Mason strode down the corridor, jerked open the door to the entrance room of his office. A blast of pungent smoke met his nostrils. The girl who customarily occupied the information desk was dashing madly about with a cup of water. The stenographers were staring with startled eyes.
“Where’s the fire?” Mason shouted at the girl with a water glass.
“In your private office,” she said. “I think we got it in time.”
Mason and the officer reached the private office. A wastebasket filled with charred papers was sending up wisps of smoke. A hole had been burnt in the carpet. The side of Mason’s desk was scorched.
The girl from the switchboard, a tall, thin girl with spectacles, talked rapidly as Mason and the officer surveyed the damage. “I’m sorry,” she said, “I didn’t know what it was. You were on the telephone, and I screamed, when I saw the smoke, that the place was on fire. I don’t know how those papers got started. One of the girls must have been in your private office and dropped ashes from her cigarette. It had a pretty good start before I found it, but it’s all right now. How did you ever get here so quickly?”
Mason said, “I’ll fire those girls. Find out which one did it, and give her her time. That’s one thing I’ve particularly cautioned them against.” He whirled to the officer, thrust out his hand, and said, “Thanks to you, Jim, old boy, we got here in time. The girls might not have been able to handle it. There are valuable papers in that desk, also some darn good cigars. How about taking a handful for you and your buddy?”
The officer was grinning. “Well, now,” he said, “that’s better. Who was it said, ‘A woman is only a woman, but a good cigar is a smoke?’”
Mason, handing out a double handful of cigars, said, “No, Jim, I can’t subscribe to those sentiments. Recent events have convinced me that women are vastly underrated.”
The officer said, “Well, you may have something at that.”
Mason escorted the officer to the corridor.