over the end board of the gate, studied this.

The theory that Mr. Gubb adopted was that the thief, coming for a raid
on the coop, had been surprised to find it so poorly guarded. It had
been so easy to enter the coop and steal the chicken that he had
decided it would be folly to take eight or ten chickens and thus
arouse instant suspicion and reprisal. Instead of this he had taken
but one, trusting that the loss of one would be unnoticed or laid to
rats or cats or weasels. Thus he would be able to return again and
again as fowl meat was needed or desired, and the chickens would be
like money in the bank--a fund on which to draw. This theory was so
sound that Mr. Gubb believed it would require nothing more than
patience to capture the criminal. The thief would come back for more
chickens!

Philo Gubb looked around for an advantageous position in which to
await the coming of the thief, and be unseen himself, and the loose
board roof of the brick-kiln met his eye. No position could be better.
He climbed the ladder inside the kiln, pushed one of the boards aside
enough to permit him to squeeze through onto the roof, and creeping
carefully over the loose boards, reached the edge of the roof. Here he
stretched himself out flat on the boards, and waited.

Nothing--absolutely nothing--happened! The mosquitoes, numerous indeed
because of the nearness of the pond, buzzed around his head and stung
him on the neck and hands, but he did not dare slap at them lest he
betray his hiding-place. Hour followed hour and no chicken thief
appeared. And when the first rays of the sun lighted the east he
climbed down and stalked stiffly away to a short hour of sleep.

The next night the Correspondence School detective wasted no time in
preliminary observations of the lay of the land. He kept out of sight
until the sun had set and dusk covered the land with shade, and then
he went at once to the roof of the brick-kiln. This time he was
disguised in a red mustache, a pair of flowing white side-whiskers,
and a woolen cap. And he wore two revolvers--large ones--in a belt
about his waist.

It was still too early for brisk business in chicken-stealing when
Philo Gubb climbed to the roof of the kiln and spread himself out
there, and he felt that he had time for a few minutes' sleep.

He was tremendously sleepy. Sleep fairly pushed his eyelids down over
his eyes, and he put his crooked arm under his head and, after
thinking fondly of Syrilla