Chi Foxy studied P. Gubb’s simple face.
“And you can arrest a feller and lodge him in jail?” he asked.
“I’ve arrested many and lodged them into jail,” P. Gubb assured him.
“Well, bo,” said Chi Foxy frankly, “I’m the man you’re looking for. Arrest me.”
The tramp knew enough about arrests to know that even a suspect, when lodged in jail, would be fed, and he was hungry and getting hungrier every moment. P. Gubb looked at him with surprise.
“I thought you said you was a deteckative,” he said.
“I am,” said Chi Foxy. “Or I wouldn’t know I was a criminal. I detected it myself, because nobody else could. Even my old friend Shermlock Hollums couldn’t detect it, but I did. I’m a—a murderer, I am. There’s a thousand-dollar reward offered for me.”
“Then why don’t you arrest yourself and get the reward?” asked P. Gubb.
“Say,” said Chi Foxy with disgust. “It can’t be done. I know, for I’ve tried. I’m a fugitive, that’s what I am, and right behind me, no matter where I flee to, comes myself ready to grab me and arrest me. I’ve chased myself all over Europe, Asia and Africa, and I can’t get away from myself, and I can’t grab myself. It’s—it’s just awful.”