“Oh!” he said. “I wondered where—now—all right! It’s all right! It’s all right, Cross. All right, Green. All right, Chief!” Then he turned to Gubb. “We’ve been wanting you, detective. Put up placards for you. Now, listen! Mrs. Phillipetti had a turban stolen from her booth, and that infernal ton and a half or so of ruby was in it. The Dragon’s Eye, she calls it. Well, that turban was stolen—”
“I am quite well acquainted with that fact,” said Philo Gubb.
“Well, why don’t you hunt for it, then?” asked Mr. Beech crossly. “I thought you were going to be of some use. Fooling around here with your silly ten-cent fortune-telling, having the time of your life while all of us are worrying about that Dragon’s Eye. Why don’t you hunt for it?”
“It ain’t hardly necessary to engage in deteckative exertions at the present moment on account of that ruby,” said Philo Gubb slowly, “because when I want it, all I got to do is to consult the magic deteckative tube.”
“You’re crazy!” said Mr. Beech. “You’re crazy as a loon!”
“The usual price for consulting the oracle is ten cents,” said Philo Gubb, “but I’ll make a special exception out of this time.”
He put the end of the magic tube to his ear and listened.
“The genyi of the tube says I’ve got the Dragon’s Eye into my pocket, and if you ask this yellow negro black-man he’ll tell you where the turban is at.”
“Honest!” exclaimed Mr. Beech. “Gubb, you’re a wonder!”