ght. He had intended to show them to that
chap Krech, but Jason had spoiled things by hurrying him off to his
silly lunch. He descended the stairs, called Nelson to join him, and
went to the end of the fence around which the fire bug had fled.

He gave the watchman a brief account of Fay's experience at the
commencement of the fire, when he had actually obtained a glimpse of
the incendiary at his evil work. He discussed with Nelson, a shrewd
man, the possible identity of the miscreant, but they arrived at no
conclusion. Together they traced the footprints from the yard around
the fence and up the muddy bank of the little stream until they
vanished on the firmer ground outside the premises.

"Make anything of them?" asked Varr.

"Nothing more than you do, sir; they seem to be the tracks of a large
man. That friend of Mr. Bolt's could have made 'em nicely."

"Get a couple of empty boxes," directed Simon, mindful of the
protective device he had used in his kitchen garden to preserve the
marks left by Charlie Maxon. "Cover up two good sets of these; they
may come in handy later." He studied the skies. "We'll probably have
rain before morning."

"Fay won't object to that," declared the watchman, grinning. "If he
had his wish, it would rain chemical fire-extinguishing fluid!"

Simon lingered to see that the work of covering the tracks was properly
done, and hoped that Mr. Krech and his detective would appreciate his
thoughtfulness. Then he left the tannery, climbed into his car and
drove home. The strain of the night before had told on even his iron
physique--and there was the mute appeal of a decanter of Bourbon that
he knew would freshen his nagging spirit.

Jason's dilapidated little touring car greeted his gaze as he drove
past the front of the house to the garage, and a sound of light voices
came to him from the side veranda. Easy enough to guess the meaning of
that, the Bolts had dropped in with their friends for tea and a chat
with Lucy, who counted Mary Bolt her closest friend.

He joined them a moment later. Lucy, he saw at once, had been crying.
No amount of powder or superficial gayety could conceal that fact from
him. She did not look at him directly, and her voice was frigid as she
introduced him to the one member of the party he had not met.

"Mrs. Krech--my husband."

Varr bowed to a tall, slender, strikingly handsome young woman with
deep-blue eyes and a mass of dark red hair, who was