 The Two-Cent Stamp by Ellis Parker Butler This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Greg Marguerite The Two-Cent Stamp by Ellis Parker Butler The House in Tenth Street, where PhiloGubb was doing a job of paper-hanging when he made the happy error of capturing the dynamiters, while seeking the unburglars, was the home of Aunt Martha Turner, a member of the Ladies' Temperance League of Riverbank. The members of the Ladies' Temperance League, and Aunt Martha Turner particularly, had recently begun a movement to have city attorney Mullen impeached and thrown out of office, for they claimed that while he had been elected by the Prohibition Republican Party, and had pledged himself to close every saloon, he had not closed one single saloon. Aunt Martha Turner and her associates believed this was because Attorney Mullen was himself a drinker of beer, and it was to get proof of this that the hot-headed ladies had engaged a youth named Slippery Williams to make a raid on his home. Detective Gubb was, however, quite unconscious of all this when he proceeded to the home of Aunt Martha to complete his work there. He was in an unhappy frame of mind, for he had in his pocket nothing but one two-cent stamp, and he had immediate need for one hundred dollars. Mr. Gubb had early that morning visited the home of Mr. Matterbrook, from whom he hoped to have news of Cirilla, but the collared butler informed him that Mr. Matterbrook had been called to Chicago. He don't left word how some devil said the butler that if you come and was willing to pay 30 cents, you could have just telegraph what come from Miss Cirilla, and he left his note for you what you can have whether you pay or not. Mr. Gubb quite willingly gave the Negro 30 cents, the very last money he possessed, and read the telegram. It said, Hope on, hope ever, have given up wheat bread, corn bread, rye bread, homemade bread, baker's bread, biscuit, and rolls, have lost six pounds more. Love to Gubby! This would have sent Mr. Gubb to his work in a happy frame of mind had it not been for the note Mr. Matterbrook had left. This note said, called to Chicago suddenly, I must have $100 payment on account of the gold stock immediately. Can not let my daughter marry a man who puts off paying for gold stock forever. Unless I hear from you with the money tomorrow, all is over between us. Such a letter would have made any lover sad. Mr. Gubb had no idea where he could raise $100 during the day, and he saw his promising romance cut short just when Cirilla was beginning to lose weight handsomely. The greeting he received when he reached Aunt Martha Turner's was not of a sort to cheer him. Mrs. Turner met him with a sour face. No, you can't go ahead with putting the wallpaper on this kitchen ceiling today, Mr. Gubb. She said. I'd like to, if I could, said Philo Gubb wistfully. My financial condition ain't such as to allow me to waste a day. I'm very low in a monetary shape right now. Aunt Martha Turner seemed worried. Well, she said reluctantly. I guess if that's the case, you might as well go ahead. I expect I'll have to be out of the house most all day. If you get done before I get back, lock the kitchen door and put the key behind a shutter. She departed, and Philo Gubb set up his trestle, unrolled and trimmed a strip of ceiling paper, pasted it, and climbed his ladder. At the top he seated himself a moment and shook his head. He sighed and picked up the paste-covered strip of ceiling paper, but before he could get to his feet the kitchen door opened and Snooks Turner put his head in cautiously. Say, Gubb, where's Aunt Martha? He asked in a whisper. She's gone out, said Philo Gubb. She won't be back for quite some time, I guess, Snooksy. Good, said Snooks, and he entered the kitchen. Some weeks before he had met Nan Kilphillion. He was deeply in love with Nan, and Nan was a good girl, although Aunt Martha Turner did not approve of her because she was a hired girl to city attorney Mullen. Before she had met Snooks, Nan had done her best to make something of Slippery Williams, who was courting her then, but that task was beyond even Nan's powers. Snooks held a job on The Eagle as city reporter with the dignified title of city editor, and he was making good. He got the news. He seemed able to smell news. When there was big news in the air he would become uneasy and feel nervous. I got the twitches again, he would say to the editor of The Eagle. There's some big item around. I've got to get it, and he would get it. She's gone out, has she? said Snooks when he had entered his aunt's kitchen and asked Philo Gov about Aunt Martha. That's good. I wanted to see you on a matter of business. Detective business. He put his hand in his pocket and drew out a small roll of bills. He was not the usually neat Snooks. One eye was blackened and one side of his face was scratched. His clothes were badly torn and soiled. He looked as if someone had tried to murder him. There, he said, holding the bills up to Philo Gov after counting them. There's $25. You take that and find out what I have done and what's the matter with me and all about it. What do you want me to find out? asked Mr. Gov fondling the bills. If I knew I wouldn't ask you, said Snooks peevishly. I don't know what it is. I'd go and find out myself, but I'm in jail. Where did you say you was? asked Philo Gov. In jail, said Snooks. I'm in jail and I'm in bed. When the Marshal put me in last night, I gave him my word. I'd stay in all day to-day and it ain't right for me to be here now. Dog gone, you Snooks, he says. You ain't got no consideration for me at all. Here I figured that there wouldn't be no wave of crime strike town for some days, and I went and took the jail door down to the blacksmith to have a panel put in where the one rusted out. And my wife made me promise to drive out to the farm with her tomorrow, and now you come and spoil everything. I got to stay in town and watch you. Go on, I says, and take your drive. I'll stay in jail. I got a strong imagination. Oh, imagine there's a door. Honor bright, he says. Yes, honor bright, I says. So he went, said Snooks. And he's trusting me, and here I am. You can see it wouldn't do for me to be running all over town when, by rights, I'm locked and barred and bolted in jail. I'm locked and barred and bolted in jail and, well, started on my way to the penitentiary as a burglar. As a burglar, exclaimed Gubb. That's it, said Snooks. I can't see head and her tail of it. You gotta help me out, Gubb. See if you can make any sense of this. Last night I went out for a walk with Nan. She's my girl, you know, and she's going to marry me. Maybe