“What beats me, Doctor,” he said, “is why the Cheneys should steal those pictures. If the factory people were right, and the fire did start on the east side of the wing, then Cheney couldn’t have anything to do with the fire. The factory people don’t think he did. It’s the fire marshal who’s raising the row. So you see that the pictures help Cheney as much as they help the factory people. If Cheney has stolen or smashed those plates,—I mean the father,—he has removed very good evidence, as I understand it, that he is innocent. I tell you he didn’t have anything to do with it. He was sore on the factory management, but he wouldn’t be such a fool. That fire started in the east of the wing, nowhere near the naphtha.”
“Then why should the boy have taken the plates?” demanded the Doctor.
“I can’t see,” replied Dobbs, “unless the father or the boy, or both, got it into their heads that these pictures might be used against Cheney in some way. It was a crazy notion.”
“Have you any further clews?” asked the Doctor.
“No, I can’t say I have. But I threw out a hint in the Cheney direction that may do some good. The old man is over at Westwall, but I saw the boy. The little rascal actually stumps me. I can’t tell whether he did it or not. But I left something there to soak through his thick young skull. It may work.”
Dobbs’s attention again turned to the camera. “I was saying, Doctor, that I wish your son would take my boy, Sporty.” A happy idea seemed to strike Dobbs. “I tell you what I’ll do!” he exclaimed. “If you’ll make a picture of Sporty, I’ll take you to New York with me to-day.”
“I’d like to go,” Allan admitted.
“I don’t see why you shouldn’t,” said the Doctor.
“Is it a bargain?” asked Dobbs.
“Yes, it’s a bargain,” laughed Allan.