“The explanation is simple enough,” he smiled. “In the case of every fire set by this misguided man—who was a crank and perhaps a radical as well—he pretended to be a telephone wireman. Having in this way gotten inside, always just at closing time, he connected his wires with the phone, then planted a fire trap such as this in some store-room where there was plenty of combustibles. After making sure that he was the last one out, he left the building.
“Since everyone associated with the office knew that everyone in the office left at a definite hour, there were no phone calls after the trap had been set.
“At his appointed hour, ten, eleven, or twelve o’clock at night, the firebug, by this time perhaps ten miles away, would go to some phone and calmly call the number.
“And Bam! The telephone rings; a spark traveling down one of those fine wires, loosens a spring that throws the trap open, tissue paper unfolds like a fan, a taper is lighted that fires the trap, and all is prepared for the fire alarm.”
“What a pity that so much ingenuity should be used for so dire a purpose,” said the Chief.
“So you think this firebug is dead?”
“I know it. I have a report to that effect, and plenty of proof that he was the man.”
“You shall have the reward. You deserve it.” The Chief turned to grasp his hand.
It would probably not have seemed strange if Johnny Thompson, after such strenuous experiences as these, should have decided to take a long rest. So he did decide, but fate ruled differently. By chance, on that very night, he walked into the shop of an old man who was a wizard at working in wood—ebony, mahogany, teak and rosewood. He showed Johnny some marvels and in the end told him a tale that set Johnny’s blood racing fast.
It was this tale that led the boy off on a most thrilling adventure, which you will find recorded in our next book, “The Red Lure.”