ought it over. Then he shook his head.

"No. I don't think I'm curious."

The detective looked at him long and hard.

"O.K.," he said dourly. "But there's something else. Day before
yesterday there was a car accident opposite here. Remember?"

"I wasn't here at the time," said Brink.

"There's a car rolling along the street outside," said the detective.
"There's some hoods in it--guys who do dirty work for Big Jake Connors.
I can't prove a thing, but it looks like they had ideas about this
place. About thirty yards up the street a sawed-off shotgun goes off.
Very peculiar. It sends a load of buckshot through a side window of your
place."

Brink said with an air of surprise: "Oh! That must have been what broke
the window!"

"Yeah," said Fitzgerald. "But the interesting thing is that the flash of
the shotgun burned all the hair off the head of the guy that was doin'
the drivin'. It didn't scratch him, just scorched his hair off. It
scared him silly."

Brink grinned faintly, but he said pleasantly: "Tsk. Tsk. Tsk."

"He jams down the accelerator and rams a telephone pole," pursued
Fitzgerald. "There's four hoods in that car, remember, and every one of
'em's got a police record you could paper a house with. And they've got
four sawed-off shotguns and a tommy-gun in the back seat. They're all
laid out cold when the cops arrive."

"I was wondering about the window," said Brink, pensively.

"It puzzles you, eh?" demanded the detective ironically. "Could you've
figured it out that they were goin' to shoot up your plant to scare the
people who work for you so they'll quit? Did you make a guess they
intended to drive you outta business like they did the guy that had this
place before you?"

"That's an interesting theory," said Brink encouragingly.

Detective Fitzgerald nodded.

"There's one thing more," he said formidably. "You got a delivery truck.
You keep it in a garage back yonder. Yesterday you sent it to a garage
for inspection of brakes an' lights an' such."

"Yes," said Brink. "I did. It's not back yet. They were busy. They'll
call me when it's ready."

Fitzgerald snorted.

"They'll call you when the bomb squad gets through checkin' it! When the
guys at the garage lifted the hood they started runnin'. Then they
hollered copper. There was a bomb in there!"

Brink seemed to try to look surprised. He only looked interested.

"Two sticks of dynamite," the detective told him grimly, "wired up to go
off