ther high color on his cheek-bones. From his collection
of beards and mustaches--carefully tagged from "Number One" to "Number
Eighteen" in harmony with the types of disguise mentioned in the
twelve lessons of the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence
School of Detecting--he selected mustache Number Eight and inserted
the spring wires in his nostrils.

Mustache Number Eight was a long, deadly black mustache with up-curled
ends, and when Philo Gubb had donned it he had a most sinister
appearance, particularly as he failed to remove the string tag which
bore the legend, "Number Eight. Gambler or Card Sharp. Manufactured
and Sold by the Rising Sun Detective Agency's Correspondence School of
Detecting Supply Bureau." Having put on this mustache, Mr. Gubb took a
common splint market-basket from under the bed and placed in it the
matted hair of the Tasmanian Wild Man, his make-up materials, a small
mirror, two towels, a cake of soap, the Tasmanian Wild Man's animal
skin robe, the hair rope, and the abbreviated trunks. He covered these
with a newspaper.

The sun was just rising when he reached the railway siding, and hardly
had Mr. Gubb arrived when the work of unloading the circus began.

[Illustration: MR. WINTERBERRY DID NOT SEEM TO BE CONCEALED AMONG
THEM]

Mr. Gubb--searching for the abducted Mr. Winterberry--sped rapidly
from place to place, the string tag on his mustache napping over his
shoulder, but he saw no one answering Mrs. Garthwaite's description of
Mr. Winterberry. When the tent wagons had departed, the elephants and
camels were unloaded, but Mr. Winterberry did not seem to be concealed
among them, and the animal cages--which came next--were all tightly
closed. There were four or five cars, however, that attracted Philo
Gubb's attention, and one in particular made his heart beat rapidly.
This car bore the words, "World's Monster Combined Shows Freak Car."
And as Mr. Winterberry had gone as a social reform agent to the
side-show, Mr. Gubb rightly felt that here if anywhere he would
find a clue, and he was doubly agitated since he knew the beautiful
Syrilla was doubtless in that car.

Walking around the car, he heard the door at one end open. He crouched
under the platform, his ears and eyes on edge. Hardly was he concealed
before the head ruffian of the unloading gang approached.

"Mister Dorgan," he said, in quite another tone than he had used to
his laborers, "should I fetch that wild man cage to