she won't now, but she was going to. She works for Mullen. We got back to Mullen's house about eleven o'clock, and Mrs. Mullen always locks the door at half past ten, whether Nan is in or not. So, being late, we had to ring the doorbell, and Mr. Mullen came to the door to let Nan in. And when he saw I was with her, he shook hands with me, and asked me to come in and have a cigar and sit awhile. But I told him I had to hustle up some news for today's paper, and he let me go. That's how pleasant he was. So I went downtown, and the first fellow I met was Sammy Wilmerton. Widow Wilmerton's boy? Asked Philo, Gubb. Exactly, said Snooks, feeling his eye with his finger. And he says, Snooks, did you hear what the ladies' temperance league did last night? I hadn't heard. I heard ma say, says Sammy. But don't say I told you. They got up a petition to have city attorney Mullen impeached by the city council. Well, that was news. I went into the Eagle's office and called up Mullen. Hello. Is that attorney Mullen? I says. Yes, he says. Well, something happened last night, I says, and I'd like to see you about it. How do you know what happened? He says. No matter, I says. Can I come up? After half a minute, he says. Oh, yes. Come up. Come right away. I'll be waiting for you. So I went. Nothing strange about that, said Philo Gubb, shifting himself on the ladder. So I went, continued Snooks. I rang the doorbell, and the moment it rang, the door flew open and bliff. Down came a bed blanket over me, and somebody grabbed me in his arms and lugged me into the house. I guess it was attorney Mullen. You know how big and husky he is. But I couldn't see him. I couldn't see anything. Only every two seconds bump, he hit me at my head through the blanket. That's how I got this eye. And all the time, he was talking to me, mad as a hatter, and I couldn't hear a word he said. But I could hear his wife screaming at the top of the stairs, and I could hear Nan screaming. And I heard a window go up. Stop that yelling, says Mullen, in a voice I could hear. And then he picked me up again and carried me to the back door and opened it and threw me all the way down the eight steps. I chucked off the blanket, and I was going up the steps again to show him he couldn't treat me that way when BING! Somebody next door took a shot at me with a revolver. Thought I was a burglar, I guess. I started to run for the back gate when BING! Somebody shot at me from the other house. What do you think of that? For a few minutes it sounded like the battle of San Juan, and I can't understand yet why I didn't suffer an awful loss of life. But you didn't? asked Philo Gub. No, siri, I made a dive for the cellar door just as they got the range. I stayed in the cellar way with the bullets pattering on it like hail until the cop came. Tiffogarty was the cop. He ordered cease firing, and the shower stopped, and I let him capture me. He took me to the Calibus, and this morning early he had me before the judge, and I'm held for the grand jury, and the charge is burglary and pettit larceny. Now what is the answer? Being pulled into a house and thrown out the other door isn't burglary, said Philo Gub. Burglary is breaking in or breaking out. Maybe Attorney Mullen mistook you for someone else. Mistook nothing, said Snooks. He was in the courtroom this morning. He handed the case against me. Who's that? Someone was climbing the back steps, and Snooks made one dive for the cellar door and slipped inside. He knew how to get out through the cellar, for he was familiar with it. He did not wait now, but opened the outside cellar door, and after looking to see that the way was clear, hurried back to jail. Philo Gub did not have time to descend from his ladder before the kitchen door opened. The visitor was policeman Fogarty. Mornan, he said, removing his hat and wiping the sweatband with his red handkerchief. Don't ye get down, Mr. Gubs, or I want but a word with ye. I seen Snooksy Turner here but a second ago, me looking in at the wind, ye and you at him conversant. Maybe he was speaking to ye of his arrest? He was conversing with me of that occurrence, said Philo Gub. He was consulting me in my professional capacity. And a fine young lad he is, said policeman Fogarty, reaching into his pocket. I got the devil for arresting him. It was that dark ye see, Mr. Gub. I could not see who I was arresting. Maybe he was consulting ye about getting clear of the charge against him? He retained my detective services, said Philo Gub. Poor young man, said Fogarty, I'll warrant he has none too much money. Me heart bleeds for him. You'll have no in vitralin and shadow and another detective work to do on the case, no doubt. It is expensive work, that. I was thinking maybe ye'd permit me to contribute a five-dollar bill for the work, for I'm that sad to have had a hand in arresting him. Fogarty held up the bill and Philo Gub took it. Contingent expenses are always numerously present in detective operations, he said. Right ye are, said Fogarty, and ye'll remember if anyone asks ye that I expressed me contrition for arresting Snooksy. Whist, he said, putting his hand alongside his mouth and whispering. A someone wanted me to search the house here to see did Snooksy have seven bottles of beer and a silver beer opener in his room. Philo Gub sat on the ladder and contemplated the five-dollar bill until he heard Fogarty returning. Hist, Fogarty said. I did not see him, mind ye. Fogarty slipped out of the back door and was gone, and Philo Gub, after a thoughtful moment, decided that the five-dollar bill was rightfully his, and slipped it into his pocket. To earn it, however, he must get to work on the case. He raised the pasted strip of paper but before he could place the loose ends on the ceiling, someone tapped at the kitchen door. Come in, he called, and the door opened. Slippery Williams glided into the room. His crafty eyes sought Philo Gub. Hello, Gubby. What you doing up there? Where's Miss Turner? He asked. Miss Turner is out on business, I presume, said the correspondent school detective, Conley, and I am pursuing my professional duties in the detecating line. You are, hey? said Slippery. Who you detecting for now? Snook's Turner, said Philo Gub. I'm solving a case for him. Instantly Slippery's manner changed. From rough he became smooth, from bold he became cringing. Why, I'm Snooksy's friend, he said. You know, me and Snooksy was always chums, don't you, Gubby? Yes, sir, I think a lot of Snooksy. He says, Slippery, you go up to my room and get me a bundle of clean clothes. These are all torn and dirty, and, well, I guess I'll get him and get back. Snooksy's