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fires than usual, but—”
    â€œMore fires than
usual! Humph! Young fellow, we’ve had two hundred and fifty percent more fires
in the past two months than in any other corresponding period. If you don’t
know that, you don’t even read the newspapers. Right now the Tyler Department
Store is burning, and it’s a concrete building that can’t burn.”
    He went around a
corner on something less than two wheels, missed a pair of streetcars and gave
a taxi driver the scare of his life. The automatic siren was wailing, almost
drowning conversation in the coupe.
    â€œBut,” said the
detective, “why should you be kicked out just because—”
    â€œThat’s why I sent for
you. You’re supposed to be good at riddles.”
    â€œYou mean you think
it’s arson on a big scale?”
    Blaze Delaney grunted
loudly. “I don’t think it, I know it.”
    Tom’s dark eyebrows
went up and his shoulders moved in the slightest kind of a shrug.
    â€œI thought you had a
special department which investigated such things,” he murmured.
    â€œThat’s what you think.”
    â€œWell, I’m telling you
this, Dad. I don’t know anything about fires and what starts ’em. But if you’re
in trouble and you think I can be of help, here I am.”
    â€œGood,” said the
chief. “That’s what I wanted you to say. If this thing doesn’t stop, I’m out of
a job and my reputation is wrecked. Well, there’s the fire.” Blaze Delaney
rocketed up to the lines and jumped out.
    â€œConfound that Number
Three. I told ’em to wait for me before they—” And then a swelling wall of
smoke swallowed both the chief and his words, and the detective-sergeant was
left with his riddle.
    Tyler’s Department
Store was a welter of shooting smoke and snapping flames. The entire first
floor was filled with lightning-like tongues, against which the thin streams of
water seemed fragile and aimless.
    Tom Delaney sat still
and watched the toiling firemen at their seemingly hopeless task. Dusk was
falling and lending color to the blaze. The flames began to recede slowly and
sullenly under the onslaught of water and chemicals.
    The detective looked
up to see a tall, incredibly thin man approaching the red coupe.
    â€œWhere’s the old man?”
asked the newcomer.
    The detective
shrugged. “In there eating smoke, like he always is.”
    â€œYou’re his son, that
right? I’m Blackford, head of the Investigation Department.”
    Tom Delaney shook the
limp hand with a feeling of distaste.
    â€œThree girls must have
sizzled,” continued Blackford. “I can’t account for them. Too bad.”
    â€œLooks like arson,
doesn’t it?” said the detective.
    â€œDon’t know. I never
can tell until I get inside. There was a garage under the first floor and I
think we’ll find it started from oily waste. It usually does. Some mechanic
gets careless with a cigarette butt and zowie, there you are.”
    â€œWhen do you
investigate?” asked Tom.
    â€œSoon as it cools
down. That’ll be in about another hour. Why, you figuring on sticking around?”
    â€œDo you mind if I do?”
    â€œNo,” said Blackford.
“Glad to have you. Then you can okay my report.” He started away into the
crowd, his eyes whipping about as though still searching for the fire chief.
    Almost an hour later,
Blaze Delaney came back to his car. He was black with soot and smoke, and
dripping from innumerable encounters with lashing streams of water. He had an
odor about him like that of wet ashes.
    â€œHell,” roared the old
man. “There’s another one across town. Residence.”
    Tom whistled. “I’ll
stay here and go over the ruins with Blackford.”
    â€œKnow him? That’s
good. Fine fellow, Blackford; he’ll show you the ropes if you want to learn. Go
on, pile