The body was found sewed in a sack. Foul play is suspected.
“I should think foul play would be suspected,” exclaimed Philo Gubb, “if a man was sewed into a bag and deposited into the Mississippi River until dead.”
He propped the paper against the foot of the cot bed and was still reading when some one knocked on his door. He wrapped his bathrobe carefully about him and opened the door. A young woman with tear-dimmed eyes stood in the doorway.
“Mr. P. Gubb?” she asked. “I’m sorry to disturb you so early in the morning, Mr. Gubb, but I couldn’t sleep all night. I came on a matter of business, as you might say. There’s a couple of things I want you to do.”
“Paper-hanging or deteckating?” asked P. Gubb.
“Both,” said the young woman. “My name is Smitz—Emily Smitz. My husband—”
“I’m aware of the knowledge of your loss, ma’am,” said the paper-hanger detective gently.
“Lots of people know of it,” said Mrs. Smitz. “I guess everybody knows of it—I told the police to try to find Henry, so it is no secret. And I want you to come up as soon as you get dressed, and paper my bedroom.”
Mr. Gubb looked at the young woman as if he thought she had gone insane under the burden of her woe.
“And then I want you to find Henry,” she said, “because I’ve heard you can do so well in the detecting line.”