view of
the entire facade of her turban, reflected in the mirror, and she was
thus able to keep an eye on the Dragon's Eye.

"Oh, Mr. Beech!" cried Mrs. Phillipetti, stopping him as he was
bustling past her booth, "_do_ you know where Mr. Gubb is?"

"Gubb? Gubb?" said Mr. Beech. "Oh! that paper-hanger-detective fellow?
No, I don't know where he is. Why?"

"It's gone! The Dragon's Eye is gone!" moaned Mrs. Phillipetti.

Mr. Beech, although greatly concerned, tried to maintain his
composure. Mrs. Phillipetti explained that she had removed her turban
and placed it under a chair at the back of the booth. A little later
she had noticed that the turban, with the priceless Dragon's Eye, was
gone.

"Now, this--now--was not wholly unexpected," Beech said. "It's
a--now--unfortunate thing, but it's the sort of thing that happens.
Now, Mrs. Phillipetti, just let me beg you not to say anything about
it to anybody, and I'll have Detective Gubb get right on the case. The
matter is in my hands. Rest easy! We will attend to it."

"I--I hate to lose the Dragon's Eye," said Mrs. Phillipetti, wiping
her eyes, "but the worst is to have my turban stolen. Mr. Beech, I
will give one hundred dollars to whoever returns the Dragon's Eye to
me. The 'ongsomble' of my costume is ruined. I haven't anything else
'apropos' to wear on my head."

"You look fine just as you are," said Mr. Beech. "But if you want
something to wear, you can get a Turkish hat at the Paper Hat Booth
for twenty-five cents."

"Thank you!" said Mrs. Phillipetti scornfully. "I don't wear
twenty-five-cent hats!"

Within twenty minutes the Boy Scouts, who were acting as Aides to the
Executive Committee, had tacked in ten prominent places ten hastily
daubed placards that read:--

Philo Gubb, please report at Executive Booth.
Beech, Chmn. Police Committee.

And the members of the Board of Managers had, singly and by roundabout
routes, approached the scene of the theft and had studied it.

[Illustration: "THE 'ONGSOMBLE' OF MY COSTUME IS RUINED"]

To the left of Mrs. Phillipetti's booth was the Ethiopian Dip. Here,
some thirty feet back from a counter and shielded by a net, a negro
sat on an elevated perch just over a canvas tub full of water. In
front of the net was a small target, and if a patron of the game hit
the target with a baseball, the negro suddenly and unexpectedly
dropped into the tub of water. The price was three throws for five
cent