waiting for me. He turned to the hall, but Philo Gub called him back. You can't go up there, said Philo Gub from his latter top. There's been enough folks up there already. Who was up? asked Slippery hastily. Policeman Fogarty was, said Philo Gub. What did he find up there? asked Slippery anxiously. Nothing, said Philo Gub. He told me he couldn't find seven bottles of beer and a beer opener. Look here, said Slippery sweetly. If I gave you five dollars to hire you to hunt for them, could you find them seven bottles of beer and that beer opener for me? Straight detective work. Could you? I could try to find them, said Philo Gub. Well, that's all I want, said Slippery. I don't want to do nothing with them. All I want to know is where they are. Here's five dollars. Philo Gub took the money. All right, said Slippery. Now you find them. They're upstairs in Mrs. Turner's bed, between the quilt and the mattress. Go find them. Not until Mrs. Turner comes home, said Philo firmly. It's her house. Why you long-legged stork you, said Slippery. She knows I'm here for that beer she sent me. I thought you said Snook sent you for his clothes, said Philo. Never you mind who sent me for what, said Slippery angrily. You're a dandy detective, sitting on top of a ladder and not letting a friend of Snook's help him out. Say, listen, guppy, everybody's going to get into worse trouble if I don't get away with that beer. Understand? Come on, let me take it away. When Miss Turner comes back, said Philo Gub. A new knock on the door interrupted them and Slippery glided to the cellar door through which Snook's had so recently fled. The kitchen door opened to admit Attorney Smith. He was a thin man, but intelligent looking, as thin men quite frequently are. Don't get down, Mr. Gub. Don't get down, he said. I came in the back way hoping to find Miss Turner. She is not here? She's out, said Philo Gub. Too bad, said Attorney Smith. I wanted to see her about her nephew. You have heard he is in jail. Why, yes, said Philo, crossing one leg over the other. He hired me to do some detecting. I'm sort of in charge of that case. I'm just going to start in looking it up. Attorney Smith took a turn to the end of the room and back. He was known in Riverbank as the unsuccessful competitor against Attorney Mullen for the city attorney ship and was supposed to be the counselor of the liquor interests. You have done nothing yet? He asked suddenly, stopping below Philo Gub's elevated seat. No, I'm just about beginning to commence, said Philo. Then you know nothing regarding the articles Young Turner is charged with stealing. Well, maybe I do know something about that, said Philo. If you mean seven bottles of beer and a beer opener, I do. Where are they? asked Attorney Smith in the sharp tone he used in addressing a witness for the other side when he was drying a case. I guess I've told about all I'm going to tell about them, said Philo, thoughtfully. I don't want to be disobliging, Mr. Smith, but I look on them bottles of beer as a clue, and that beer opener is a clue. And they're about the only clue I've got. I got to save up my clues. Are they in this house? asked Mr. Smith sharply. If they ain't, they're somewhere else, said Philo. Mr. Gub, said Mr. Smith impressively, there are large interests at stake in this case, larger interests than you can imagine. We are all interested at this moment in clearing your client of the suspicion, which I hope is an unjust suspicion, now resting over and upon him. I need not say what the interests are, but they are very powerful. I feel confident that those interests could succeed in clearing Snook's Turner. Well, I guess if I was left alone long enough to get down from this ladder, I could clear him myself. I didn't study in the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondent School of Detecting for Nothing, said Philo Gub. Snook's hired me. And he did well, said Attorney Smith heartily. I praise his acumen. I wonder if I might be permitted on behalf of the powerful interests I represent to contribute to the expense of the work you will do. I guess you might, said Philo Gub. Detectating runs into money. The interests I represent, said Mr. Smith, taking out his wallet, will contribute ten dollars. And they did. They put a crisp ten-dollar bill in Philo Gub's hands. And now, having shown our unity of interest with young Mr. Turner, there can be no harm in telling us where that beer is can there. He turned toward the kitchen door. Fort Nan Kilphillion stood there. Her eyes were red and swollen. Attorney Smith hastily excused himself and went away, and Nan came into the kitchen. Oh, Mr. Gub, she exclaimed. You will get Snook's out of jail, won't you? It would break my heart if he was sent to the penitentiary, and I know he has done nothing wrong. He is depending on you, Mr. Gub. I brought you ten dollars. It is all I have left of last month's wages, but it will help a little, won't it? Thank you, said Philo Gub, taking the money. I cannot estimate in advance what the cost of his clearance will be. It may be more and it may be less. It is a complicated case. I am just about going to get down from this ladder and start working on it vigorously. If you— He stopped. If you wish to help us in this case, Miss Kilphillion, he said, will you go to the jail and ask Snook's where is the beer and the beer opener? Where is— Her face went white. What beer and what beer opener? She asked tensely. Seven bottles and a beer opener, said Philo Gub. She moaned. And he said he didn't do it. He swore he didn't do it. Oh, Snooks, how could you? How could you? Now don't you weep like that, said Philo Gub soothingly. You go and ask him. I'll have my things ready for my immediate departure onto the case by the time you get back. Nan hurried away and Philo Gub waited only to count the money he had so far received. It amounted to fifty-five dollars. He slipped it into his pocket and stood up on the step ladder. He had even proceeded so far as to put one foot on a lower step when Mrs. Wilmerton entered the kitchen. She was a stout woman and she was almost out of breath. She had to stand a minute before she could speak, but as she stood she made gestures with her hands as if that much of her delivery could be given at any rate, and the words might catch up with their appropriate gestures if they could. Mr. Gub, Mr. Gub, she gasped. Oh, this is terrible, terrible! Miss Turner should never have dared it. Oh, my breath! Do you—do you know where the beer is? I wouldn't advise you to take beer for shortness of breath. Said Philo Gub. Just rest a minute. But, gasped for Mrs. Wilmerton, I told Miss Turner it