Philo Gubb, Correspondence-School Detective Part 29

"Make it seventy-five," said Mr. Gubb, "and as soon as I'm done with it, you can have it."

"It's a bargain!" said Mr. Witzel happily. "It's my pistol. Now, what's all this nonsense about shooting me?"

"_Nonsense_ is an insufficient word to use in relation to this here case," said Philo Gubb grimly. "It won't be nonsense for you when you get through with it. What did you do with the corpse?"

"With the--with the _what_?" cried Mr. Witzel.

"The remains," said Mr. Gubb. "What did you do with them?"

"The remains of what?" asked Mr. Witzel.

"Of Mister Custer Master," said Philo Gubb, easing himself a little by shifting one waving foot. "There is no need to pretend to play innocent. Where is the body?"

"My dear Mr. Detective Gubb!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "I know nothing about any body. I am George Augustus Wetzler--"

"Maybe you are," said Philo Gubb. "Maybe so. But your clothes ain't.

Your clothes are the clothes of Mister Custer Master. The question is, 'Did you murder him alone, or did you and William Gribble murder him together?'"

Mr. Witzel-Wetzel-Wetzler's mouth fell open.

"Murder him!" he exclaimed aghast. "But--but--"

"In the name of the law," said Philo Gubb, "I take you into custody for the murder and disappearing bodyliness of Mister Custer Master.

Turn your back and keep your hands up until I get from behind this trunk, and I'll put handcuffs on you in proper shape and manner.

Turn!"

Mr. Witzel turned--all but his head. He kept his face toward the priceless (or, more properly) seventy-five-dollar Briggs & Bolton.

"Mr. Gubb," he said, "you are making a serious mistake. I am a detective."

"You ain't!" said Philo Gubb. "I searched all your things and you ain't got a silver badge nor a false mustache nowhere. I'm going to turn you right over to the police to-morrow morning."

"To the police!" exclaimed Mr. Witzel. "Don't do that! Whatever you do, don't do that!" And suddenly, like a nervous dyspeptic suddenly overwrought, Mr. Witzel broke down and, falling on the cot, began to sob. Philo Gubb looked at him a moment with amazement. Then he dug a pair of handcuffs out of his trunk and, walking to where Mr. Witzel lay, prodded him in the back with the muzzle of the pistol. Mr. Witzel turned quickly, rolling over like an eel.

"Stop it! You're tickling me. I can't stand tickling!" he cried. "I--I can't stand lots of things. I'm--I'm the most sensitive man in the world. I--I can't stand cold water at all."

"Well, n.o.body is cold-watering you," said Philo Gubb. "Handcuffs ain't cold water."

"But cold water is," said Mr. Witzel. "Cold water kills me! It makes me shiver, and turn blue, and goose-fleshy, and gives me cramps in the palms of my hands and the soles of my feet. I--listen: my doctor says cold baths will kill me. The shock of 'em. Bad heart, you understand."

Philo Gubb's eyes blinked.

"I'll tell _you_," said Mr. Witzel, grasping Mr. Gubb's hand. "I can't _stand_ cold baths. They'd kill me, you understand. It would be suicide! So--so I knew Billy Gribble. Didn't I set him up in business here, to get rid of him? Don't he owe me a good turn?"

"Does he?" asked Philo Gubb.

"Hasn't he two bathrooms in connection with his laundry. 'Hot and Cold Baths, All hours. Ladies Tuesdays and Wednesdays Only?'" asked Mr.

Witzel. "Mr. Gubb, I will be frank. I am Custer Master!"

[Ill.u.s.tration: THE MISSING MR. MASTER]

"The reward for who--for who the reward," said Philo Gubb, seeking a grammatical form that would sound right, "for information as to which five thousand dollars reward is offered!"

"Exactly!" said Mr. Master. "And I will make it six thousand if you do not give information. I admit I am Master. I am Custer Master. Here, read this!"

He reached for his vest and from the pocket took a slip of paper. It was typewritten and headed "Secret Stipulation Regarding Custer Master Clause of Orlando J. Higgins Will. Copy":--

Being a firm believer in the efficacy of cold baths for the cure of dyspepsia and having been laughed at for same by my nephew, Custer Master, and feeling that a course of ice-cold baths would cure him, I make it a part of my will and testament that the sum or sums bequeathed to him shall be given to him only after he has faithfully, and upon the sworn testimony of an eye-witness, bathed for twelve minutes, every morning for one month of thirty days, in ice-cold water.

"Cleanliness may be next to G.o.dliness," said Mr. Master, "but ice-water baths are my shortest road to a future state, and I'm not ready for that yet. Still, I did not like to give up $450,000. To Billy Gribble," he added, with a meaning smile, "all baths are cold baths. I hold a mortgage on his laundry machinery."

"And so you came up here to my office to hide whilst bathing in so-called ice-water at Mister Gribble's?" said Philo Gubb.

"Exactly!" said Mr. Master.

"If you ain't got six thousand and seventy-five dollars by you," said Philo Gubb simply, "you can give me a check for the whole amount in the morning, but if you go to take the bullet out of this pistol you'll have to get an auger. I made the bullet myself and it was too big, and I had to pound it into the gun with a hammer and screw-driver. It's in good and safe."

"And you would have dared to pull the trigger?" asked Mr. Master.

"I would have dared so to do," said Mr. Gubb.

"It would have blown the pistol to atoms!" exclaimed Mr. Master.

"It would so have done," said Mr. Gubb, "except for the time I loaded it being the first beginning time I ever loaded a pistol. In loading a Briggs & Bolton, I have since subsequently learned, the powder ought to go into it first, and the bullet second. I put the bullet in first."

"Well, bless my stars!" exclaimed Mr. Master. "Bless my stars! If that is the case--if that is the case, I'm going to bed again. I have to get up before daylight to take a bath."

WAFFLES AND MUSTARD

It would not be true to say that Mr. Gubb had become suspicious of Mr.

Medderbrook's honesty. The fact that the cashier of the Riverbank National Bank told him the Utterly Hopeless Gold-Mine stock was not worth the paper it was printed on did pain him, however.

It pained Mr. Gubb to think his father-in-law-to-be might be guilty of even unconscious duplicity, and when Mr. Master paid him the six thousand and seventy-five dollars Mr. Gubb decided that only three thousand dollars of it should pa.s.s immediately into Mr. Medderbrook's hands. Mr. Gubb put two thousand dollars in the bank and invested the balance in furniture for his office and in articles and instruments that were needed for his detective career. The three thousand dollars he took to Mr. Medderbrook and paid it to him, leaving only eight thousand nine hundred dollars unpaid.

Mr. Medderbrook was greatly pleased with this and told Mr. Gubb so.

"This is a bully payment on account," he said, "and if you keep on this way you'll soon be all paid up, but you don't want to let that worry you, for I'm having a brand-new lot of stock in a brand-new mine printed, and I'll sell you a whole lot of it as soon as we are square. I'm going to call it the Little Syrilla Gold-Mine--"

"I don't think I'll buy any more gold-mine stock after the present lot is paid up completely full," said Mr. Gubb.

"That's all right," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I haven't given the printer final orders yet and if you prefer something else I'll make it Oil-Well stock. It is all the same to me. The property will produce just as much oil as it will gold. Every bit!"

"Have you heard from Miss Syrilla recently of late?" asked Mr. Gubb.

"Yes, I have," said Mr. Medderbrook. "I have heard two dollars and a half's worth."