d sewed in a sack. Foul play is suspected.

"I should think foul play would be suspected," exclaimed Philo Gubb,
"if a man was sewed into a bag and deposited into the Mississippi
River until dead."

He propped the paper against the foot of the cot bed and was still
reading when some one knocked on his door. He wrapped his bathrobe
carefully about him and opened the door. A young woman with
tear-dimmed eyes stood in the doorway.

"Mr. P. Gubb?" she asked. "I'm sorry to disturb you so early in the
morning, Mr. Gubb, but I couldn't sleep all night. I came on a matter
of business, as you might say. There's a couple of things I want you
to do."

"Paper-hanging or deteckating?" asked P. Gubb.

"Both," said the young woman. "My name is Smitz--Emily Smitz. My
husband--"

"I'm aware of the knowledge of your loss, ma'am," said the
paper-hanger detective gently.

"Lots of people know of it," said Mrs. Smitz. "I guess everybody knows
of it--I told the police to try to find Henry, so it is no secret. And
I want you to come up as soon as you get dressed, and paper my
bedroom."

Mr. Gubb looked at the young woman as if he thought she had gone
insane under the burden of her woe.

"And then I want you to find Henry," she said, "because I've heard you
can do so well in the detecting line."

Mr. Gubb suddenly realized that the poor creature did not yet know the
full extent of her loss. He gazed down upon her with pity in his
bird-like eyes.

"I know you'll think it strange," the young woman went on, "that I
should ask you to paper a bedroom first, when my husband is lost; but
if he is gone it is because I was a mean, stubborn thing. We never
quarreled in our lives, Mr. Gubb, until I picked out the wall-paper
for our bedroom, and Henry said parrots and birds-of-paradise and
tropical flowers that were as big as umbrellas would look awful on our
bedroom wall. So I said he hadn't anything but Low Dutch taste, and
he got mad. 'All right, have it your own way,' he said, and I went and
had Mr. Skaggs put the paper on the wall, and the next day Henry
didn't come home at all.

"If I'd thought Henry would take it that way, I'd rather had the wall
bare, Mr. Gubb. I've cried and cried, and last night I made up my mind
it was all my fault and that when Henry came home he'd find a decent
paper on the wall. I don't mind telling you, Mr. Gubb, that when the
paper was on the wall it looked worse than it looked in the roll. It
looked craz