Mr. Gubb took it. From his desk he took the string Mr. Greasy Gus had left. The two ends joined perfectly.
“I’ll get you out of this fix, and fix it so Mrs. Lippett won’t have that pig onto her hands,” he said. “I’ll go tell her what a fraud of a faker you are, and it won’t cost you but twenty-five dollars.”
“Willingly paid,” said Mr. Guffins, reaching into his pocket.
“And don’t you worry about that pig being Henry K. Lippett,” said Mr. Gubb. “That pig was a stranger into Riverbank. And,” he went on, as if reading the words from the end of the whipcord, “it was tied to the alley fence. Tied to an iron staple,” he said, “by a short, stoutish man with a ruddish face.” He took up the other piece of cord and looked at it closely. “And the pig jerked the cord in two and went into the yard and in at the open door and into the room. And what is moreover also, the pig is an educated show-pig, and its name is Henry, and—”
“And what?” asked Mr. Guffins eagerly.
“If you want to get rid of the pig out of Mrs. Lippett’s house, all you have to do is to write to the Sheriff of Derling County, Derlingport, Iowa, and you needn’t trouble yourself into it no further.”
“Great Scott!” cried Mr. Guffins. “And you can tell all that from that piece of cord!”
Mr. Gubb assumed a look of wisdom.
“Us gents that is into the deteckative business,” he said carelessly, “has to learn twelve correspondence lessons before we get our diplomas. The deteckative mind is educated up to such things.”