Part 36 (1/2)

But Mr. Gubb was already moving to the door. He heard Miss Petunia's voice calling Mrs. Canterby, and coming nearer and nearer, and he fled.

At Higgins's book-store he stopped and asked to see a copy of ”Weldon s.h.i.+rmer,” and turned to page fourteen. ”'Fate,'” ran the first full sentence, ”'has decreed that you wed a solver of mysteries.'” Mr. Gubb s.h.i.+vered. This was the mysterious pa.s.sage Miss Scroggs had meant to bring to his eyes in an impressive manner. He was sure of one thing: whatever Fate had decreed in the case of the heroine of ”Weldon s.h.i.+rmer,” Philo Gubb had no intention of allowing Fate to decree that one particular Correspondence 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 n.o.ble 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 k.n.o.b.

”And when I think of how helpless and alone I am,” said Miss Petunia, rising from her chair, ”although I have ample money in the bank--”

_Bang!_ slammed the door behind Mr. Gubb. _Click!_ went the lock as he turned the key. His feet hurried to the stairs and down to the nearest street almost falling over Silas Was.h.i.+ngton, seated on the lowest step. The little negro looked up in surprise.

”Do you want to earn half a dollar?” asked Mr. Gubb hastily.

”'Co'se Ah do,” said Silas Was.h.i.+ngton. ”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 upstairs, go up and unlock Mister Philo Gubb, Deteckative, his door, and let out the lady.”

”Ya.s.sah!” 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?”

”Ya.s.sah!”

”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 wouldn't marry n.o.body at no time of his life.'”

”Ya.s.sah!” 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 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 sc.r.a.pple, 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.