Trouble in the shape of Lem Wacker loomed up at the doorway.
"What is it?" asked Bart.
It was a week after the Fourth, and in all that time Bart had not seen
anything of the man whom he secretly believed was responsible for the
fire at the old express office.
"Who's the responsible party here?" demanded Lem, making a great ado
over consulting a book he carried.
"I am."
"All right, then--I represent Martin & Company, pickle factory."
"Oh, you've found a job, have you," spoke Bart, forced to smile at the
bombastic business air assumed by his visitor.
"I represent Martin & Company," came from Wacker, in a solemn,
dignified way. "Inspector. We want a rebate on that bill of lading."
Lem removed a slip from his loose-leaf book and tendered it to Bart.
"What's the matter with it?" inquired Bart.
"Consignment short," announced Wacker.
Bart looked him squarely in the eyes. Wacker had made the announcement
malignantly. His gaze dropped.
"I'm hired to stop the leaks," he mumbled, "and if this office is
responsible for any of them I'm the man to find it out."
"Well, in the present instance your claim is sheer folly.
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