e it might start me on the thinward road?"

"I presume to suppose," said Mr. Gubb politely, "that if you was to be
offered a home that was rich with wealth and I was to take you there
and place you beside your parental father, you wouldn't refuse?"

Mr. Gubb awaited the reply with eagerness. He tried to remain calm,
but in spite of himself he was nervous.

"Watch me!" said Syrilla. "If you could show me a nook like that, you
couldn't hold me in this show business with a tent-stake and bull
tackle. But that's a rosy dream!"

"You ain't got a locket with the photo' of your mother's picture into
it?" asked Mr. Gubb.

"No," said Syrilla. "My pa and ma was unknown to me. I dare say they
got sick of hearin' me bawl and left me on a doorstep. The first I
knew of things was that I was travelin' with a show, representin' a
newborn babe in an incubator machine. I was incubated up to the time
I was five years old, and got too long to go in the glass case."

"But some one was your guardian in charge of you, no doubt?" asked
Gubb.

"I had forty of them, dearie," said Syrilla. "Whenever money run low,
they quit because they couldn't get paid on Saturday night."

"Hah!" said Mr. Gubb. "And does the name Jones bring back the memory
of any rememberance to you?"

"No, Mr. Gubb," said Syrilla regretfully, seeing how eager he was. "It
don't."

"In that state of the case of things," said Mr. Gubb, "I've got to go
over to that wagon-pole and sit down and think awhile. I've got a
certain clue I've got to think over and make sure it leads right, and
if it does I'll have something important to say to you."

The wagon-pole in question was attached to a canvas wagon near by, and
Detective Gubb seated himself on it and thought. The side-show ladies
and gentlemen, having finished, entered the side-show tent--with the
exception of Syrilla, who remained to finish her meal. She ate a great
deal at meals, before meals, and after meals. Mr. Gubb, from his seat
on the wagon-pole, looked at Syrilla thoughtfully. He had not the
least doubt that Syrilla was the lost daughter of Mr. Jones (or
Medderbrook as he now called himself). The German-American tattoo
artist had sworn to complete the eagle by putting its claws on Mr.
Jones's daughter, if need be, and here were the claws on Syrilla's
arm. But, just as it is desirable at times to have a handwriting
expert identify a bit of writing, Mr. Gubb felt that if he could prove
that the claws tattooe