Quickly the fire burned itself out, and then came the problem of caring for the unfortunates who had lost nearly everything, and who were homeless. Kind friends and neighbors took in such as they could. “How’s our Frenchman?” asked Ned of Jerry, as they were about to go to their automobile and depart for home, since the high point of the excitement had passed. “I don’t know. We might take a look.” A policeman directed them to a near-by store, where several firemen and spectators had been treated for cuts from glass or partial smoke suffocation, and there the boys found the old Frenchman. He was a cripple, with a stiff left leg, and had suffered much from shock. He was in great distress of mind. “These are the boys who brought you down the ladder, who saved you,” said a doctor, pointing to Ned and Jerry. The man murmured something in his own expressive language, and then, as if realizing that the boys could not understand very well, though they knew some French, he said, in English: “I can never thank you enough! You saved my life! But tell me, did you see Crooked Nose or my iron box of money and jewelry?” “No,” answered Jerry gently. He thought the old man was still wandering in his faculties. “Who is Crooked Nose?” asked Ned. “He is a villain!” exclaimed the Frenchman, whose name, some one said, was Jules Cardon. “He is a villain who tried to rob me of all I had. He got some of my money and some of the jewelry, but the rest I put in the iron box and locked. Then I hid it. But the fire came and I could not find it. Then I remember no more. But if you find Crooked Nose you will catch a great scoundrel, and perhaps find my money and the precious jewelry.” “Is Crooked Nose a man?” asked Jerry. “Yes. He came to see me this evening. He knew me in France--many years ago. He demanded money. I would not give it to him, and he said he would take it, or he would---- Well, he made threats. I hid most of the money and the jewelry, but I forgot where I put it when the fire came. Oh, was it burned?” “Well, if it was left in there I should say it was,” replied Jerry, as he looked at the glowing ruins. “Nothing much left there.” “But maybe Crooked Nose took it,” suggested Mr. Cardon. “He is a villain.” “What’s his name?” asked Bob. The crippled old Frenchman shook his head. “It would be of no use to tell you,” he said. “He changes his name too often. Crooked Nose, I call him. He can’t change that!” The old man seemed much improved, bodily, but his mental anguish was pitiable. Again and again he implored to be allowed to go back and look for his money, but of course this could not be. What was left of the ruins was a mass of blazing wood. Then, when he seemed to think that all was lost, the old man became calmer, and told a more connected story.