“It ain’t much,” admitted Mrs. Smith.
“No. You’re right, it ain’t,” said Philo Gubb. “Was this a rooster or a hen?”
“It was a hen,” said Mrs. Smith.
“Well,” said Mr. Gubb, “if you was to offer a reward of a hundred dollars for the capture of the thief—”
“Oh, my land!” exclaimed Mrs. Smith. “It would be cheaper for me to pay somebody five dollars to come and steal the rest of the chickens. It seems to me, that you ought to make the thief pay. I ain’t the one that did the crime, am I? It’s only right that a thief should pay for the time and trouble he puts you to, ain’t it?”
“I never before looked at it that way,” said Mr. Gubb thoughtfully, “but it stands to reason.”
“Of course it does!” said Mrs. Smith. “You catch that thief and you can offer yourself a million dollars reward if you want to. That’s none of my business.”
“Well,” said Philo Gubb, picking up his paste-pail, “I guess if there ain’t any important murders or things turn up by seven to-night, I’ll start in to work for that reward. I guess I can’t ask more than five dollars reward.”
At seven the evening was still light, and Philo Gubb, to cover his intentions and avert suspicion in case his interview with Mrs. Smith had been observed by the thief, put a false beard in his pocket and a revolver beside it and left his office in the Opera House Block cautiously. He slipped into the alley and glided down it, keeping close to the stables. A detective must be cautious.