dollars!"
There were tears in Philo Gubb's eyes as he grasped Mr. Medderbrook's
hand.
"And all I ask," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is that you hustle up and pay
that fifteen thousand dollars as quick as you can. So that," he added,
"you'll be worth fifty thousand dollars all the sooner."
Upon reaching Riverbank Mr. Medderbrook took Mr. Gubb to his home and
turned over to him the stock in the Utterly Hopeless Mine.
"And here," said Mr. Medderbrook, "is a receipt for ten thousand five
hundred dollars, and you can give me back that five hundred I paid you
for recovering of my golf cup. That's to show you everything is fair
and square when you deal with me. Now you owe me only fourteen
thousand five hundred dollars."
While Mr. Gubb was handing the five hundred dollars back to Mr.
Medderbrook the colored butler entered with a telegram. Mr.
Medderbrook tore it open hastily.
"Good news already," he said and handed it to Mr. Gubb. It was from
Syrilla and said:--
Be brave. Have lost four ounces already. Kind regards and
best love to Mr. Gubb.
With only partial satisfaction Mr. Gubb left Mr. Medderbrook and
proceeded downtown. He now had a double incentive for seeking the
rewards that fall to detectives, for he had Syrilla to win and the
Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock to pay for. He started for the
Pie-Wagon, for he was hungry, but on the way certain suspicious
actions of Joe Henry (the liveryman who had twice beaten him up while
he was working on the dynamiter case), stopped him, and it was much
later when he entered the Pie-Wagon.
As Philo Gubb entered, Billy Getz sat on one of the stools and stirred
his coffee. He held a dime novel with his other hand, reading; but
Pie-Wagon Pete kept an eye on him. He knew Billy Getz and his
practical jokes. If unwatched for a moment, the young whipper-snapper
might empty the salt into the sugar-bowl, or play some other prank
that came under his idea of fun.
Billy Getz was a good example of the spoiled only son. He went in for
all the vice there was in town, and to occupy his spare time he
planned practical jokes. He was thirty years old, rather bald, had a
pale and leathery skin, and a preternaturally serious expression. In
his pranks he was aided by the group of young poker-playing,
cigarette-smoking fellows known as the "Kidders."
Billy Getz, as he read the last line of the thrilling tale of "The
Pale Avengers," tucked the book in his pocket, and looked up and saw
Philo Gubb. The hawk-eyes of Billy Getz sparkled.
"Hello, detective!" he cried. "Sit down and have something! You're
just the man I've been lookin' for. Was askin' Pete about you not a
minute ago--wasn't I, Pete?"
Pie-Wagon Pete nodded.
"Yes, sir," said Billy Getz eagerly, "I've got something right in your
line--something big; mighty big--and--say, detective, have you ever
read 'The Pale Avengers'?"
"I ain't had that pleasure, Mr. Getz," said Philo Gubb, straddling a
stool.
"What's the matter? You're out of breath," said Pie-Wagon.
"I been runnin'," said Philo Gubb. "I had to run a little.
Deteckatives have to run at times occasionally."
"You bet they do," said Billy Getz earnestly. "You ain't been after
the dynamiters, have you?"
"I am from time to time working upon that case," said Philo Gubb with
dignity.
"Well, you be careful. You be mighty careful! We can't afford to lose
a man like you," said Billy Getz. "You can't be too careful. Got any
of the ghouls yet?"
"Not yet," said Philo Gubb stiffly. "It's a difficult case for one
that's just graduated out of a deteckative school. It's like Lesson
Nine says--I got to proceed cautiously when workin' in the dark."
"Or they'll get you before you get them," said Billy Getz. "Like in
'The Pale Avengers.' Here, I want you to read this book. It'll teach
you some things you don't know about crooks, maybe."
"Thank you," said Philo Gubb, taking the dime novel. "Anything that
can help me in my deteckative career is real welcome. I'll read it,
Mr. Getz, and--Look out!" he shouted, and in one leap was over the
counter and crouching behind it.
Billy Getz turned toward the door, where a short, red-faced man was
standing with a pine slab held in his hand. Intense anger glittered in
his eyes, and he darted to the counter and, leaning over, brought the
slab down on Philo Gubb's back with a resounding whack.
"Here! Here! None o' that stuff in here, Joe," cried Pie-Wagon Pete,
grasping the intruder's arm.
"I'll kill him, that's what I'll do!" shouted the intruder. "Snoopin'
around my place, and follerin' me up an' down all the time! I told him
I wasn't goin' to have him doggin' me an' pesterin' me. I've beat him
up twice, an' now I'm goin' to give him the worst lickin' he ever had.
Come out of there, you half-baked ostrich, you."
"Now, you stop that," said Pie-Wagon Pete sternly. "You're goin' to be
sorry if you beat him up. He don't mean no harm. He's just foolish. He
don't know no better. All you got to do is to explain it to him
right."
"Explain?" said Joe Henry. "I'd look nice explainin' anything,
wouldn't I? Hand him over here, Pete."
"Now, listen," shouted Pie-Wagon Pete angrily. "You ain't everything.
I'm your pardner, ain't I? Well, you let me fix this." He winked at
Joe Henry. "You let me explain to Mr. Gubb, an' if he ain't satisfied,
why--all right."
For a moment Joe Henry studied Pie-Wagon's face, and then he put down
the slab.
"All right, you explain," he said ungraciously, and Philo Gubb raised
his white face above the counter.
* * * * *
Upon the passage of the State prohibitory law every saloon in
Riverbank had been closed and there had been growlings from the saloon
element. Five of the leading prohibitionists had received threatening
letters and, a few nights later, the houses of four of the five were
blown up. Kegs of powder had been placed in the cellar windows of each
of the four houses, wrecking them, and the fifth house was saved only
because the fuse there was damp. Luckily no one was killed, but that
was not the fault of the "dynamiters," as every one called them.
The town and State immediately offered a reward of five thousand
dollars for the arrest and conviction of the dynamiters, and
detectives flocked to Riverbank. Real detectives came to try for the
noble prize. Amateur detectives came in hordes. Citizens who were not
detectives at all tried their hands at the work.
For the first few days rumors of the immediate capture of the "ghouls"
were flying everywhere, but day followed day and week followed week,
and no one was incarcerated. The citizen-detectives went back to their
ordinary occupations, the amateur detectives went home, the real
detectives were called off on other and more promising jobs, and soon
the field was left clear for Philo Gubb.
Not that he made much progress. Each night he hid himself in the dark
doorway of Willcox Hall waiting to pick up (Lesson Four, Rule Four)
some suspicious-looking person, and having picked him up, he proceeded
to trail and shadow him (Lesson Four, Rules Four to Seventeen). Six
times--twice by Joe Henry--he was well beaten by those he followed. It
became such a nuisance to be followed by Philo Gubb in false mustache
or whiskers, that it was a public relief when Billy Getz and other
young fellows took upon themselves the duty of being shadowed. With
hats pulled over their eyes and coat-collars turned up, they would
pass the dark doorway of Willcox Hall, let themselves be picked up,
and then lead poor Detective Gubb across rubbish-encumbered vacant
lots, over mud flats or among dark lumber piles, only to give him the
slip with infinite ease when they tired of the game.
But Philo Gubb was back the next night, waiting in the shadow of the
doorway of Willcox Hall. He did not progress very rapidly toward the
goal of the reward, but he counted it all good practice.