was folly. She's so stubborn. I thought I'd never get a full breath again as long as I lived. How can we get rid of the beer? There's plenty that want to take it, said Mr. Gub. Attorney Smith. Oh, I knew it! I knew it! moaned Mrs. Wilmerton. He threatened it. Threatened what? asked Philo Gub. That he would find the beer in this house, cried Mrs. Wilmerton. He threatened Aunt Martha that if she did not give it to him freely he would have it found here and make a scandal. Beer hidden in between the quilt and the mattress of Aunt Martha's bed, and she, Secretary of the Lady's Temperance League. It's awful. Martha is so headstrong. She's getting herself in an awful fix. She never should have had a thing to do with that slippery fellow. With who? With Slippery Williams? asked Philo Gub, intensely surprised. Aunt Martha Turner, what did she have to do with Slippery Williams? Well, she had plenty and enough and more than that to do with him, said Mrs. Wilmerton angrily, getting bottles of beer in her bed and robbing houses at her time of life and wanting the Lady's Temperance League to have a special meeting this morning to approve of burglary and larceny at her age. Now, Mrs. Wilmerton, said Philo Gub from the top of the ladder, I'd ought to warn you before you go any farther that Snooks Turner has engaged me and my services to detect for him in this burglar case. If Aunt Martha Turner burgled the burglary that Snooks is in jail for, maybe you ought not to say anything about it to me. I got to do what I can to free Snooksie, no matter who gets into trouble. Mr. Gub exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton suddenly. Mr. Gub, I'm not authorized to do so, but I'll warrant I'll get the other ladies to authorize or I'll know why. If I was to give you twenty dollars on behalf of the Lady's Temperance League to help you get Snooksie out of jail and land only knows why he is in jail, would you be so kind as to beg and plead with Snooksie to leave Attorney Mullen alone in the Eagle after this? She held four five-dollar bills up to Filo Gub, and he took them. From what I saw of his eye, said Mr. Gub, I guess Snooks will be willing to leave Attorney Mullen alone in every shape and form from now on. Now, maybe you can tell me how Snooks got into this business. I haven't the slightest idea in the world, said Mrs. Wilmerton. All I know about is— Both Mrs. Wilmerton and Filo Gub turned their heads toward the door. The greater duskiness of the kitchen was caused by the large form of City Attorney Mullen. He bowed ceremoniously to Mrs. Wilmerton, who turned bright red with embarrassment, probably because of her part in the efforts of the League to have Mr. Mullen impeached by the City Council. Attorney Mullen was not, however, embarrassed. I'm glad you are here, Mrs. Wilmerton, he said, for I wish a witness. I do not wish to have any stigma of bribery rest on me. I came here, he continued, taking a leather purse from the inner pocket of his coat. To give these twenty-five dollars to Mr. Gub, Mr. Gub, I have just visited Snooks, so-called Turner at the jail. I went there with the intention of bailing him out, pending the simple process of his ultimate and speedy release from the charges against him. I am convinced that I was wrong when I made the charge of burglary against him. I am convinced that no burglary was ever committed on my premises. Oh! exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton. Not even the seven bottles of beer and a beer opener, I suppose. Attorney Mullen turned on her like a flash. What do you know about beer and beer openers? He snapped. I may not know as much as Detective Gub, but I know what I know, she answered. And Mr. Mullen restrained himself sufficiently to hide the glare of hatred in his eyes by turning to Philo Gub. Exactly, he said with forced calmness. And perhaps I know more about them than Mr. Gub knows. In fact, I do know more about them. I know they are upstairs between a blanket and a mattress. I know, Mrs. Wilmerton! He almost shouted, turning on her with an accusing forefinger, that they were stolen from a house in this town by someone representing the Lady's Temperance League. I know that burglary was committed by or at least at the behest of someone representing the Lady's Temperance League. I know that if this matter is carried to the end a respectable old lady, a leader in the Lady's Temperance League, will go behind bars, sentenced as a burglar. That's what I know. Oh, my, gasped Mrs. Wilmerton and sank into a chair. Now, then, said Attorney Mullen, turning to Philo Gub again and handing him the twenty-five dollars. I give you this money as my share of the fund that is to pay you for the work you do for Snook's Turner. I make no request because of the money, it is yours, but if you love justice for heaven's sakes and word to him to come out of jail. Well, won't he come out? asked Philo Gub, puzzled. No, he won't, said Attorney Mullen. I begged him to, but he said no, not until Philo Gub gets to the bottom of this case. But should we, as citizens and as members of the Prohibition Party, permit Mr. Gub to land Aunt Martha Turner in the Calibus? Well, if what I find out when I get down from this ladder and start to work sends her there, I don't see that I can help it, said Philo Gub. Detective work is a science as operated by them that has studied in the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondent School of Detecting. Snook says he don't know anything about any beer, said Nan Kilphillion entering hastily and then pausing as she saw Mr. Mullen. Did you tell him it was upstairs in bed? asked Philo Gub. In his room, in his bed, said Attorney Mullen eagerly. Why, that puts an entirely different aspect on the matter. That gives me as city attorney all the proof I shall need to convict the respectable Miss Martha Turner and her honourable nephew of the Eagle, and by the gods I will convict them. He glared at Mrs. Wilmington. Nan broke into sobs. Unless, he added gently, this whole matter is dropped. Philo Gub took out all the money he had received and counted it, sitting cross-legged on the ladder. I guess, he said thoughtfully, you had better run up to the jail and tell Snooksy I want to see him right away, Miss Kilphillion. Maybe he can stretch the jail that much again. Tell him I'm just going to get down from this ladder and start to work and I want to ask his advice. What do you want to ask him? inquired Attorney Mullen as Nan hurried away. I want to ask him about those seven bottles of beer and that beer opener, said Philo Gub. Mr. Gub, said the city attorney. I can tell you about those bottles of beer. If those