odd, for Mr. Witzel was an unusually
tall and thin man. Without wasting time, he climbed into the cot and
closed his eyes. Mr. Gubb also retired.

Philo Gubb, from his cot, watched Mr. Witzel until he was sure he was
thoroughly asleep. Then the Correspondence School detective slipped
out of bed and knelt over the suitcase.

The suitcase contained linen all plainly marked. The name "C. Master"
was written in indelible ink on each piece. An extra suit of outer
garments was marked with Mr. Master's name. There were silver-backed
toilet articles, engraved with Mr. Master's name, and these Mr. Gubb
examined closely, but what caught and held his interest most was a
folded document, covered in light-blue paper and endorsed, "Last Will
and Testament of Orlando J. Higgins. Copy."

The will began with the usual preamble, but the clause that caught
Philo Gubb's bird-like eye, and held it, was the next.

"To my nephew, Custer Master," this clause said, "I give and bequeath
$450,000; but, be it understood, my said nephew, Custer Master, shall
benefit by this clause only in case he faithfully carries out the
instructions contained in the sealed envelope attached hereto, the
contents of said envelope to be read by my hereinafter named
Executors, and the said Custer Master, and not by any other persons
whatsoever; the said Executors are to be the sole judges of whether
the said Custer Master has carried out the instructions therein
contained."

This document was worn at the corners of the folds, and slightly
soiled, as if Mr. Master had carried it in his pocket some time before
dropping it in his suitcase.

With the same caution, and following closely Lesson Three and its
directions for "Searching Occupied Apartments, Etc.," Mr. Gubb
examined the articles of dress the Chicago detective had cast aside.
All were marked "C. Master" or "C. M." or with a monogram composed of
the letters "C. M." interwoven.

As cautiously as he could, Philo Gubb crossed to his trunk and took
from the left-hand compartment of the tray his trusty pistol. It was a
large and deadly looking pistol, about a foot and a half long, with a
small ramrod beneath the barrel. It was a muzzle-loader of the crop of
1854, and carried a bullet the size of a well-matured cherry. It was
as heavy as a vitrified paving-brick. Its efficiency as a firearm was
unknown, as Mr. Gubb had never discharged it, but it looked dangerous.
A man, facing Philo Gubb's trusty weapon, f