"That is a list of losers by the fire," explained Bart.
"This is from memory?"
"Yes, Mr. Leslie—but I have a good one, and I think the list is tolerably correct."
"I am very much pleased," admitted the superintendent—"those claims are our main anxiety in a case like this. I understand the contents of the safe were destroyed."
"I fear so," assented Bart gravely. "The explosion was so sudden, and my father was blinded, so there was no opportunity to close it. I tried to reach it after rescuing him, but the flames drove me back."
Mr. Leslie was silent for a few moments. He seemed to be thinking. His glance roamed speculatively about the place, taking in the layout critically, then finally Bart was conscious that his shrewd, burrowing eyes were scanning him closely.
"How old are you, Stirling?" asked the superintendent abruptly.
"Nearly nineteen."
"I suppose you know something about the routine here?"
"I have helped my father a little for the past month or two—yes, sir."