“Not quite,” was the gruff reply. “But the doc says he don’t stand much show. What do you know about this explosion, my boy?” “Nothing at all,” Gale replied nervously. “I can’t understand how it happened.” “I reckon I’ve got a pretty clear idea how it happened, all right,” growled Hodgins. “Somebody sent the old gent an infernal machine. The pieces of it are lying on the floor of the office now. And it ain’t hard to guess who that somebody was, eh?” “No, indeed,” young Gale replied. “My father has only one enemy--at least, only one who would be capable of such a cowardly attack. That cad, Carroll, is responsible for this, as sure as you’re standing here, chief! I demand that you place him under arrest at once!” “You won’t have to ask that of me twice,” Hodgins replied grimly. “My fingers are just itching to get hold of that big stiff’s coat collar. But first let us go in and look the ground over, and see if we can’t find a little more evidence against him. Suspicion ain’t evidence, you know.” A more affectionate son might have preferred to accompany the ambulance to the hospital, in order to be present, or near at hand, while the surgeons made a thorough examination of his father’s injuries; but this course did not seem to suggest itself to Gale. Eagerly he followed the chief of police up the plaster-strewn stairway to the wrecked private office of the proprietor of the _Chronicle_. They examined the fragments of the exploded infernal machine, and found there some clews which caused Gale to turn excitedly to Hodgins. “It’s Carroll, sure enough!” he cried triumphantly. “We’ve got enough evidence here to send him to the chair, if the governor dies, and to prison for life if he doesn’t. Come on, chief; let’s march to the _Bulletin_ office and place him under arrest.” The chief of police took the precaution of providing himself with an escort of four stalwart members of his force before he went to arrest the proprietor of the _Bulletin_. Not possessing the sunny, placid disposition of his friend Hawley, Carroll’s indignation took the form of physical resistance when he learned the intentions of his visitors concerning himself. Hodgins and his posse had to send for reënforcements before they could get him out of the building. That was why the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ presented such a battered appearance when he joined the Camera Chap in the cell at police headquarters. CHAPTER XXXIV. DUBIOUS PROSPECTS. “The _Chronicle_ office blown up!” exclaimed Hawley, staring at his cellmate in horrified astonishment. “Who could have done it, Fred?” “I don’t know who did it,” the proprietor of the _Bulletin_ answered, with a scowl, applying his handkerchief to the deep cut in his scalp which Chief Hodgins had inflicted with the butt of his revolver. “I only know that I didn’t have anything to do with the outrage.”