hit you on the head."

"Go back!" cried Philo Gubb menacingly. "One!"

"I'll give you fifty dollars for that gun, just as she is," said Mr.
Witzel.

"Two!" said Mr. Gubb.

"Sixty dollars!" said Mr. Witzel.

"Th--" said the paper-hanger detective, stepping backward to get room
to sight along the long barrel. Unfortunately the trunk was just
behind him and as he stepped back he tripped over it and fell
backward, doubling up like a jack-knife. But he kept his presence of
mind. The long barrel of the Briggs & Bolton protruded from between
the soles of Philo Gubb's feet in Mr. Witzel's direction.

"Hands up!" he said.

Instantly Mr. Witzel raised his hands in the air.

"I'll give you seventy dollars," he said.

"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 silve