“Not that I know of,” Joe’s father replied. “Let me think.”
He assumed a mood of thoughtful anxiety, and Mr. Holton took the small box for a closer examination. It was about eight inches square, with a hole in the top out of which protruded a short iron stem. Inside, an alarm clock was still ticking.
“Hmm! That fire was probably set for ten o’clock,” Mr. Holton murmured, as he noticed that it was now nearly eleven.
“How long ago do you suppose it was set?” inquired Bob.
“Impossible to say,” the response came. “It couldn’t have been more than twelve hours ago, however.”
Mr. Lewis looked up.
“I can think of several people who could be bad enough to do this,” he said thoughtfully. “But I cannot say which one it would be.
“First I might mention a man who wanted to buy some specimens from me, but I declined to sell them. He had a sour disposition, and his temper was thoroughly aroused when, after he had offered large sums of money, I refused him. Said he’d get even some time.”
“What’d he want with them?” Joe asked.
“Wanted to sell them to a well-known museum. You see they were very rare birds that I got in New Zealand, and he’d have been offered a large sum for them.”