his
banking institution.

Detective Gubb, cordially greeted by his many friends and admirers,
passed on down the main street, and by the time he reached the street
that led to the river he was followed by a large and growing group
intent on the pleasant occupation of watching a detective detect.

As Mr. Gubb walked toward the river, other citizens joined the group,
but all kept a respectful distance behind him. When Mr. Gubb reached
River Street and his false mustache fell off, the interest of the
audience stopped short three paces behind him and stood until he had
rescued the mustache and once more placed its wires in his nostrils.
Then, when he moved forward again, they too moved forward. Never,
perhaps, in the history of crime was a detective favored with a more
respectful gallery.

On the edge of the river, Mr. Gubb found Long Sam Fliggis, the mussel
dredger, seated on an empty tar-barrel with his own audience ranged
before him listening while he told, for the fortieth time, the story
of his finding of the body of H. Smitz. As Philo Gubb approached, Long
Sam ceased speaking, and his audience and Mr. Gubb's gallery merged
into one great circle which respectfully looked and listened while Mr.
Gubb questioned the mussel dredger.

[Illustration: HE WAS FOLLOWED BY A LARGE AND GROWING GROUP INTENT ON
WATCHING A DETECTIVE DETECT]

"Suicide?" said Long Sam scoffingly. "Why, he wan't no more a suicide
than I am right now. He was murdered or wan't nothin'! I've dredged up
some suicides in my day, and some of 'em had stones tied to 'em, to
make sure they'd sink, and some thought they'd sink without no
ballast, but nary one of 'em ever sewed himself into a bag, and I give
my word," he said positively, "that Hen Smitz couldn't have sewed
himself into that burlap bag unless some one done the sewing. Then the
feller that did it was an assistant-suicide, and the way I look at
it is that an assistant-suicide is jest the same as a murderer."

The crowd murmured approval, but Mr. Gubb held up his hand for
silence.

"In certain kinds of burlap bags it is possibly probable a man could
sew himself into it," said Mr. Gubb, and the crowd, seeing the logic
of the remark applauded gently but feelingly.

"You ain't seen the way he was sewed up," said Long Sam, "or you
wouldn't talk like that."

"I haven't yet took a look," admitted Mr. Gubb, "but I aim so to do
immediately after I find a clue onto which to work up my case. An A-