FLEMING STONE
That same evening, Judge Hoyt went to see Avice, and he acknowledged that
he was about at the end of his resources.
“Then you have failed?” said the girl.
“Not yet. But I shall, undoubtedly, unless—”
“Unless you resort to dishonest means?”
“Yes; exactly that. I don’t want to, and yet,—for _you_ I would perjure
my soul!”
“What would it be, this dishonest procedure?”
“I’d rather not tell you. It would be better all round that you shouldn’t
know.”
“But I _must_ know. Tell me.”
“I’ve not thought it all out.” Hoyt passed a weary hand over his brow.
“For one thing, the worst point against Landon is that person who
telephoned and called Mr. Trowbridge ‘uncle’. If I could get some one to
swear that he did that, it would go a long way in Landon’s favor.”
“Some one who didn’t really do it, you mean?”
“Yes, of course. It would be perjury, and it would have to be handsomely
paid for.”
“How wicked!”
“Don’t think for a moment that I don’t realize the wickedness of it! Even
_you_ can have no idea what such an act means to a man, and a lawyer. A
hitherto _honorable_ lawyer! Oh, Avice, what a man will do for a woman!”
“I’m not sure I want you to.”
“You want Kane freed?”
“Yes, oh, _yes_!”
“By fraud, if necessary?”
“Y—yes.”
“Avice, you are as bad as I am! For one we love, we stop at nothing! You
would perjure your soul for Landon; I, for you! Where’s the difference?”
“I won’t, Leslie. I can’t! Don’t do that awful thing!”
“And let Landon be convicted?”
“Oh, no, no! Not that! But wait, Leslie, I have a new plan.”
“Oh, yes, I forgot you were going to save Landon by your own exertions!”
“And I am. Have you ever heard of Fleming Stone?”
“Of course I have. Why?”
“I’m going to get him to find the murderer.”
“Avice! what nonsense. You mustn’t do any such thing!”
“Why not?”
“Because it is absurd. We already have Duane on the case. He is a
well-known detective and would resent the employment of another.”
“Do you suppose I care for that? If Fleming Stone can free Kane he shall
have a chance to do so! I have fifty thousand dollars of my own, and I’ll
spend it all, if necessary.”
“It isn’t the cost, dear. But one detective can hardly succeed where
another good one failed. And, too, it is too late, now. A detective must
work before clues are destroyed and evidence lost.”
“I know it is late, but Stone is so clever. He can do marvels.”
“Who told you so?”
“I won’t tell you.” For Avice knew if she said either Fibsy or the
clairvoyant, Hoyt would laugh at her.
“Be guided by me in this, dear,” said Hoyt, earnestly. “Don’t send for
this man. He will do more harm than good.”
“Do you mean he will find out for sure that Kane did it?”
“Never mind what I mean. But don’t get Fleming Stone on this case, I
forbid it.”
“You’re too late,” returned Avice; “I’ve already written to him to come
and see me.”
“In that case, there is nothing more to be said. We must make the best of
it. But at least let me be here with you when he comes. I think he will
want a legal mind to confer with.”
“Indeed, I shall be very glad to have you here. Why were you so averse to
having him, at first?”
“Only because it is so useless. He can discover nothing. But if you want
him, that’s enough for me.”
The next evening Hoyt called on Avice again.
“Heard from Stone yet?” he asked.
“No, not yet.”
“Well, I don’t believe you will. I hear he’s out West, and will be gone
some weeks yet.”
“Oh, I am so disappointed! How are things going today?”
“Slowly. But I am holding them back on purpose. I have a new plan, that
may help us out a lot.”
But Hoyt wouldn’t divulge his new plan, and when he left, Avice was
heavy-hearted. She was more than willing to do anything for Kane that was
right, but she recoiled at perjury and deceit. And yet the thought of
Kane’s conviction brought her to the pitch of any awful deed.
So, when, the morning after she lost her hope of seeing Fleming Stone,
Fibsy came to see her, she welcomed the boy as a drowning man a straw.
“What about that Stone guy, Miss Avice?” he inquired, abruptly.
“We can’t get him, Fibsy; he’s out of town.”
“Yes, he isn’t! I seen him only yesterday, walkin’ up the avnoo.”
“You did! He must have come home unexpectedly. I’m going to telephone
him!”
“Do it now,” said Fibsy, in a preoccupied tone. Avice found the number
and called up the detective.
“Why, Miss Trowbridge,” he said, after he learned who she was; “I had a
telegram from you asking me to cancel the appointment.”
“A telegram! I didn’t send you any!”
“It was signed with your name.”
“There’s a mistake somewhere.”
“’Tain’t no mistake!” said Fibsy, eagerly, as he listened close to the
receiver that Avice held. “Tell him to come here now, Miss Avice.”
“Oh, I don’t know about that. I must ask Judge Hoyt.”
“Here, gimme it!” and the audacious boy took the receiver from Avice, and
speaking directly into the transmitter, said;
“’Twasn’t a mistake, Mr. Stone. ’Twas deviltry. Can’t you come right up
to Trowbridge’s now, and get into this thing while the gettin’s good?”
“Who is speaking now?”
“Miss Trowbridge’s seckerterry. She’s kinder pupplexed. But she wants you
to come, awful.”
