“I am not so sure of that.”

“What do you mean?”

“Nothing.  I have an idea,” answered the detective, who did not wish to tell the man how he now began to fancy that the factory for safety had been placed in the cellars.  “By the way, did this man who was arrested give his name?”

“No.  He refuses to answer any questions.  He was, as you know, Mr. Jennings, arrested for trying to pass a bad shilling, but there is no doubt he fired the place.  The bottle of petroleum he had in his possession was empty, and—­”

“Yes!  I heard all that.  Where is he now?”

The inspector named a place near Rexton where the man had been incarcerated, pending being brought before the magistrate.  “I am going that way,” said the inspector.  “If you like to come—­”

“I’ll come,” said Jennings.  “I intended to see this man.  There has been a lot of talk about false coins being passed lately.”

Mr. Twining nodded, and began to tell of various cases which had taken place in the district.  The two took the train to the place where the police station to which the inspector belonged was situated.  It was now after twelve o’clock, and Jennings thought he would have some luncheon before going to the station.  But, unexpectedly, a constable seeing the inspector, came hurriedly towards him, saluting as he spoke.

“Please, sir, you’re wanted at the station,” he said.  “A message was sent to Rexton.”

“I have just come from Rexton.  What is it?”

“That man who was arrested for coining, sir?”

“What about him?” asked the inspector, while Jennings listened with all his ears.  He was far from expecting to hear the reply.

“He is dead, sir,” said the policeman.

“Dead!  What do you mean?  He was well enough this morning.”

“Well, sir, he’s dead now—­poisoned!”

“Poisoned!” echoed Jennings, and thought—­“Ha! here’s an undesirable witness got out of the way.”  Then he followed in the wake of the inspector, who on hearing the news, hurriedly walked towards the police station.  Here they found that the news was true.  The constable left in charge of the office was greatly agitated, as it seemed he had been lax in doing his duty.  But he made a faithful report.

“It was this way, sir,” he said, trying to speak calmly.  “A boy of fifteen, very poorly dressed—­in rags almost—­came crying and asking for the prisoner.  He said the prisoner was his father.”

“How did he know that, when the prisoner gave no name and was arrested only last night?”

“The boy—­Billy Tyke his name is, so I suppose the father is called Tyke also—­says his father went out last night.  He was always a drunkard, and left the boy to starve.  The boy followed him later, and knowing he would be on the burst, went to the public-house, where the man was arrested for passing the bad shilling.  There, he was told that his father was in jail, and came here to ask us to let him see him.”