"Do as I tell you, and leave the rest to me!" Varr returned sharply. He handed back the borrowed torch, first glancing at his watch by its light. "Only half-past one! I could have sworn I'd been down here the best part of the night. Come along!"
They returned to the office building, Varr leaving a few more directions for increased and unceasing watchfulness as the exhausted Fay dropped into his chair in the front hall. Then Simon betook himself to his car and drove slowly homeward.
His bad temper had largely worn itself out on the various irritations that had kept it jumping, and in sooth the time had come for anger to give way to calculation. There were so many things to be thought of! Enough to make a man's head spin!
The matter of Copley by itself—! He did not know yet just what was back of the boy's angry declaration that his father was "finished" with him. Was he planning to leave home? A nice row there'd be with a wounded mother! And Copley—Simon judged others by himself—would be sure to make the most of his grievance with her over a parental stratagem that had miscued!
The thought of that nasty few minutes in the study reminded him of Graham. Another coil. Jason Bolt would have some bitter comment on the wisdom of firing a useful man with no substitute in sight; Jason had a rough tongue at times for all his good-nature. That would be still another quarrel—and he couldn't fire Jason!
And this blasted Monk, with his anonymous letters and talk of thunderbolts! He must be taken seriously after this night's work. True, there was no definite proof to connect him with the fire but it was too probable a hypothesis to be lightly dismissed. What had he better do to cut that fellow's claws? There was hope, of course, that he had worked off his spleen in firing the tannery, and also that a wholesome fear of being caught and convicted of arson might cool his spirit! Unless he was mad—!
He left his car in the garage and locked the sliding-door behind him with a feeling of relief that the balance of the night was likely to pass without further incident. As he walked from the garage to the house, he remembered the decanter and glass still standing on the study table and welcomed the idea of another bracer before bed. He had earned it.
The darkened house, as he approached it, provided him with a new grievance. Every one asleep! What did they care if the tannery went up in smoke? More than likely they'd be glad!
It was not in him to feel a sense of shame when he presently learned that his assumption of their indifference was unjustified. As he let himself in with his key, a slippered step shuffled from the rear to greet him. It was Bates, sleepy but inquisitive.
"The fire's out. Yes, it was the work of an incendiary. The actual damage is immaterial." Varr's answers were curt. "Every one asleep, I suppose?"