indicated the jerry-cans. 'Thought you might be interested.'
Police Chief Greensleeves looked at Hutchmeyer, at the jerry-cans, and back again. He was obviously very interested.
'And this,' said the Coastguard and produced the piece of wood with Folio Three written on it.
Police Chief Greensleeves studied the name. 'Folio Three eh? Mean anything to you, Mr Hutchmeyer?'
Huddled in the blanket Hutchmeyer was staring at the glowing ruins of his house.
'I said, does Folio Three mean anything to you, Mr Hutchmeyer?' the Police Chief repeated and followed Hutchmeyer's gaze speculatively.
'Of course it does,' said Hutchmeyer, 'it's my cruiser.'
'Mind telling us what you were doing out on your cruiser this time of the night?'
'I wasn't on my cruiser. I was on my yacht.'
'Folio Three is a cruiser,' said the Coastguard officiously.
'I know it's a cruiser,' said Hutchmeyer. 'What I'm saying is that I wasn't on it when the explosion occurred.'
'Which explosion, Mr Hutchmeyer?' said Greensleeves.
'What do you mean 'which explosion'? How many explosions have there been tonight?'
Police Chief Greensleeves looked back at the house. 'That's a good question,' he said, 'a very good question. It's a question I keep asking myself. Like how come nobody calls the Fire Department to say the house is burning until it's too late. And when we get here how come somebody is so anxious we don't put the fire out they open up with a heavy machine-gun from the basement and blast all hell out of a fire truck.'
'Somebody opened fire from the basement?' said Hutchmeyer incredulously.
'That's what I said. With a goddam machine-gun, heavy calibre.'
Hutchmeyer looked unhappily at the ground. 'Well I can explain that,' he began and stopped.
'You can explain it? I'd be glad to hear your explanation, Mr Hutchmeyer.'
'I keep a machine-gun in the romper room.'
'You keep a heavy-calibre machine-gun in the romper room? Like to tell me why you keep a machine-gun in the romper room?'
Hutchmeyer swallowed unhappily. He didn't like to at all. 'For protection,' he muttered finally.
'For protection? Against what?'
'Bears,' said Hutchmeyer.
'Bears, Mr Hutchmeyer? Did I hear you say 'bears'?'
Hutchmeyer looked round desperately and tried to think of a reasonable answer. In the end he told the truth. 'You see one time my wife was into bears and I...' he tailed off miserably.
Police Chief Greensleeves studied him with even keener interest. 'Mrs Hutchmeyer was into bears? Did I hear you say Mrs Hutchmeyer was into bears?'
But Hutchmeyer had had enough. 'Don't keep asking me if that's what you heard,' he shouted. 'If I say Mrs Hutchmeyer was into bears she was into goddam bears. Ask the neighbours. They'll tell you.'
'We sure will,' said Chief Greensleeves. 'So you go out and buy yourself some artillery? To shoot bears?'
'I didn't shoot bears. I just had the gun in case I had to.'
'And I suppose you didn't shoot up fire trucks either?'
'Of course I didn't. Why the hell should I want to do a thing like that?'
'I wouldn't know, Mr Hutchmeyer, any more than I'd know what you were doing in the middle of the bay in the raw with a heap of empty gas cans tied round you and your house is on fire and
