He said-- 'I know the boy.' I had nothing to say; so I said nothing.

I simply shuddered.

Then he added-- 'Yes, before you got half through telling about the thing, I knew perfectly well who the boy was; it was Ben Coontz!' I came out of my collapse as one who rises from the dead.

I said, with admiration-- 'Why, how in the world did you ever guess it ?' 'You told it in your sleep.' I said to myself, 'How splendid that is! This is a habit which must be cultivated.' My brother rattled innocently on-- 'When you were talking in your sleep, you kept mumbling something about "matches," which I couldn't make anything out of; but just now, when you began to tell me about the man and the calaboose and the matches, I remembered that in your sleep you mentioned Ben Coontz two or three times; so I put this and that together, you see, and right away I knew it was Ben that burnt that man up.' I praised his sagacity effusively.

Presently he asked-- 'Are you going to give him up to the law ?' 'No,' I said; 'I believe that this will be a lesson to him.