"Sort of thing this town would say! How could he start a fire when he was locked up in jail? Answer me that."
"He's got friends, ain't he?"
"That's neither here nor there. You can take it from me, he don't know anything about those fires."
"You may be wrong, Drusilla, a man don't have to tell a woman all he knows. Anyway, it will be best for you and best for him if you keep your mouth shut." He looked around them cautiously. "I know what I'm talking about. Take my tip and watch your step."
"What do you mean?"
"Varr's sending to New York for a detective."
"A detective!" Miss Jones was startled, and made no effort to conceal the fact. "How do you know?"
"Mr. Bolt was here this morning with a friend of his from New York, and I heard them speakin' about it as they went out. So you tell Charlie Maxon to be a good little boy and put away his box of matches."
"He had nothing to do with those fires," reiterated Drusilla mechanically, her thoughts elsewhere. She had met country detectives and done business with them on terms satisfactory to both sides, and she held them consequently in contempt, but a detective from New York was an unknown and possibly ominous quantity. "When's he comin'?"
"Dunno. To-morrow, I'd say likely."