bottles of beer came from my house, Aunt Martha Turner goes to the penitentiary. If she does not go to the penitentiary, there are no bottles of beer and there is no beer opener and never were. I told her she had done a foolish thing, foolish thing, exclaimed Mrs. Wilmington. Just so, and it was foolish, said Attorney Mullen, if it was done, and if it was done, and Snooks Turner telephoned, and I thought he'd meant the burglary, I would naturally assault him. You heard him bad, said Philo Gub. And I meant to, said Attorney Mullen. All turned toward the door where policemen Fogarty entered with Snooksie and Nan. I've done everything I could to quiet up the matter, said Fogarty to Mullen, thus explaining his interest in the affair. I like jail, said Snooks cheerfully. I'm going to stay in jail. Aunt Martha Turner interrupted him. She came into the kitchen like a gust of wind, scattering the others like leaves and threw her arms around her nephew Snooksie. Oh, my Snooksie, my Snooksie, she moaned. Don't you love your old auntie any more? Won't you be a good boy for your poor old auntie? Don't you love her at all any more? Sure, said Snooks happily. A fellow can love you in jail, can't he? But won't you come out? She pleaded. Everybody wants you to come out, dear boy. See, they all want you to come out, every last one of them. Please come out. Oh, I like it in jail, said Snooks. It gives me time for meditation. Well, good-bye, folks. I'll be going back. His aunt grasped him firmly by the arm and wailed. So did Nan. But Snooksie begged Mrs. Turner. Don't you know they'll send me to the penitentiary if you go back to that old jail? Yes, but don't you care, auntie. They say the penitentiary is nicer than the jail. Better doors. Nobody can break in and steal things from you. Snooks, Turner, said his aunt. You know as well as I do that Mr. Mullen will forgive and forget, if you will. Would you rather see me go to prison? Suffer? No, of course not, auntie, said Snooks, laughing. But you see, I've hired Detective Gub to work on this case, and if there's no case, it will not be fair to him. He's all worked up about it. He's so eager to be at it that he has almost come down from the top of that ladder. In another day or two, he would come down, all the way down, and then there's no telling what would happen. No, I'm a newspaper man. I want Philo Gub to discover something we don't know anything about. I might start enthralling and shadowing somebody that hasn't anything to do with this case, suggested Philo Gub. That wouldn't discommode none of you folks, and I'd sort of feel as if I was giving you your money's worth. Somebody has been writing on the front of the Methodist Church with black chalk. I might try to detect who done that. But that would be a very difficult job, said Snooks. It would be some hard, admitted Philo Gub. Then you ought to have more money, said Snooks. Aunt Martha ought to contribute to the fund. If Aunt Martha contributes to the fund, I'll be good. I'll come out of jail. Aunt Martha opened her shopping-bag and fumbled in it with her old fingers. Philo Gub took from his pocket the bills he had been given during the morning. He counted them. He had exactly one hundred dollars, just enough to send to Mr. Matterbrook. How much should I give you, Mr. Gub? asked Aunt Martha tremulously, and Philo Gub stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes. When he spoke his words were cryptic to all those in the room. Well, ma'am, he said, I guess ten cents will be about enough. I've got a two-cent postage stamp myself. Ain't detectives wonderful? whispered Nan, clinging to Snook's arm. You can't ever tell what they really mean. Nobody seemed to care what Philo Gub meant, but a week later, Snook stopped him on the street and asked him why he had asked for ten cents. Four to register a letter, said Philo Gub, a letter I had to send off. End of The Two-Cent Stamp by Ellis Parker Butler. The Unburglers by Ellis Parker Butler. This is a LibriVox recording. All LibriVox recordings are in the public domain. For more information or to volunteer, please visit LibriVox.org. Reading by Greg Marguerite. The Unburglers by Ellis Parker Butler. Although Detective Gub's experience with the Oobliette elevator did not lead to the detection of the dynamiters for whom a reward of $5,000 was offered, it resulted in the payment to him of one-half of three fines of $500 for each of the three stores of whiskey he had unearthed. With this money amounting to $750, Mr. Gub went to the home of Jonas Medderbroek and paid that gentleman the entire amount. That their payment, Mr. Gub said, deducted from what I owe onto them shares of perfectly worthless goldmine stock. The name of the mine, if you please, is utterly hopeless and not perfectly worthless, said Mr. Medderbroek severely. Just so, said Mr. Gub apologetically. You must excuse me, Mr. Medderbroek. I ain't no expert onto goldmine's names, and offhand them two names seem about the same to me. But my remark was to be that the indebtedness of the liability I now owe you is only $13,750. And the sooner you get it paid up, the better it will suit me, said Mr. Medderbroek. Yes, sir, said Mr. Gub, and hesitated. Then, assuming an air of little concern, he asked, it ain't likely to suppose we've had any word from Miss Cirilla, is it, Mr. Medderbroek? For answer, Mr. Medderbroek went to his desk and brought Mr. Gub a telegram. It was from Cirilla. It said, eating no potatoes, drinking no water, have lost eight pounds, kind love to Mr. Gub. She's wore herself down to 992 pounds according to that, said Mr. Gub. She has only got to wear off 292 pounds more before Mr. Dworkin will discharge her away from the sideshow. And at the rate she's wearing herself away, said Mr. Medderbroek, that will be in about ten years. What interests me more is that the telegram came collect and cost me forty cents. If you want to do the square thing, Mr. Gub, you'll pay me twenty cents for your share of that telegram. Mr. Gub immediately gave Mr. Medderbroek twenty cents, and Mr. Medderbroek kindly allowed him to keep the telegram. Mr. Gub placed it in the pocket, nearest his heart, and proceeded to a house on Tenth Street, where he had a job of paper-hanging. At about the same time, Smith Whitaker, the riverbank marshal, or chief of police, as he would have been called in a larger city, knocked the ashes from his pipe against the edge of his much whittled desk in the dingy marshal's room on the ground floor of the city hall, and grinned at Mr. Griscum, one of riverbank's citizens. Well, I don't know, he said with a grin. I don't know, but what I'd be glad to be