“Why believe it?” asked Kennedy quietly.

“Why believe it?” echoed McCormick.  “Stacey has found shortages in his books due to the operation of her departments.  The bookkeeper who had charge of the accounts in her department, a man named Douglas, is missing.  She must have tried to cover up her operations by fires and juggling the accounts.  Failing in that she tried to destroy Stacey’s store itself, twice.  She was one of the few that could get into the office unobserved.  Oh, it’s a clear case now.  To my mind, the heavy vapours of ether—­they are heavier than air, you know—­must have escaped along the surface of the floor last night and become ignited at a considerable distance from where she expected.  She was caught in a back-draught, or something of the sort.  Well, thank God, we’ve seen the last of this firebug business.  What’s that?”

Kennedy had laid the letter-file on the table.  “Nothing.  Only I found this embedded in Miss Wend’s breast right over her heart.”

“Then she was murdered?” exclaimed McCormick.

“We haven’t come to the end of this case yet,” replied Craig evasively.  “On the contrary, we have just got our first good clue.  No, McCormick, your theory will not hold water.  The real point is to find this missing bookkeeper at any cost.  You must persuade him to confess what he knows.  Offer him immunity—­he was only a pawn in the hands of those higher up.”

McCormick was not hard to convince.  Tired as he was, he grabbed up his hat and started off to put the final machinery in motion to wind up the long chase for the firebug.

“I must get a couple of hours’ sleep,” he yawned as he left us, “but first I want to start something toward finding Douglas.  I shall try to see you about noon.”

I was too exhausted to go to the office.  In fact, I doubt if I could have written a line.  But I telephoned in a story of personal experiences at the Stacey fire and told them they could fix it up as they chose and even sign my name to it.

About noon McCormick came in again, looking as fresh as if nothing had happened.  He was used to it.

“I know where Douglas is,” he announced breathlessly.

“Fine,” said Kennedy, “and can you produce him at any time when it is necessary?”

“Let me tell you what I have done.  I went down to the district attorney from here—­routed him out of bed.  He has promised to turn loose his accountants to audit the reports of the adjusters, Hartstein and Lazard, as well as to make a cursory examination of what Stacey books there are left.  He says he will have a preliminary report ready to-night, but the detailed report will take days, of course.

“It’s the Douglas problem that is difficult, though.  I haven’t seen him, but one of the central-office men, by shadowing his wife, has found that he is in hiding down on the East Side.  He’s safe there; he can’t make a move to get away without being arrested.  The trouble is that if I arrest him, the people higher up will know it and will escape before I can get his confession and the warrants.  I’d much rather have the whole thing done at once.  Isn’t there some way we can get the whole Stacey crowd together, make the arrest of Douglas and nab the guilty ones in the case, all together without giving them a chance to escape or to shield the real firebug?”