"Muchmore needs someone to attend to him, too," remarked Tom Donnell. "He's as cross as a couple of sour apple trees. I guess if the house had been on fire he'd have been only too glad to see us." Still the boys did not so much mind their useless run, as they were so enthusiastic over their engine and the new department that it had not yet become an old story to them. "We were in need of a little practice, anyhow," remarked Bert, as they backed the engine into the barn. The second apparatus had not responded, though the boys were in readiness to run it out in case a call came for them. When he got back home that night Herbert was racking his brains over the mystery that seemed to surround the Stockton mansion. That there was something queer going on within its walls he was positive. What he had seen, Muchmore's queer actions, his fear of something being discovered, and what Mort Decker had told him, convinced Bert that very unusual proceedings must be taking place in the silent house on the hill. "Mr. Stockton ought to be informed," he said. "I wonder if I couldn't send a letter to him? I've a good notion to make some inquiries at the post-office." He did, the next day. As he entered the post-office he saw that Mr. Daven was busy reading some postal cards. "Ah, how d'ye do, Bert?" he greeted, for he had a kindly feeling for the lad, who, in a measure, was responsible for the awakening of the town. "How's the fire business?" "Pretty good. We had a run for nothing last night." "I heard about that. Up to the Stockton mansion. Yes, I may have to take official action on it." "How's that?" "Why, Mr. Muchmore was in here a while ago. He came to see me in my official capacity as justice of the peace, and not postmaster. He wanted a warrant for the arrest of Chester Randel, and I made out one. The next thing is to arrest that good-for-nothing lad, but he's like a flea, I never can catch him when I want him. I've got another warrant for him too." "What's that for?" "Oh, he robbed Deacon Stanton's apple orchard. Not that taking apples is such a crime, but the deacon insisted on a warrant, and I had to make one out." "Are you going to arrest Chester?" "If I can catch him, but I'm so busy with mail lately that I ain't got much time to arrest anybody. 'Pears everybody is sending out souvenir postals, with pictures of the new engines on 'em, and it takes a lot of time to read and sort 'em." An enterprising stationer in town had ordered a supply of postals made, with pictures of the new fire apparatus, and he sold quite a number. Bert thought the postmaster's talk gave him a good opening to ask certain questions. "I wonder if Mr. Stockton knows about our new department?" he said. "I'd like to send him one of those postals, though I don't really know him very well. Still, I think he would be interested. Do you know his address?" "No, Bert, I don't." "I heard he had gone to Europe." "Maybe he has, but I can't say."