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 began--
_Gubb, Philo._ Detective and decorator, _b._ Higginsville,
Ia., June 26, 1868. Educated Higginsville, Ia., primary
schools. Entered decorating profession, 1888. Graduated with
honors, Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School
of Detecting, 1910.
He hoped that some day this short record of his life might 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 Hopeless 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, 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 interesting 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, Ia., 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 something--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
necessity 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 fourteen lines in "Who's
Who."
The great theory he had established and which was the basis of all his
operations was this: "Every Who's Who is proud of every other Who's
Who," and "No Who's Who can refuse the son, cousin, or nephew of any
other Who's Who five dollars when asked for one dollar and eighty
cents."
The Bald Impostor's operation was simple in the extreme. He went to
Riverbank. He found, let us say, the name of Judge Orley Morvis in
"Who's Who." Then he looked up Chief Justice Bassio Bates in the
latest "Who's Who," gathered a few facts regarding him from that
useful volume, and called on Judge Orley Morvis. Having a judge to
impose upon he began by introducing himself as the favorite nephew of
Chief Justice Bassio Bates.
"Being in town," he would say, when the Judge was mellowed by the
thought that a nephew of Bassio Bates was before him, "I remembered
that you were located here. My uncle has often spoken to me of your
admirable decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer calf case."
The Higgins-Hoopmeyer case is mentioned in "Who's Who." The Judge
can't help being pleased to learn that Chief Justice Bassio Bates
approved of his decision in the Higgins-Hoopmeyer case.
"My uncle has often regretted that you have never met," says the Bald
Impostor. "If he had known I was to be in Riverbank he would have sent
his copy of your work, 'Liens and Torts,' to be autographed."
"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 intimate details.
"Oh, it was quite dreadful!" says the Bald Impostor. "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 Impostor is telling that he is now on
his way back from Denver to Chicago.
So then it comes out. The Bald Impostor sits on the edge of his chair
and becomes nervous and perspires. Perspiring is a sure sign a man is
unaccustomed 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 admission. 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 couldn'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 couldn't think of the nephew of a Chief Justice of the
United States existing for that length of time on a sandwich. Here!
Here are twenty dollars! Take them--I insist! I must insist!"
Some give him more than that. We usually give him five dollars.
[Illustration: HE PERSPIRES, AND OUT COMES THE CRUEL ADMISSION]
I admit that when the Bald Impostor visited me and asked for 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?"
"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 Impostor. 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 was from the Headquarters of the Rising Sun Detective
Agency, and was brutally frank in denouncing the Bald Impostor as an
impostor, 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 and hastily turned the
letter upside down. When Mr. Gubb returned, the Bald Impostor was
rubbing the palms of his hands together and smiling.
"My name, Mr. Gubb," he said, "is Allwood Burns. I am a detective. I
have heard of your wonderful work in the so-called Muffins-Mustard
case."
"Waffles-Mustard," said Mr. Gubb.
"I should say Waffles," said the Bald Impostor hastily. "I consider it
one of the most remarkable cases of detective acumen on record. We in
the Rising Sun Detective Agency were delighted. It was a proof that
the methods of our Correspondence School of Detecting were not short
of the best."
Philo Gubb stared at his visitor with unconcealed admiration.
"Are you out from the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency yourself?" he
asked.
The Bald Impostor smiled.
"I wrote you a letter yesterday," he said. "If you have not received
it yet you will soon, but I can give you the contents here and now. A
certain impostor is going about the country--"
Philo Gubb picked up the letter and glanced at the signature. It was
indeed signed "Allwood Burns." Mr. Gubb extended his hand again and
once more shook the hand of his visitor--this time far more heartily.
"Most glad, indeed, to meet your acquaintance, 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 Correspondence Course of Deteckating,' I wish--"
The false Mr. Burns smiled.
"I wrote it," he said modestly.
"I am _most_ very glad to meet you, sir!" exclaimed Philo Gubb, 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 forefinger, "'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, 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 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 Impostor 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.
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,
wasn'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 manner."
"Oh, I admit it! I admit it!" said the Bald Impostor hopelessly.
"Yes, sir!" said Philo Gubb. "And I admit it the whilst I admire it.
It is the most perfect disguise of an imitation I ever looked at."
"What?" asked the Bald Impostor.
"The disguise you've got onto yourself," said Philo Gubb. "It is 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 didn'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 deteckatives 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 see--"
"Well, now," said Philo Gubb contritely, "you mustn't feel bad that I
didn't take you for that fraud feller right away off. I hadn't read
the letter through down to the description quite. If I had I would
have mistook you for him at once. The resemblance is most remarkably
unique."
