“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.
