The Mystery of the Magic Circle - M. V. Carey [26]
Jupe recalled the night of the fire. Again he seemed to hear the roar as the flames licked at the timbers of the old Amigos Adobe. After they had been hauled out of the basement, he and Bob and Pete had stood across the street watching the fire. Mr.
Grear had been with them, and then Beefy and his uncle had come hurrying up. Mr.
Thomas had been there, too, and so had Mrs. Paulson. They, and only they, had known that the manuscript was in Beefy’s apartment. Yet it seemed most unlikely that any of them would have taken it.
After a while, Jupe drifted off to sleep. When he woke, the sun was coming in the window. Still feeling frustrated and lethargic, Jupe got up, showered, and dressed.
Then he telephoned Bob and Pete and arranged to meet them after breakfast at the bus stop on the Coast Highway.
It was almost nine when Jupe walked from The Jones Salvage Yard down to the highway. Bob and Pete were already there, waiting for him.
“You have any brainstorms overnight?” asked Pete.
“No,” said Jupe. “I can’t think of anything to do but go back to Beefy’s and keep plodding along, checking on people.”
“We’re just about out of people we can check,” Bob pointed out.
“We’re out of people who had an obvious motive,” said Jupiter. “We are not out of people who had an opportunity. In fact, we haven’t even started on them!”
“The employees at Amigos Press?” asked Pete.
Jupiter nodded.
“I can’t quite see any of them swiping that manuscript,” said Pete, “but we’ve tried everybody else.”
The three boys rode into West Los Angeles and arrived at the door to Beefy’s apartment just as a slender man wearing gaberdine slacks and a seersucker blazer was leaving. He smiled at the boys as he passed them in the hall.
Beefy’s usually ruddy face was pale when he let them in. Behind Beefy, William Tremayne paced up and down and shouted.
“It’s a conspiracy!” he cried. “They hate me! They’ve always hated me! Bunch of idiots!”
“Take it easy, Uncle Will,” pleaded Beefy.
“What do you mean, take it easy? You haven’t been accused of arson!”
“Arson?” cried Jupe. “The fire was arson?”
“ ’Fraid so,” said Beefy. “The man who just left here was from the arson squad.
He wanted a list of all the employees at Amigos Press, and he wanted to know who visited the office the day the fire broke out.”
“He also wanted to know to whom the insurance money would be paid,” said Will Tremayne. “I know what he was really saying when he asked that question. He was saying that he thought I set the fire! Well, of course the insurance money will come to me. I handle all of the publishing house’s financial affairs. But even if the income from my stocks is down …”
“Uncle Will, are you in trouble?” asked Beefy.
“Just a bit short of ready cash,” said Will Tremayne. “Nothing important. Nothing that won’t right itself in time. Now don’t you start! It was bad enough talking to the arson investigator. I wasn’t anywhere near Amigos Press when the fire started I was here at home with you.”
“Whoever started the fire didn’t have to be there,” said Beefy. “You heard the man. It was an incendiary device that was made using magnesium and a battery-operated clock. It could have been put into the cupboard under the stairs anytime after six in the morning.”
“You think I did it!” shouted Will Tremayne.
“I didn’t say that,” declared Beefy. “I only think an alibi isn’t any good in this case. The arsonist was probably miles away when the fire began.”
“Grear!” said Will Tremayne. “He did it! He’s always hated me. Dull little mole of a man! He hates anybody who has any style. Or Thomas! What do we know about Thomas? He’s only been with the firm for three months!”
“Uncle Will, you hired him!”
“Well, he had such good references. But that doesn’t really mean anything!”
Will Tremayne went to the coffee table and snatched the lid off the box that usually contained his cigars. “Oh, blast!” he cried. “Empty!”
He glared at Beefy. “It was Grear or Mrs. Paulson,