ause him inconvenience when business was
resumed, that was all.

The real significance of the affair lay in the fact that the fire had
been of incendiary origin. His face was stormy as he contemplated that
angle of the situation. Who was his enemy? Who had made this second
determined effort to burn the tannery? Second, for he could no longer
consider the first an accident in the light of this new attempt. In
his mind he had always held the thought that Charlie Maxon might have
been the perpetrator of the earlier outrage, but Maxon was now in jail
and could not be guilty of this. Had he a confederate? Was this fire
a token of resentment on the part of his friends for the way he had
been treated?

He fumed with angry impotence. How would he fight this unseen, unknown
foe? He could take his suspicions to Steiner--but what could that
futile fellow do? He would fiddle around and scratch his head and
mumble inanities! Varr gritted his teeth in helpless rage as he
watched the men fighting their slow but certain battle to victory over
the flames.

The crowd outside the premises speedily discovered that this drama was
hidden from them by the high fence, and they were forbidden to pass the
guard stationed at the office door by the ubiquitous Wimpelheimer. The
nimbler-witted among them reflected that they might obtain a good view
of the proceedings from the rising ground to the left of the tannery,
and they drifted there by twos and threes until quite a respectable
number of people were sprinkled over the field through which the
shortcut ran to Simon's house. From this vantage point they could look
down into the tannery and watch the performance to their hearts'
content.

A little to one side of the crowd stood a woman alone, her gaze turned
steadily on the burning buildings. Several passers-by spoke to her by
name, and she answered them mechanically without turning her head.
Finally, one of these greetings was overheard by a man who was standing
a few yards distant; he turned sharply to look at the woman addressed,
then approached her rather hesitatingly. He took off his hat and bowed.

"I beg pardon," he said pleasantly. "Is this Miss Copley?"

"Yes." Miss Ocky peered at him through the dark, then gave a little
exclamation. "Leslie Sherwood!"

"Correct. How are you, Ocky? It seems like a lifetime since I last
saw you."

"Twenty-odd years. I heard you were back for the first time since
you--since y