mass of
piffling details--"

"If everybody waited until he saw flames, instead of relying on the
testimony of the smoke," Mr. Holcombe snapped, "what would the fire
loss be?"

Mr. Howell poled his boat to the front door, and sitting down,
prepared to row out.

"You are warned, Mrs. Pitman," he called to me. "If he doesn't find a
body to fit the clues, he's quite capable of making one to fill the
demand."

"Horn--" said Mr. Holcombe, looking at the slip again. "The tail of
the 'n' is torn off--evidently only part of a word. Hornet, Horning,
Horner--Mrs. Pitman, will you go with me to the police station?"

I was more than anxious to go. In fact, I could not bear the idea of
staying alone in the house, with heaven only knows what concealed
in the depths of that muddy flood. I got on my wraps again, and Mr.
Holcombe rowed me out. Peter plunged into the water to follow, and had
to be sent back. He sat on the lower step and whined. Mr. Holcombe
threw him another piece of liver, but he did not touch it.

We rowed to the corner of Robinson Street and Federal--it was before
Federal Street was raised above the flood level--and left the boat in
charge of a boy there. And we walked to the police station. On the way
Mr. Holcombe questioned me closely about the events of the morning,
and I recalled the incident of the burned pillow-slip. He made a note
of it at once, and grew very thoughtful.

He left me, however, at the police station. "I'd rather not appear in
this, Mrs. Pitman," he said apologetically, "and I think better along
my own lines. Not that I have anything against the police; they've
done some splendid work. But this case takes imagination, and the
police department deals with facts. We have no facts yet. What we
need, of course, is to have the man detained until we are sure of our
case."

He lifted his hat and turned away, and I went slowly up the steps to
the police station. Living, as I had, in a neighborhood where the
police, like the poor, are always with us, and where the visits of
the patrol wagon are one of those familiar sights that no amount
of repetition enabled any of us to treat with contempt, I was
uncomfortable until I remembered that my grandfather had been one of
the first mayors of the city, and that, if the patrol had been at my
house more than once, the entire neighborhood would testify that my
boarders were usually orderly.

At the door some one touched me on the arm. It was Mr. Holcombe