"Seems a pretty expensive way of li'tin' fires," said Mr. Pilgrim, grimly. "Allow me to ring for the help." "Did you lay this fire?" he asked the maid who responded. "No, sir. That's Jenny's work." "Send Jenny up, then," said Mr. Pilgrim, now on his knees searching the grate for more traces of the MS., but searching in vain. In a few minutes Jenny entered. "Did you lay this fire?" Mr. Pilgrim asked again. "Yes, sir." "What sort of paper did you use for it?" "Newspaper. Oh, I know! I laid it yesterday morning with some old rubbishy stuff I found on your floor, sir." "Old rubbishy stuff you found on my floor!" cried Mr. Pilgrim. "What do you mean, girl?" "I was lighting your fire yesterday morning, sir, and found I'd used up all my paper, so I got some out of your waste basket. There was a dirty lot of rubbishy paper lying on the floor beside it, so I took that as well, and used it up for my morning fires." "How many fires did you lay with it altogether?" "Your two, sir, this one, and the one in the hall." "Then this is the only one of the lot that wasn't lit yesterday?" "Yes, sir. I hope it wasn't anythink important that I used." Mr. Pilgrim sat down. "Important! Not a bit, my girl. It just cost me ten thousand dollars--that's all." "It wasn't what they say you've lost, sir, was it?" said the girl. "Oh, sir, I'm that sorry. But all I can say, sir, is that it was on the floor, and it didn't look fit for wrapping sossingers in." "Go!" shouted Mr. Pilgrim. "You're a born fool." Then, after a long pause, he added, "I'm much obliged to you, Roker. Now come along. I must see my secretary. I suspect he's another mortal fool in disguise." Mr. Pilgrim's secretary was busy, as usual--this time taking down a letter from Miss Pilgrim's dictation. [Illustration: "HEY! BUT WHAT ABOUT THAT HOLE IN THE WINDOW?" (_p. 135._)] "Excuse me a minute, Marion," said Mr. Pilgrim. Then to his secretary, "You said you were readin' that blamed Bunyan MS. the night before last. Just describe when you got it out, and what followed." "I'd finished my transcript of your notes on Miss Brontë, sir, about 11.30, and, having half an hour to spare, I thought I'd just run over that old manuscript again. John Bunyan had his own notions about caligraphy, and he was a bit freer in his spelling than any man I'd come across, so I rather fancied him. While I was reading, you may remember calling me to your room to take down that cable to Boston and the letter of confirmation. It was 12.30 when I left you, and I'd clean forgotten about the manuscript. I turned the light out, and went to bed. A quarter of an hour afterwards I remembered I'd left Bunyan out, so I came back here. I couldn't find the matches, but just felt round for the MS., and put it back in the drawer, and locked it."