"It shows they know which side their bread is buttered!" grunted the tanner. "How would they get their jobs back if they let the whole outfit burn? Eh?"
The Fire Marshal flushed, but the grocer bit back the words that trembled on his lips. Little Wimpy had gallantry to spare when it came to facing fire, which is a clean foe and a clean fighter, but his courage stopped there. Varr owned his store, Varr held a chattel mortgage on his fixtures—and there were the little Wimpies to be thought of!
"Good night, sir!" he said, and went sadly home.
Simon Varr joined the stragglers who were leaving by way of the hall through the office building, but he did not go with them as far as the exit. He ascended the creaky stairs, went into his office and snapped on the electric light. He had seen nothing of Fay, but he confidently expected the watchman to seek him out as soon as possible.
In this he was not disappointed. The man had only paused to remove some of the traces of his activities before presenting himself for Simon's inquisition.
"Well, Fay, what can you tell me about this? Where were you when you discovered the fire?"
"I was making my second round at twenty-five minutes to eleven. You'll remember, sir, you left orders that I should make another trip about the premises five minutes after my regular round, which was ten-thirty in this case. That was a good idea, sir, if you'll let me say so; it certainly led to my seeing the fire right after it started."
"That scoundrelly fire bug was watching you, depend on that!"
"Yes, sir; there's dozens of places he could keep a look-out from, once he got inside. Soon as he saw me finish one round and go out front, he commenced his dirty work."
"You say you caught a glimpse of him?"