“‘Horace Ditmar, Lemuel Adams, Eberhardt’—the storekeeper—‘Frazier, a tramp the boys saw in the woods, and a queer-looking woman.’ Not to mention the boys, because I really don’t think they did it.”
David shook his head. “All possible, of course, but not any of them probable. Of course, I understand you have reasons for suspecting Ditmar, and I admit he is a queer cuss. Still, I don’t think he’d do a thing like that. But tell me why you suspect men like Adams—I suppose he’s the farmer, isn’t he?—and Frazier and Eberhardt. Sounds silly to me.”
“Frazier and Eberhardt both gained something by the fires: more business. And Dad always tells me to hunt for motives.”
“They didn’t get enough business to go to all that trouble,” remarked David.
“I’m not so sure. Then, the storekeeper told me that Lemuel Adams felt spiteful towards the Hunters because they made so much money out of his land. So Adams may be doing it for revenge.”
“Hardly likely, when the fires actually put money into the Hunters’ pockets.”
“Well, I don’t know. Anyway, I’m going to do my best to find out who did it—to clear Freckles, for one reason, and to prevent our own bungalow from burning down, for another.”
“You needn’t worry about your bungalow,” said David stubbornly. “Cliff Hunter hasn’t any mortgage on it.”
Mary Louise gave him a scornful look. She stood up.
“I can’t go canoeing with you, David,” she announced. “I’m driving over to Adams’ farm. You can come along with me if you want to,” she added grudgingly.