unburgled like that. I guess it was just somebody playing a joke on you. If it was, said Mr. Griscum, I am ready to do a little joking myself. I'm just enough of a joker to want to see whoever it was in jail. My house is my house. It is my castle as the saying is, and I don't want strangers wandering in and out of it, whether they come to take away my property or leave property that is not mine. Is there or is there not a law against such things, as happened at my house? Oh, there's a law, all right, said Marshal Whitaker. It's burglary, whether the burglar breaks into your house or breaks out of it. How do you know he broke out? Well, my wife and I went to the riverbank theater last night, said Mr. Griscum, and when I got home and went to put the key in the keyhole there was another key in it. Here are the two keys. Marshal Whitaker took the two keys and examined them. One was an old door key, much worn, and the other a new key, evidently the work of an amateur key maker. All right, said Marshal Whitaker when he had examined the keys. This new one was made out of an old spoon. Go ahead. We never had a key like that in the house, said Mr. Griscum, but when we reached home last night this nickel-silver key was sticking in the lock of the front door on the outside, and the door was unlocked and standing ajar. Just as if someone had gone in at the front door and left it unlocked, said Mr. Whitaker. Exactly, said Mr. Griscum, so the first thing we thought was burglars, and the first place my wife looked was the sideboard in the dining room and there, yes, said Mr. Whitaker, there on the sideboard were a dozen solid silver spoons you had never seen before, and marked with my wife's initials understand, said Mr. Griscum, and the cellar window, the one on the east side of the house, had been broken out of. Why not broken into, asked the Marshal. Well, I'm not quite a fool, said Mr. Griscum with some heat. I know because of the marks his Jimmy made on the sill. Someone has been playing a joke on you, said Mr. Whitaker. You wait and you'll see. You won't be offended if I ask you a question. My wife knows no more about it than I do, said Mr. Griscum hotly. Now, now, said Mr. Whitaker, soothingly, I didn't mean that. What are your own spoons, solid or plated? Plated, said Mr. Griscum. Well, said Mr. Whitaker, there's where to look for the joke. Try to think who would consider it a joke to send you solid silver spoons. Billy gets, exclaimed Mr. Griscum, mentioning the town choker. That's the man I had in mind, said Mr. Whitaker. Now, I guess you can handle this alone, Mr. Griscum. I guess I can, agreed Mr. Griscum, and he went out. The Marshal chuckled. Unburgled, he said to himself. That's a new one for sure. That's the sort of burglary to set Philo Gub the undetective on. He was still grinning as he went out, but he tried to hide the grin when he met Billy Getz on the main street. Billy uttered a hasty, can't stop now, Whitaker. But the head of the riverbank police grasped his arm. What's your rush? I've got some fun for you, said Whitaker. Some other time, said Billy, I just borrowed this from Doc Mortimer and promised to take it back quick. What is it? asked the Marshal, gazing at the curious affair Billy had in his hands. It looked very much like a coffee pot, and on the lid was a wheel like a small tin windmill. Just below the lid and above the spout was a hole as large as a dime. Lung tester, said Billy, trying to pull away. Let me go, will you, Whitaker? I'm in a hurry. Just borrowed it to settle a bet with Sam Simmons. I show two pounds more lung pressure than he does. Twenty-six pounds. You, scoffed Whitaker, I bet I can show twenty-eight if you can show twenty-six. Oh, well, I suppose I can't get away until Baby tries the new toy, but hurry it up, will you? The Marshal put his lips to the spout and blew. Instantly, from the hole under the lid, a great cloud of flowers shot out, covering his face and head and deluging his garments. From up and down the street came shouts of joy, and the Marshal brushing at his face grinned. One on me, Billy, he said, good-naturedly patting the flower out of his hair, and just when I was coming to put you on to some fun, too, what do you know about the griscombe unburglary? Not a thing, Billy said. Tell me. I didn't expect you would know anything about it, said the Marshal with a wink, but how about putting Correspondent School Detective Gubb onto the job? Fine, said Billy. Tell me what the unburgled griscombe thing is, and I'll do the rest. Billy found Filo Gubb at work in the house on Tenth Street, hanging paper on the second floor, and the Lank detective looked at Billy solemnly as the story of the Griscombe affair was explained to him. When I started in Taken Lessons from the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondent School of Detecting, said Mr. Gubb solemnly, I aimed to do a strictly retail business in Detecting, and let the wholesale alone. Seeing that you learned by mail, said Billy Getz, I should think you'd be better fitted to do a mail-order business. Them terms of retail and wholesale is my own, said Mr. Gubb. You don't believe anybody would unburgle a house, I guess, said Billy. Yes, I do, Filo Gubb said. A fellow can tie a knot, or he can untie it, can't he? He can hitch a horse, or he can unhitch it. And if a man can burgle, he can unburgle. A mercenary burglar would naturally burgle things out of a house after he had burdled himself in. But a generous-hearted burglar would just as naturally unburgle things into a house, and then unburgle himself out. That stands to reason. Of course it does, said Billy Getz, and I knew you would see it that way. I see things reasonable, said Filo Gubb. But I guess I won't take up the case, unburgle and ain't no common crime. It ain't mentioned in the twelve lessons I got from the Rising Sun Correspondent School. I wouldn't hardly know how to go about catching an unburgler. Just do the opposite from what it says to do to catch a burglar, said Billy Getz. Common sense would tell you that, wouldn't it? But listen, Mr. Gubb, I'd let Whitaker catch his own burglars. The reason I ask you to take this case is because I know you have a good heart. It's good, but it's hard, said Filo Gubb. A detective has to have a hard heart. All right, here is this man, unburgling houses. For all we know, he is honest and upright, said Billy Getz. He continues unburgling houses. The habit grows. Each house he unburgles tempts him to unburgle, too. Each set of spoons he leaves in a house tempts him to leave two sets in the next house, or four sets, or a solid silver punch bowl. In a short time, he wipes out his little fortune. He borrows. He begs. At last, he steals. In order to unburgle one house, he burglars another. He leads a dual life, a sort of Jekyll Hyde life. But what if I caught him? said Mr. Gubb. Oh, you won't catch. I mean, we will leave that to you. Frighten him out of the unburgling habit. I'll tell Marshal Whitaker you will get on the trail. Yes, said Filo Gubb. I feel sorry for the feller. Maybe he's letting his wife and children suffer for food whilst he unburgles away his substance. Then, said Billy Getz, taking up his lung tester, suppose you stop in at the Marshal's office tonight at eight thirty. Whitaker will tell you all about it. Filo Gubb waited until Billy was well out of the house, and then he said, he'd done it, and I know he'd done it, and he'd done it to make a fool out of me, but I guess I owe Billy Getz a scare. And if I can prove that unburglary onto him, he'll get the scare all right. 