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“Now, this–now–was not wholly unexpected,” Beech said. “It’s a–now–unfortunate thing, but it’s the sort of thing that happens. Now, Mrs. Phillipetti, just let me beg you not to say anything about it to anybody, and I’ll have Detective Gubb get right on the case. The matter is in my hands. Rest easy! We will attend to it.”

“I–I hate to lose the Dragon’s Eye,” said Mrs. Phillipetti, wiping her eyes, “but the worst is to have my turban stolen. Mr. Beech, I will give one hundred dollars to whoever returns the Dragon’s Eye to me. The ‘ongsomble’ of my costume is ruined. I haven’t anything else ‘apropos’ to wear on my head.”

“You look fine just as you are,” said Mr. Beech. “But if you want something to wear, you can get a Turkish hat at the Paper Hat Booth for twenty-five cents.”

“Thank you!” said Mrs. Phillipetti scornfully. “I don’t wear twenty-five-cent hats!”

Within twenty minutes the Boy Scouts, who were acting as Aides to the Executive Committee, had tacked in ten prominent places ten hastily daubed placards that read:–

Philo Gubb, please report at Executive Booth.
Beech, Chmn. Police Committee.

And the members of the Board of Managers had, singly and by roundabout routes, approached the scene of the theft and had studied it.

To the left of Mrs. Phillipetti’s booth was the Ethiopian Dip. Here, some thirty feet back from a counter and shielded by a net, a negro sat on an elevated perch just over a canvas tub full of water. In front of the net was a small target, and if a patron of the game hit the target with a baseball, the negro suddenly and unexpectedly dropped into the tub of water. The price was three throws for five cents.

As Riverbank had some remarkably clever baseball throwers, the Ethiopian was dipped quite frequently. As the water was cold and such a bath an unusual luxury for the Riverbank Ethiopians, no one Ethiopian cared to be dipped very often in succession. Therefore the Committee of Seven of the Exempt Firemen’s Association, which had the Dip in charge, had arranged for a quick change of Ethiopians, and while one sat on the perch to be dipped, three others lolled in bathing costumes just back of Mrs. Phillipetti’s booth.

Mr. Beech questioned the colored men quietly.

“Turbine?” said one of them. “We ain’t seen no turbine. We ain’t seen nuffin’. We ain’t done nuffin’ but sit here an’ play craps.”

“But you were here?” said Mr. Beech.

“Yes, we was heah,” said the blackest negro. “We was right heah all de time. Dey ain’t been no turbine took from nowhar whilst we was heah, neither. Ain’t been nobody back heah but us, an’ we’s been heah all de time.”

“Well, perhaps you can tell how this board got pried loose, if you were here all the time,” said Mr. Beech.

“It wa’n’t pried loose,” said the yellow negro. “Hit got kicked loose f’om de hinside. I know dat much, annerways. I seen dat oc-cur. I seen dat board bulge out an’ bulge out an’ bulge out twell hit bust out. An’ dey hain’t no turbine come out, nuther. No, sah!”

Mr. Beech went away. The detective business was not his business. He specialized in coal and not in crime. But in going he passed by Mrs. Phillipetti’s booth and spoke to her.

“It will be all right,” he said reassuringly. “We are on the track.”

“Oh, thank you!” said Mrs. Phillipetti, who had completed the “apropriety” of her “ongsomble” by wrapping a green silk handkerchief about her head.

“I hope to return the turban and the jewel sometime to-morrow,” said Mr. Beech, bluffing bravely.

But Philo Gubb did not heed the notices posted to call him to the Executive Booth. The evening passed and he did not appear, and Mr. Beech, on his way home, stopped at the police station. It was after midnight, but Chief of Police Wittaker was still on duty. He never slept during the Carnival.