'Toole?"

"Yes. They gave him this Hen Smitz case to look into, and the first
thing he did was to arrest me for murder. Nervy, I call it."

Policeman O'Toole opened the door a crack and peeked in. Seeing Mr.
Gubb well along in his dressing operations, he opened the door wider
and assisted Mrs. Smitz to a chair. She was still limp, but she was a
brave little woman and was trying to control her sobs.

"Through?" O'Toole asked Wiggins. "If you are, come along back to
jail."

"Now, don't talk to me in that tone of voice," said Mr. Wiggins
angrily. "No, I'm not through. You don't know how to treat a gentleman
like a gentleman, and never did."

He turned to Mr. Gubb.

"The long and short of it is this: I'm arrested for the murder of Hen
Smitz, and I didn't murder him and I want you to take my case and get
me out of jail."

"Ah, stuff!" exclaimed O'Toole. "You murdered him and you know you
did. What's the use talkin'?"

Mrs. Smitz leaned forward in her chair.

"Murdered Henry?" she cried. "He never murdered Henry. I murdered
him."

"Now, ma'am," said O'Toole politely, "I hate to contradict a lady, but
you never murdered him at all. This man here murdered him, and I've
got the proof on him."

"I murdered him!" cried Mrs. Smitz again. "I drove him out of his
right mind and made him kill himself."

"Nothing of the sort," declared O'Toole. "This man Wiggins murdered
him."

"I did not!" exclaimed Mr. Wiggins indignantly. "Some other man did
it."

It seemed a deadlock, for each was quite positive. Mr. Gubb looked
from one to the other doubtfully.

"All right, take me back to jail," said Mr. Wiggins. "You look up the
case, Mr. Gubb; that's all I came here for. Will you do it? Dig into
it, hey?"

"I most certainly shall be glad to so do," said Mr. Gubb, "at the
regular terms."

O'Toole led his prisoner away.

For a few minutes Mrs. Smitz sat silent, her hands clasped, staring at
the floor. Then she looked up into Mr. Gubb's eyes.

"You will work on this case, Mr. Gubb, won't you?" she begged. "I have
a little money--I'll give it all to have you do your best. It is
cruel--cruel to have that poor man suffer under the charge of murder
when I know so well Henry killed himself because I was cross with him.
You can prove he killed himself--that it was my fault. You will?"

"The way the deteckative profession operates onto a case," said Mr.
Gubb, "isn't to go to work to prove anything particularly especial. It
f