This document was worn at the corners of the folds, and slightly soiled, as if Mr. Master had carried it in his pocket some time before dropping it in his suitcase.
With the same caution, and following closely Lesson Three and its directions for “Searching Occupied Apartments, Etc.,” Mr. Gubb examined the articles of dress the Chicago detective had cast aside. All were marked “C. Master” or “C. M.” or with a monogram composed of the letters “C. M.” interwoven.
As cautiously as he could, Philo Gubb crossed to his trunk and took from the left-hand compartment of the tray his trusty pistol. It was a large and deadly looking pistol, about a foot and a half long, with a small ramrod beneath the barrel. It was a muzzle-loader of the crop of 1854, and carried a bullet the size of a well-matured cherry. It was as heavy as a vitrified paving-brick. Its efficiency as a firearm was unknown, as Mr. Gubb had never discharged it, but it looked dangerous. A man, facing Philo Gubb’s trusty weapon, felt that if the gun went off he would be utterly and disastrously blown to flinders. Mr. Gubb pointed it at the sleeping Mr. Witzel, using both hands, and sighting along the barrel.
“Wake up!” he exclaimed sternly.
Mr. Witzel sat straight up on the cot. For an instant he was still dazed with sleep and did not seem to know where he was; then a look of joy spread over his face and he jumped from the cot and, with both hands extended, moved toward Detective Gubb.
“Superb!” he exclaimed. “A perfect specimen! Wonderfully preserved!”
“Go back!” said Philo Gubb sternly. “This article is a loaded pistol gun, prepared for momentary explosion at any time at all. Go back!”
“Remarkable!” cried Mr. Witzel joyously. “A superb specimen. Let me see it. Let me look at it.”
He walked up to the gun and peered into its muzzle with one eye. He bent his head to read the engraving on the top of the barrel.