“Smell that,” he demanded of them in turn.
Each lad took a sniff of the proffered bit of wood and passed it on to the next in silence.
“Well?” interrogated Tubby, after it passed a dozen hands, “what is it?”
“Kerosene,” was the unanimous answer.
“That’s right,” rejoined Rob; “fellows, it’s up to the Boy Scouts to find out who set fire to Paul Perkins’s wagon house, and tried to destroy his machine.”
“Maybe this will help us do it,” suggested Tubby, meditatively. As he spoke he extended the oil-soaked fragment into the glare of a lantern hanging from the fire engine. On it they could then see distinctly was the impress of a man’s thumb.
“I’ve heard of robbers and bad men being detected through just such imprints,” declared Rob; “may be it will work in this case. They say no two men’s thumb prints are alike.”
“If that’s so, we’d better start out making a collection,” suggested Tubby, “and I’ve got an idea that there is one man in this town whose imprint would be of interest in that connection.”
“Who?” queried a dozen eager Boy Scout voices.
“The man in the moon,” laughed the fat youth, pocketing the fragment of wood. But it was to be a long time before he had an opportunity to use it to confirm his suspicions.