Suddenly the air was rent by the screech of the fire siren. The boys leaped to their feet and began to race down the street. “But it isn’t time yet for another fire,” protested Paul.
“What do you mean, it isn’t time yet?” questioned Ken.
“I told you about it. From the reports in the papers, it seemed there was a fire approximately every ten to fourteen days.”
“Well, maybe this is a real fire,” suggested Jack.
“Perhaps.”
At Main Street, the boys saw the fire engine, a brand new one the town of Stanhope had recently acquired, come racing madly down the street. People were lined up along the sidewalk watching the engine pass. “Where’s the fire?” Paul asked someone.
The man shrugged his shoulders and answered, “I don’t know.”
Paul asked someone else. But nobody seemed to know where the fire was. Jack suggested that they run down the street, in the direction the fire engine went, and perhaps they would come upon it. The boys agreed and they fell into a trot. On the way, they stopped every once in a while to inquire as to the location of the fire. But nobody seemed to know. “That’s strange,” muttered Jack.
“What’s strange?” asked Ken.
“That no one should know where the fire is.”