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He glared at Mrs. Wilmerton. Nan broke into sobs.

“Unless,” he added gently, “this whole matter is dropped.”

Philo Gubb took out all the money he had received and counted it, sitting cross-legged on the ladder.

“I guess,” he said thoughtfully, “you had better run up to the jail and tell Snooksy I want to see him right away, Miss Kilfillan. Maybe he can stretch the jail that much again. Tell him I’m just going to get down from this ladder and start to work, and I want to ask his advice.”

“What do you want to ask him?” inquired Attorney Mullen, as Nan hurried away.

“I want to ask him about those seven bottles of beer and that beer-opener,” said Philo Gubb.

“Mr. Gubb,” said the City Attorney, “I can tell you about those bottles of beer. If those bottles of beer came from my house Aunt Martha Turner goes to the penitentiary. If she does not go to the penitentiary, there are no bottles of beer and there is no beer-opener. And never were!”

“I told her she had done a foolish, foolish thing!” exclaimed Mrs. Wilmerton.

“Just so! And it was foolish,” said Attorney Mullen, “If it was done. And, if it was done, and Snooks Turner telephoned, and I thought he meant the burglary, I would, naturally, assault him.”

“You hurt him bad,” said Philo Gubb.

“And I meant to!” said Attorney Mullen.

All turned toward the door, where Policeman Fogarty entered with Snooksy and Nan.

“I’ve done ivrything I cud t’ quiet th’ matter up,” said Fogarty to Mullen, thus explaining his interest in the affair.

“I like jail,” said Snooks cheerfully. “I’m going to stay in jail.”

Aunt Martha Turner interrupted him. She came into the kitchen like a gust of wind, scattering the others like leaves, and threw her arms around her nephew Snooksy.

“Oh, my Snooksy! My Snooksy!” she moaned. “Don’t you love your old auntie any more? Won’t you be a good boy for your poor old auntie? Don’t you love her at all any more?”

“Sure,” said Snooks happily. “A fellow can love you in jail, can’t he?”

“But won’t you come out?” she pleaded. “Everybody wants you to come out, dear, dear boy. See–they all want you to come out. Every last one of them. Please come out.”

“Oh, I like it in jail,” said Snooks. “It gives me time for meditation. Well, good-bye, folks, I’ll be going back.”

His aunt grasped him firmly by the arm and wailed. So did Nan.

“But, Snooksy,” begged Mrs. Turner, “don’t you know they’ll send me to the penitentiary if you go back to that old jail?”

“Yes, but don’t you care, auntie. They say the penitentiary is nicer than the jail. Better doors. Nobody can break in and steal things from you.”

“Snooks Turner!” said his aunt. “You know as well as I do that Mr. Mullen will forgive and forget, if you will. Would you rather see me go to prison–suffer?”

“No, of course not, auntie,” said Snooks, laughing. “But you see, I’ve hired Detective Gubb to work on this case, and if there’s no case, it will not be fair to him. He’s all worked up about it. He’s so eager to be at it that he has almost come down from the top of that ladder. In another day or two he would come all the way down, and then there’s no telling what would happen. No, I’m a newspaper man. I want Philo Gubb to discover something we don’t know anything about.”

“I might start in trailing and shadowing somebody that hasn’t anything to do with this case,” suggested Philo Gubb. “That wouldn’t discommode none of you folks, and I’d sort of feel as if I was giving you your money’s worth. Somebody has been writin’ on the front of the Methodist Church with black chalk. I might try to detect who done that.”

“But that would be a very difficult job,” said Snooks.

“It would be some hard,” admitted Philo Gubb.

“Then you ought to have more money,” said Snooks. “Aunt Martha ought to contribute to the fund. If Aunt Martha contributes to the fund, I’ll be good. I’ll come out of jail.”

Aunt Martha opened her shopping bag, and fumbled in it with her old fingers. Philo Gubb took from his pocket the bills he had been given during the morning. He counted them. He had exactly one hundred dollars, just enough to send to Mr. Medderbrook.

“How much should I give you, Mr. Gubb?” asked Aunt Martha tremulously, and Philo Gubb stared thoughtfully at the ceiling for a few minutes. When he spoke, his words were cryptic to all those in the room.

“Well, ma’am,” he said, “I guess ten cents will be about enough. I’ve got a two-cent postage stamp myself.”

“Ain’t detectives wonderful?” whispered Nan, clinging to Snooks’s arm. “You can’t ever tell what they really mean.”

Nobody seemed to care what Philo Gubb meant, but a week later Snooks stopped him on the street and asked him why he had asked for ten cents.

“For to register a letter,” said Philo Gubb. “A letter I had to send off.”