“H’m! Peculiar! Ra-a-a-ather peculiar.” drawled Average Jones. “Particularly in view of the weather.”
“In what respect?”
“In respect to a barn, water-soaked by a three-day rain bursting into flame like tinder.”
“It had not occurred to me. But the friction and heat of the meteorite must have been extremely great.”
“And extremely momentary except as to the lower floor, and the fire should have taken some time to spread from that. However, to turn to other matters—” He swung himself over the edge of the roof and went briskly down the lightning rod. Across the frozen ground he moved, with his eyes on the soil, and presently called up to his, host:
“At any rate, he started across lots in the direction of the barn. Will you come down and let me in?”
Back in the study, Average Jones sat meditating a few moments. Presently he asked:
“Did you go to the spot where your son’s clothes were found?”
“Yes. Some time after.”
“Where was it?”