"Thank you!" said the Bald Impostor, regaining more of his usual
confidence. "And it was a hard disguise 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 behind the office desk, for a voice had
called, impatiently, "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 violent gestures, urging secrecy. Mr. Gubb
allayed his fears.
"I'm glad you come just now, Judge," he said, "because we can say a
few or more words together, there being nobody here but you and me. I
presume you come to talk about the per diem charge I charged to you,
didn't you?"
"Yes, I did," said the Judge.
"Well, I'll be able to prove quite presently or sooner that the price
is correctly O.K.," said Mr. Gubb, "because the leading head of the
Rising Sun Deteckative Agency is right in town to-day, and as soon as
he gets done with a job he has on hand he's going up to see you. Maybe
you've heard of Allwood Burns. He wrote the 'Twelve Correspondence
Lessons in Deteckating' by which I graduated out of the Deteckative
Correspondence School."
"Never heard of him in my life," said the Judge.
"This here," said Mr. Gubb, not without pride, "is a personal letter I
got from him this A.M. just now," and he handed the Judge the letter.
Judge Orley Morvis took the letter with an air of disdain and began to
read it with a certain irritating superciliousness. Almost immediately
he began to turn red behind the ears. Then his ears turned red. Then
his whole face turned red. He breathed hard. His hand shook with rage.
"Well, of all the infernal--" he began and stopped.
"Has the aforesaid impostor been to see _you_?" asked Philo Gubb
eagerly.
"Me? Nonsense!" exclaimed the Judge violently. "Do you think I would
be taken in by a child's trick like this? Nonsense, Mr. Gubb,
nonsense!"
"I didn't hardly think it was possible," said Detective Gubb.
"Possible?" cried the Judge with anger. "Do you think a common faker
like that could hoodwink _me_? Me give an impostor twenty dollars!
Nonsense, sir!"
He arose. He was in a great rage about it. He stamped to the door.
"And don't let me hear you retailing any such lie about me around this
town, sir!" he exclaimed.
He slammed the door, and then the Bald Impostor slowly raised his head
above the desk.
"What did you hide for?" asked Philo Gubb.
The Bald Impostor wiped his bedewed brow.
"Hide?" he said questioningly. "Oh, yes, I did hide, didn't I? Yes.
Yes, I hid. You see--you see the Judge came in."
"If you hadn't hid," said Philo Gubb, "I could have got that business
of the per diem charge per day fixed up right here. I was going to
introduce him to you."
"Yes--going to introduce him to me," said the Bald Impostor. "That was
it. That was why I hid. You were going to introduce him to me, don't
you see?"
"I don't quite comprehend the meaning of the reason," said Philo Gubb.
"Why, you see," said the Bald Impostor glibly,--"you see--if 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 _did_ 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 autograph 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 couldn't. I hadn'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 adopted nephew. And of course you
know he would never have anything to do with his sister after she
married--ah--General Winston Wells. Not a thing! It was what killed my
poor foster mother. Grief!"
He wiped his eyes with his silk handkerchief.
"Grief. Yes, grief. And I hadn't the heart to bring shame to the old
man by arresting the Impostor in his house--by showing that the good
old man was such a silly old fellow as to be done by a simple trick.
And what did it matter? I can pick up the Bald Impostor in
Derlingport."
"In Derlingport?" queried Philo Gubb.
"In Derlingport," said the Bald Impostor nervously, "for that is where
he went. I'll get him there. But half of the thousand dollars is
rightfully yours, and you shall have it."
"Thousand dollars?" queried Philo Gubb in amazement.
"The reward has been increased," said the false Mr. Burns. "The--the
publishers of 'Who's Who' increased it to a thousand because the Bald
Impostor works on the names in their book. They thought they ought to.
But you shall have your half of the thousand. I can pick him up in
Derlingport this afternoon if--if I can get there in time. And of
course I _should_ have arrested him here in Riverbank where you are
our correspondent and thus entitled to half the reward earned by any
one in the head office. You knew that, didn't you?"
"No!" said Philo Gubb. "Am I?"
"Didn't you get circular No. 786?" asked the Bald Impostor.
"I didn't ever get the receipt of it at all," said Mr. Gubb.
"An oversight," said the Bald Impostor. "I'll send you one the minute
I get back to Chicago. I'll pick up the Bald Impostor at Derlingport
this afternoon--if--Mr. Gubb, I am ashamed to make an admission to
you. I--"
The Bald Impostor sat on the edge of his chair and pearls of
perspiration came upon his brow. He took out his silk handkerchief and
wiped his forehead.
"Go right on ahead and say whatever you've got upon your mind to say,"
said Mr. Gubb.
"Well, the fact is," said the false Mr. Burns nervously, "I'm short of
cash. I need just one dollar and eighty cents to get to Derlingport!"