“A man like that deserves to fail,” agreed Jane.
“To get back to the subject of the fire,” said Mary Louise, in her usual practical way whenever there was a mystery to be solved, “what is your idea of the way it started, Cliff?”
“I believe it was just an accident,” replied the young man. “Maybe it was some tramp or those kids. You know the Smith boys and a few others. Not the Reeds, for they were at the Royal. But they’re all full of mischief. Maybe they were smoking corn silk in our garage.”
“Oh, I hope not!” exclaimed Mrs. Gay, for her son played a great deal with the Smith boys.
“Tell Freckles to snoop around a bit and keep his eyes and ears open,” suggested Clifford. “Maybe he’ll learn something. He’ll enjoy being a detective.”
Mary Louise smiled; the young man did not know that she had proved herself a very good detective earlier in the summer.
“What does your mother think?” she inquired.
Clifford frowned.
“Mother’s suspicious. She believes there’s been dirty work. Actually thinks the place was set on fire—on purpose! By Ditmar.”
“Ditmar! Who is he? I never heard of him.”