“That comes later. They took off Bailey’s coat and waistcoat, perhaps to see if his back was broken (Farley nodded), and finding him alive, tossed his clothes into the buggy, where Farley had left his own, and completed their necessary work. Of course, there was danger that Bailey might come to at any moment and ruin everything. So they worked at top speed, and left the final performance to Tuxall. In their excitement they forgot to find out from their accomplice who Bailey was. Consequently, they found themselves presently driving across country with an unknown and undesired white elephant of a boy on their hands. One of them conceived the idea of tossing his clothes upon the sea-beach to establish a false clue of drowning, until they could decide what was to be done with him. In carrying this out they made the mistake which lighted up the whole trail.” “Well, I don’t see it at all,” said Farley glumly. “How did you ever get to us?” Average Jones mildly contemplated the mathematical center of his questioner. “New waistcoat?” he asked. Farley glanced down at the outrageous pattern with pride. “Yep. Got it last week.” “Lost the one that came with the pepper-and-salt suit you’re wearing?” “Damn!” exploded Farley in sudden enlightenment. “Just so. Your waistcoat got mixed with the boy’s clothes, which are of the same common pattern, and was tossed out on the beach with his coat.” “Well, I didn’t leave a card in it, did I?” retorted the other. “Something just as good.” “The ad, Tim!” cried the woman. “Don’t you remember, you couldn’t find the rough draft you made while we were waiting?” “That’s right, too,” he said. “It was in that vest-pocket. But it didn’t have no name on it.” “Then, that,” put in the Reverend Peter Prentice, “was the scrawled nonsense—” “Which you—er—threw into the waste-basket,” drawled Average Jones with a smile. “Those were not Bailey’s clothes at all?” “The coat was his; not the waistcoat. His waistcoat may have fallen out of the buggy, or it may be there yet.” “But what does all this talk of people at work in the dark, and arson, and a mysterious creature tied in a tree lead to?” “It leads,” said Average Jones, “to a very large rock, much scorched, and with a peculiar carving on it, which now lies imbedded in the earth beneath Tuxall’s barn.” “If you’ve seen that,” said Farley, “it’s all up.” “I haven’t seen it. I’ve inferred it. But it’s all up, nevertheless.” “Serves us right,” said the woman disgustedly. “I wish we’d never heard of Tuxall and his line of bunk.” “Mystification upon mystification!” cried the clergyman. “Will some one please give a clue to the maze?” “In a word,” said Average Jones. “The Harwick meteor.” “What connection—”