"Get those two fellers," Mr. Gubb shouted to Mr. Hoxie, and the strong man ran from the tent. "What's this about arrest?" asked Mr. Dorgan. "I arrest this whole side-show," said Mr. Gubb, pressing his face between the bars of the cage, "for the murder of that poor, gentle, harmless man now a dead corpse into that blue box there--Mr. Winterberry by name, but called by you by the alias of the 'Pet.'" "Winterberry?" exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. "That Winterberry? That ain't Winterberry! That's a stone man, a made-to-order concrete man, with hollow tile stomach and reinforced concrete arms and legs. I had him made to order." "The criminal mind is well equipped with explanations for use in time of stress," said Mr. Gubb. "Lesson Six of the Correspondence School of Deteckating warns the deteckative against explanations of murderers when confronted by the victim. I demand an autopsy onto Mr. Winterberry." "Autopsy!" exclaimed Mr. Dorgan. "I'll autopsy him for you!" He grasped one of the Pet's hands and wrenched off one concrete arm. He struck the head with a tent stake and shattered it into crumbling concrete. He jerked the Roman tunic from the body and disclosed the hollow tile stomach. "Hello!" he said, lifting a rag-wrapped parcel from the interior of the Pet. "What's this?" When unwrapped it proved to be two dozen silver forks and spoons and a good-sized silver trophy cup. "'Riverbank Country Club, Duffers' Golf Trophy, 1909?'" Mr. Dorgan read. "'Won by Jonas Medderbrook.' How did that get there?" "Jonas Medderbrook," said Mr. Gubb, "is a man of my own local town." "He is, is he?" said Mr. Dorgan. "And what's your name?" "Gubb," said the detective. "Philo Gubb, Esquire, deteckative and paper-hanger, Riverbank, Iowa." "Then this is for you," said Mr. Dorgan, and he handed the telegram to Mr. Gubb. The detective opened it and read:-- Gubb, Care of Circus, Bardville, Ia. My house robbed circus night. Golf cup gone. Game now rotten: never win another. Five hundred dollars reward for return to me. JONAS MEDDERBROOK "You didn't actually come here to find Mr. Winterberry, did you?" asked Syrilla. Mr. Gubb folded the telegram, raised his matted hair, and tucked the telegram between it and his own hair for safe-keeping. "When a deteckative starts out to detect," he said calmly, "sometimes he detects one thing and sometimes he detects another. That cup is one of the things I deteckated to-day. And now, if all are willing, I'll step outside and get my pants on. I'll feel better." "And you'll look better," said Mr. Dorgan. "You couldn't look worse." "In the course of the deteckative career," said Mr. Gubb, "a gent has to look a lot of different ways, and I thank you for the compliment. The art of disguising the human physiology is difficult. This disguise is but one of many I am frequently called upon to assume."