Ruth had retreated to Mr. Mayo’s office. She heard one of the fire chiefs talking to the gentleman at the doorway.
“What caused that blaze anyway?” the fireman demanded.
“I understand some oil was spilled.”
“What kind of oil?” snapped the other.
“Lubricating oil.”
“Nonsense! It acted more like benzine or naphtha to me. But you haven’t told me how it got lit up?”
“I don’t know. The porter says he first saw flames rising from the waste basket between the big desk and the file cabinet,” Mr. Mayo said. “Then the fire spread both ways.”
“Well! The insurance adjusters will be after you. I’ve got to report my belief. Looks as though somebody had been mighty careless with some inflammable substance. What were you using oil at all for here?”
“I—I could not tell you,” Mr. Mayo said. “I will ask Mr. Legrand when he comes back.”
But Ruth learned in the morning that Legrand had not returned. Nobody seemed to know where he lived. Mrs. Mantel said he had moved recently, but she did not know where to.