“I can,” said Johnny positively, “and to-morrow I will.”
CHAPTER XXVII
THE CONTENTS OF THE BLACK BAG
Johnny found the fire chief in a sour mood next morning. Two disastrous fires in a single night, both probable cases of arson. One had been tipped off to him beforehand and he had sent Johnny and some of his best men to watch. Yet they had found nothing. It was enough to break the staunchest heart.
“Buck up, Chief,” smiled Johnny, “the firebug’s dead.”
“He is, is he!” roared the Chief. “Didn’t I see him not two hours ago? Ain’t he goin’ to get out of jail unless we can pin something definite on him?”
It was Johnny’s turn to lose heart. The firebug in jail, about to escape for lack of a charge? What did this mean?
“Where—where did you catch him?” he stammered.
“Where’d you expect? By the fire he set, to be sure; the Randolph Street fire.”
“Oh!” Johnny breathed more easily. “You got Knobs Whittaker?”
“Who’d you think? Wasn’t he the man I set you to watch?”