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 Whitaker. 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 Filo Gubb. That's what them French detectives did always. Good idea, said Whitaker. Write out a docket and bring it in every night. Now, I'll go over this Griscombe case so you'll understand how to go at it. Here, for instance, is the house. The clock on the Marshal's desk marked 10 before they were aware. Billy had risen from his chair, for he had a poker game waiting for him at the Kidder's Club when the telephone bell rang. The Marshal drew the phone toward him. Yes, he said into the telephone. Yes, this is Marshal Whitaker. Mr. Milbrook? Yes. I know. 765 Locust Avenue. Broken into? What? Oh. Broken out of. While you were out at dinner. Yes. Opened the front door with a key. Yes. What kind of key, Mr. Milbrook? Thin, nickel, silver key? Nothing taken? What's that? Left a dozen solid silver spoons engraved with your wife's initials. I see. And broke out through a cellar window? Yes. I understand. No, it doesn't seem possible, but such things have happened. I'll send. He looked around, but Philo Gub, who had heard the name and address, was already gone. I'll attend to it at once, he concluded, and hung up the receiver. He turned to Billy Getz. Billy, he said severely. Is this another of your jokes? Whitaker, said Billy, I'd give you my word I had nothing to do with this. Well, I'll believe you, said Whitaker rather reluctantly. I thought it was you. Who do you suppose is trying to take the honor of town cut up from you? I can't imagine, said Billy. Are you going to leave the thing in Gub's hands? That mail-order detective? Not much. It's getting serious. I'll send Purcell up to look the ground over. A man can't make nickel-silver keys and break out of houses and leave engraved spoons and forks around without leaving plenty of traces. We'll have the man tomorrow and give him a good scare. Detective Gub, in the meanwhile, had gone directly to Mr. Milbrook's unburgled house at 765 Locust Avenue. Mr. Milbrook, a short stout man with a husky voice that gurgled when he was excited, opened the door. I'm Detective Gub of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondent School of Detecting. Come to see about your unburglary, said Philo Gub, opening his coat to show his badge. This is a most peculiar case. I've never heard anything like it in my life, gurgled Mr. Milbrook. Didn't take a thing, left a dozen spoons, came in at the front door and broke out through the cellar window. How long have you been married? asked Mr. Gub, seating himself on the edge of a chair and drawing out a notebook and pencil. Married? Married? What's that got to do with it? asked Mr. Milbrook. Twenty years next June if you want to know. That makes it a difficult case, said Philo Gub. If you was a bride and a groom it would be easier, but I guess maybe you can tell me the names of some of the folks you've had to dinner. Dinner? gurgled Mr. Milbrook. Dinner? When? Since you were married, said Mr. Gub. My dear man exclaimed Mr. Milbrook, we've had thousands to dinner. Dining out and giving dinners is our favorite amusement. I can't see what you mean. I can't understand you. Well, you got plated spoons and forks, ain't you? asked Philo Gub. What if we have? gurgled Mr. Milbrook. That's our affair, ain't it? It's my affair too, said Detective Gub. Mr. Griscum's house was unbergled last night, and he had plated spoons. The unburgler left solid ones on him, like he did on you. Now, I reason inductively, like Sherlock Holmes, you both got plated spoons, and unburgler leaves you solid ones, so he must have known you had plated ones and needed solid ones, so it must be someone who has had dinner with you. My dear man, gurgled Mr. Milbrook, we never have had a plated spoon in this house. Who sent you here anyway? Nobody, said Philo Gub. I come of myself. Well, you can go of yourself, gurgled Mr. Milbrook angrily. There's the door. Get out! On his way out, Mr. Gub met patrolman Purcell coming in. Detective Gub outside the house examined the cellar window as well as he could. There was not a mark to be seen from the outside, but a pansy bed bore the marks of the unburgler's exit. To get out of the cellar, the unburgler had to wiggle himself out of the small window, and had crushed the pansy's flat. Detective Gub 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 Gub threw it away. Even an unburgler would not have chosen a chicken's leg bone as a weapon. Evidently Billy Gatz had not left any clue in the pansy bed. Philo Gub had no doubt that Billy was putting up a joke on him. The detective decided that his best method would be to shadow Billy Gatz from sundown each day until he caught him unburgling another house, or found something to connect him with the unburgler's. So he went home. It was eleven when he began to undress. It was then he first realized that the knees of his light trousers were damp from kneeling in the pansy bed, and he looked at them roofily. The knees were stained like Joseph's coat of many colors, and they were his best trousers. He hung them carefully over the back of his chair, and went to bed. The next morning he rolled the trousers into a bundle and took them with him on his way to his paper-hanging job. On Main Street he stopped at Frank the Tellers. Pants cleaned and pressed thirty-five cents. He unrolled the trousers and laid them across the counter. Can you remove those stains, he asked? Oh, sure I could, said Frank. I make me no troubles by God, Mr. Gub. Just this morning already, I did it their same ding. You fall over their vire, too, yes? Certainly, I expected it was the same wire into a flower bed. Ches, said Frank, like