gets my bill.
But, just the same, Gubb, you're in the detective business more or
less, and it strikes me you ought to take a job when it's offered to
you. You signed the will as a witness, and this man Bilton, commonly
known as Mustard on account of his yellow complexion and hair, was the
other witness, wasn't he? Now, if you can't give us the information we
want, and Mustard can, it looks to me as if it was your duty, as a
fellow witness, to hunt him up. But we don't ask that. We're willing
to pay you if you find him."

"Are you prepared to contract to say you'll pay me just for hunting
for him?" asked Mr. Gubb.

"We'll give you two hundred dollars if you can produce Mustard here in
Riverbank," said Higgins.

"The job I've took on to hunt up another missing party will occupy me
for quite a while, I guess," said Gubb, "but maybe I might put in what
extra time I can spare looking for your party."

"Do it!" said Higgins. "I don't say you're the best detective in the
world, Gubb, but you do have luck. You must have a magic talisman."

"The operation of the deteckative mind is always like magic to the
common folks," said Gubb gravely.

"All right, then," said Higgins. "Two hundred if you find him. And
now, will you just come across the hall for one minute?"

Gubb left his microscope reluctantly. He was sick and tired of the
O'Hara will, but he followed Mr. Higgins.

The second floor of the Opera House Block was laid out in small
offices arranged on two sides of a corridor. One of these offices had
been for many years the office of Haddon O'Hara, who specialized in
commercial law, collections, and jokes, and he had accumulated a snug
little fortune. It was said he could draw a contract no one could
break except himself.

On the streets and in his home and at his office--except when at work
on some especially difficult case--his face always wore a quizzical
smile. O'Hara seemed to enjoy himself every moment. Walking along the
street he would suddenly stop some citizen, enunciate a dozen or
twenty cryptic words, laugh, and proceed on his way, leaving the
citizen to puzzle over the affair, lose interest in it and forget it.
A week, a month, or a year later O'Hara would stop the same citizen
and utter ten more words, the key to the cryptic joke. Then,
chuckling, he would hurry away. He had a lot of fun. His keen brain
felt equal to making fun of the whole town and not letting the town
know it. Money came to him easil