"Why not broken into?" asked the Marshal.

"Well, I'm not quite a fool," said Mr. Griscom with some heat. "I know because of the marks his jimmy made on the sill."

"Some one has been playing a joke on you," said Mr. Wittaker. "You wait, and you'll see. You won't be offended if I ask you a question?"

"My wife knows no more about it than I do," said Mr. Griscom hotly.

"Now, now," said Mr. Wittaker soothingly. "I didn't mean that. What are your own spoons, solid or plated?"

"Plated," said Mr. Griscom.

"Well," said Mr. Wittaker, "there's where to look for the joke. Try to think who would consider it a joke to send you solid silver spoons."

"Billy Getz!" exclaimed Mr. Griscom, mentioning the town joker.

"That's the man I had in mind," said Mr. Wittaker. "Now, I guess you can handle this alone, Mr. Griscom."

"I guess I can," agreed Mr. Griscom. And he went out.

The Marshal chuckled.

"Un-burgled!" he said to himself. "That's a new one for sure! That's the sort of burglary to set Philo Gubb, the un-detective, on."

He was still grinning as he went out, but he tried to hide the grin when he met Billy Getz on Main Street. Billy uttered a hasty "Can't stop now, Wittaker!" but the head of the Riverbank police grasped his arm.

"What's your rush? I've got some fun for you," said Wittaker.

"Some other time," said Billy. "I just borrowed this from Doc Mortimer and promised to take it back quick."

"What is it?" asked the Marshal, gazing at the curious affair Billy had in his hands. It looked very much like a coffeepot, and on the lid was a wheel, like a small tin windmill. Just below the lid, and above the spout, was a hole as large as a dime.

"Lung-tester," said Billy, trying to pull away. "Let me go, will you, Wittaker? I'm in a hurry. Just borrowed it to settle a bet with Sam Simmons. I show two pounds more lung pressure than he does. Twenty-six pounds."

"You?" scoffed Wittaker. "I bet I can show twenty-eight, if you can show twenty-six."

"Oh, well! I suppose I can't get away until baby tries the new toy.

But hurry up, will you?"

The Marshal put his lips to the spout and blew. Instantly, from the hole under the lid, a great cloud of flour shot out, covering his face and head, and deluging his garments. From up and down the street came shouts of joy, and the Marshal, brushing at his face, grinned.

"One on me, Billy," he said, good-naturedly, patting the flour out of his hair, "and just when I was coming to put you onto some fun, too.

What do you know about the Griscom un-burglary?"

"Not a thing!" Billy said. "Tell me."

"I didn't expect you would know anything about it," said the Marshal with a wink. "But how about putting Correspondence School Detective Gubb onto the job?"

"Fine!" said Billy. "Tell me what the un-burgled Griscom thing is, and I'll do the rest."

Billy found Philo Gubb at work in the house on Tenth Street, hanging paper on the second floor, and the lank detective looked at Billy solemnly as the story of the Griscom affair was explained to him.

"When I started in takin' lessons from the Rising Sun Deteckative Agency's Correspondence School of Deteckating," said Mr. Gubb solemnly, "I aimed to do a strictly retail business in deteckating, and let the wholesale alone."

"Seeing that you learned by mail," said Billy Getz, "I should think you'd be better fitted to do a mail-order business."

"Them terms of retail and wholesale is my own," said Mr. Gubb.

"You don't believe anybody would un-burgle a house, I guess," said Billy.

"Yes, I do," Philo Gubb said. "A fellow can tie a knot, or he can un-tie it, can't he? He can hitch a horse, or he can un-hitch it. And if a man can burgle, he can un-burgle. A mercenary burglar would naturally burgle things out of a house after he had burgled himself in, but a generous-hearted burglar would just as naturally un-burgle things into a house and then un-burgle himself out. That stands to reason."

"Of course it does," said Billy Getz. "And I knew you would see it that way."

"I see things reasonable," said Philo Gubb. "But I guess I won't take up the case; un-burgling ain't no common crime. It ain't mentioned in the twelve lessons I got from the Rising Sun Correspondence School. I wouldn't hardly know how to go about catching an un-burglar--"

"Just do the opposite from what it says to do to catch a burglar,"

said Billy Getz. "Common sense would tell you that, wouldn't it? But, listen, Mr. Gubb: I'd let Wittaker catch his own burglars. The reason I ask you to take this case is because I know you have a good heart."

"It's good, but it's hard," said Philo Gubb. "A deteckative has to have a hard heart."

"All right! Here is this man, un-burgling houses. For all we know he is honest and upright," said Billy Getz. "He continues un-burgling houses. The habit grows. Each house he un-burgles tempts him to un-burgle two. Each set of spoons he leaves in a house tempts him to leave two sets in the next house, or four sets, or a solid silver punch-bowl. In a short time he wipes out his little fortune. He borrows. He begs. At last he steals! In order to un-burgle one house he burgles another. He leads a dual life, a sort of Jekyll-Hyde life--"

"But what if I caught him?" said Mr. Gubb.

"Oh, you won't catch--I mean, we will leave that to you. Frighten him out of the un-burgling habit. I'll tell Marshal Wittaker you will get on the trail?"

"Yes," said Philo Gubb. "I feel sorry for the feller. Maybe he's lettin' his wife and children suffer for food whilst he un-burgles away his substance."

"Then," said Billy Getz, taking up his lung-tester, "suppose you stop in at the Marshal's office to-night at eight-thirty. Wittaker will tell you all about it."

Philo Gubb waited until Billy was well out of the house, and then he said: "He done it, and I know he done it, and he done it to make a fool out of me, but I guess I owe Billy Getz a scare, and if I can prove that un-burglary onto him, he'll get the scare all right!"

Detective Gubb, when it was time to go to the Marshal's office, pinned his large nickel-plated star on his vest, put three false beards in his pocket, and went.

The Marshal received him cordially. Billy Getz was there.

"You understand," said Wittaker, "I have nothing to do with putting you on this case. But I want to ask you to report to me every evening."

"I could write out a docket," said Philo Gubb. "That's what them French deteckatives did always."

"Good idea!" said Wittaker. "Write out a docket, and bring it in every night. Now, I'll go over this Griscom case, so you'll understand how to go at it. Here, for instance, is the house--"

The clock on the Marshal's desk marked ten before they were aware.

Billy had arisen from his chair, for he had a poker game waiting for him at the Kidders' Club, when the telephone bell rang. The Marshal drew the 'phone toward him.

"Yes!" he said, into the telephone. "Yes, this is Marshal Wittaker.

Mr. Millbrook? Yes, I know--765 Locust Avenue. Broken into? What? Oh, broken out of! While you were out at dinner. Yes. Opened the front door with a key. Yes. What kind of a key, Mr. Millbrook? Thin, nickel-silver key. Nothing taken? What's that? Left a dozen solid silver spoons engraved with your wife's initials? I see. And broke out through a cellar window. Yes, I understand. No, it doesn't seem possible, but such things have happened. I'll send--"