apparently as fresh as though he had
spent the night in bed, was ready to resume his task.

On the short ride to the newspaper office, Professor Brierly's
eyes fell on one of Matthews' big hands. It was an angry red and
was swollen. There was instant contrition and solicitude. The old
man touched the hand gently:

"What happened, John?"

"Say, Professor, look at Jimmy's eye. Ain't it a peach?"

"John, I asked you, what is the matter with your hand?"

"My hand, Professor, which--" Professor Brierly's ire was rising.
"John--"

"Oh, you mean my hand, Professor. I guess I broke a metacarpal
bone. That bird had a hard jaw. Too bad I didn't use my foot," he
said, regretfully.

"You're a savage young man," blared the old man. "Such instincts
are--"

"Shall we say--er--primitive," suggested Jimmy.

Chapter XIV

Hite rose from his seat and laid down his pipe when Jimmy led the
little man into the busy city room, a mark of respect Hite rarely
showed any one. After greetings were exchanged, Hite led the way
into the office of the managing editor, who had not yet arrived.
Seeing the little scientist seated, Hite growled:

"Well?"

"Thank you for the opportunity to investigate this, Mr. Hite. This
is one of the most interesting criminal inquiries I have ever
conducted."

"Were you up to Pleasantville, Professor?"

"Yes, we are coming from there now."

"Did you find anything?"

"Yes, I found this." He took from a folded slip of paper the bit
of frayed thread he had found in the telephone box.

Hite looked from the bit of thread to the fine features of the
man; he looked at the two young men who grinned at him. He said:

"All right, Professor, I'll bite. What is this?"

"Would you say, Mr. Hite, that this bit of thread belongs inside a
properly constructed telephone box?"

When Hite still looked at him in puzzled silence, Professor
Brierly, with delicate precision, using a hook on a pen knife,
picked the lock of the telephone box fastened to the managing
editor's desk.

"See, Mr. Hite. This box, wires, binding posts, terminals, and so
forth, is identical with the box that was blown from a wall in the
Flynn home in Pleasantville. On the bottom of this box you will
find a number of holes; if you put your finger there you will feel
them. Now, Mr. Hite, if you will examine this box carefully, you
will find that there is no thread like this to be found. Indeed,
you will not find any legitimate use for su