Mr. Vescott, yes? Cooling across their corner, yes, and didn't see their vire. That's so, said Detective Gub. You don't mean old Mr. Vescott, do you? Sure, yes, said Frank. He falls by their flower bed and unstands his knees already, just like that. Well, I have made these pants ready by you this evening. You want them pressed, too? Press them and clean them and make them nice, said Filo Gub, and went out. Old John Vescott, and pansy stains on his trouser knees, was it? The things seemed impossible, but so did unburglary, for that matter. Old John Vescott was one of the richest men in Riverbank. He was a retired merchant, and as mean as sin. He was the last man in Riverbank anyone would suspect of leaving spoons and forks in other people's houses. But how did it come that he had pansy stains on the knees of his trousers? Filo Gub thought of old John Vescott all day, and toward night he hid on a solution. Wedding presents. From what he had heard, old John was, or had been, the sort of man to accept a wedding invitation, go to the reception and eat his fill, and never send the bride so much as a black wire hairpin. And now, grown old, his conscience might be hurting him. He might be in that semi-senile state when restitution becomes a craze, and the un-given wedding presents might press upon his conscience. It was not at all unlikely that he had chosen the unburglary method of giving the presents at this late date. The form of the unburcled goods, forks and spoons, and the initials engraved upon them made this more likely. That night Detective Gub did not report in person nor by docket to Marshall Whitaker. At seven o'clock he was hiding in the hazel brush opposite old John Vescott's lonely house on Pottyx Lane. At seven-fifteen the old man tottered from his gate and tottered down the lane toward the more thickly settled part of town. Under his arm he carried a small bundle, a bundle wrapped in newspaper. Detective Gub waited until the old man was well in advance, and then slipped from the hazel brush and followed him, observing all the rules for shadowing and trailing as taught by the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondent School of Detecting. For three hours the old man wandered the streets. Now he walked along Main Street, peering anxiously into the faces of the pedestrians with purblind eyes, and now walking the residence streets. Detective Gub kept close behind. As ten o'clock struck from the clock in the high school tower old John Vescott quickened his steps a little and walked toward the opposite end of the town, where the lumber yards are. Down the hill into the lumber district he walked and Detective Gub dodged from tree to tree. Halfway down the hill the old man hesitated. He glanced around. At his side was a mass of lilac bushes, seemingly strangely out of place among the huge piles of lumber. Without stopping the old man let the bundle slide from under his arm and fall on the walk. For a moment it lay like a white spot on the walk, and then it moved rapidly out of sight into the bushes. Bundles do not move thus unless assisted, but Philo Gub was too far away to see the hand he knew must have reached out for the bundle. He ran rapidly, keeping in the sawdust that formed the unfitful soil of the lumber yard until he dared come no nearer, and then he climbed to the top of the tallest lumber pile and lay flat. He commanded every side of the hillside lumber yard, and he did not have long to wait. From the lower side of the yard he saw a black figure emerge, crossed the street, and disappear over the bank into the railway switchyard below. Mr. Gub scrambled down and followed. At the bank above the switchyard he paused, keeping in a shadow and looked here and there. Flat cars and box cars stood on the tracks in great numbers, most of them closed and sealed, some partly open. He heard a car door grate as it was closed. He slipped down the bank and crept on his hands and knees. He was halfway down the line of cars when he heard a voice. It came from car 7887, C, B, and Q. Run all the breath out of me, said the voice in a wheeze. Well, did you get it? whispered another voice. Sure, I got it, got something anyway. Strike a match, Bill, and let's see if he put up a job on us. If he did, we'll blow him up tomorrow night, hey? That's right. We got a can of powder left under the pile by the laylux. How much is it? We told him one thousand, didn't we? Same as he'd give the law an order to help grab us. Now listen, you take half of this and go one way, then I'll take half, and go the other. We can get away with five hundred apiece. And we got the five hundred apiece we got for doing the dynamite job, too. Say, I never thought to have a thousand dollars at once in me life. What's that? It was Philo Gub slipping the car door latch over the staple and hammering home the hasp with a rock. It was the engine backing against the long row of cars to make a coupling, and then moving slowly forward toward Dirlingport as the heavy train got under way. The two rascals hammered on the side of the car with their fists. They swore, they kicked against the doors. Philo Gub drew himself into the next open car as the train moved away. About the same time Officer Purcell entered the Marshall's office where Whitaker and Billy Getts sat awaiting the coming of Philo Gub. Purcell led John Gutman, the town half-wit. I got him, he said proudly, caught him coming out of Sam Wentz's cellar window. Says he didn't mean no harm. Had a dream he was to leave spoons on all the society folks and he'd be invited to all their parties. Did he fight you? asked Whitaker. Your pants is all stained up. Fight? No, he wouldn't fight a sheep. I tripped over a wire fence cut in a corner and fell into a flower bed. Got hail Columbia from the lady, too. She said old man Westcote fell into the flowers yesterday and she didn't mean to have her flower bed used as no landing place. Heard from Detective Gub yet? Whitaker grinned. We ought to hear from him soon and I reckon he'll be worth waiting to hear from. And he was. Word came from him about an hour later. It was a telegram from the Sheriff of Durling County. Detective Gub captured two of the dynamiters tonight, have their confession, arrest, pie wagon, peep, long Sam, underberry, and shorty billings, all implicated. And the rewards up to five thousand dollars, said Officer Purcell. Let's hustle out and have the other three and maybe we can split it with Gub. And us sitting here thinking we had a joke on him, exclaimed Marshal Whitaker with disgust. It makes me sick. Well, I feel a little billy as myself, said Billy Getz. End of The Unburglers by Ellis Parker Butler