“Yes,” Allan answered, “they’re ready. We were just looking at the prints.”
“The prints? Oh, yes!” And the superintendent studied the pictures with great interest. “Great!” he exclaimed, his bushy head bent close to the prints in the light of the centre-table lamp. “Wonderful! They’re awfully dark, but you can see plainly where the fire was, and how it worked across. Yes, sir, those pictures may be useful. I’ll have the check sent to you to-morrow, my lad.”
“I’ll go out and get the plates,” said Allan.
While Allan was gone the superintendent told Edith and Mrs. Hartel how they had been clearing up the mess at the factory during the day. “Of course,” he said, “we have to leave the wing alone until the appraiser comes, and we settle the row with the insurance company. The naphtha cans weren’t near the fire; that is, they were on the other side of the partition when it started.”
“Do they still think some one set it afire?” asked Edith.
“Well, the factory folks themselves don’t think so. We think it started in the packing room, in some rubbish. Fires often start that way. The man they say did it—”
“‘Think a minute,’ said the superintendent.”
The superintendent got up from his chair when he saw Allan returning. “You’ve got the plates there, have you?”
“No,” answered Allan, his face pale and perplexed. “They’re gone!”