“Let her tell me so, herself, then.”
“Here, Miss Avice,” and Fibsy thrust the receiver into her hand, “tell
him to come! It’s your only chance to save Mr. Landon! Take it from me!”
Spurred by the reference to Landon, Avice, said, clearly; “Yes, please
come at once, Mr. Stone, if you possibly can.”
“Be there in half an hour,” was the quick reply, and a click ended the
conversation.
“What kind of a boy are you?” said Avice, looking at Fibsy, half angry,
half admiring.
“Now, Miss Avice, don’t you make no mistake. I ain’t buttin’ in here out
o’ freshness or impidence. There’s the devil’s own doin’ goin’ on, an’
nobody knows it but me. It’s too big for me to handle, an’ it’s too big
for that Duane donkey to tackle. An’ they ain’t no one as can ’tend to it
but F. Stone. An’ gee! you come mighty near losin’ him! Why, Miss Avice,
when you heard somebuddy wired him in your name not to come here, don’t
that tell you nothin’?”
“Yes, Fibsy, it shows me some one is working against Mr. Landon’s
interests. And that is what Judge Hoyt has been afraid of all along. I
wish he were here.”
“Who? Judge Hoyt?”
“Yes, I promised to have him here when Mr. Stone came. There ought to be
a legal mind present.”
“Mine’s here, Miss Avice; and right on the job. My legal mind is workin’
somepin fierce this mornin’ an’ I kin tell Mr. F. Stone a whole lot that
Judge Hoyt couldn’t.”
“Fibsy, I don’t know whether to send you away, or bless you for being
here.” Avice looked at the boy in an uncertainty of opinion.
“Now, Miss Avice, don’t you worry, don’t you fret about that. You’ll be
glad an’ proud you know me, before this crool war is over! an’ that ain’t
no idol thret! _Bullieve_ me!”
“Well, Fibsy, if I let you stay, I must ask you to talk to me a little
more politely. I don’t like that street language.”
“Sure, Miss Avice, I’ll can the slang. I mean, truly I’ll try to talk
proper. It’s mostly that I get so excited that I forget there’s a lady
listenin’ to me. But I’ll do better, honest I will.”
Fleming Stone came.
Avice received him alone, except that she allowed Fibsy to sit in the
corner of the room.
“I am exceedingly interested in this case,” Mr. Stone said, after
greetings had been exchanged; “I have closely followed the newspaper
accounts, and I admit it seems baffling many ways. Have you any
information not yet made public?”
“No,—” begun Avice, and then she looked at Fibsy.
The boy sat in his corner, with eager face, almost bursting with his
desire to speak, but silent because he had promised to be.
“I know so little of these things,” Avice went on, falteringly; “I hoped
to have a lawyer here to talk to you. As a matter of fact, I was advised
to send for you by this boy, Terence McGuire. He was my late uncle’s
office boy.”
“Ah, the one they call Fibsy, and so discredited his evidence at the
inquest!”
“Yes,” said Avice, “but he says he knows something of importance.”
“And I believe he does,” said Fleming Stone, heartily. “I read about his
witnessing, and I am glad of a chance to talk to him.”
Fibsy flushed scarlet at this interest shown in him by the great man, but
he only said, simply, “May I speak, Miss Avice?”
“Yes, Fibsy, tell Mr. Stone all you know. But tell him the truth.”
“He won’t lie to me,” said Stone, not unkindly, but as one merely stating
a fact.
“No,” agreed Fibsy, looking at Stone, solemnly. “I won’t lie to you. You
see it was this way, sir, I’ve got the detective instinck,—and the day
after the murder, I went to the place where it was at, to look for clues.
Miss Avice, she gimme the day off. An’ I found ’em, sir. The Swede woman
told me where the place was where—where Mr. Trowbridge died, and right
there I found a shoe button.”
“Fibsy,” and Avice looked at him, “why did you tell Judge Hoyt it was a
suspender button?”
“I had to, Miss Avice,” and Fibsy’s face looked troubled “you see I said
_button_ to him and the ’xpression on his face warned my instinck not to
say _shoe_ button. So I switched.”
“Describe his expression,” said Stone, who was watching the boy closely.
“Well, sir, when he said ‘what kind of a buttun?’ he looked as if a heap
depended on my answer. An’ when I said suspender button, he lost all
interest. Now, maybe he _had_ a int’rest in a shoe button an’ maybe he
didn’t. But I wasn’t takin’ no chances.”
“Fibsy, you’ve the right bent to be a detective!” exclaimed Stone; “that
was really clever of you.”
But Fibsy was unmoved by this praise. “I sorta sensed it,” he went on.
“Well, sir, that shoe button never came offen Mr. Landon’s shoes, sir.”
“How do you know?”
“I got around the chambermaid here in this house, sir, an’ she hunted all
over Mr. Landon’s shoes, an’ they ain’t no buttons missin’; an’ too, sir,
this button is from a city shoe, a New York shoe. An’ Mr. Landon, he
wears western shoes. Oh, I know; I’ve dug into it good.”
“Well, whose button is it?”
“I don’t know, sir, but you can find out. I told Miss Trowbridge, sir, my
clues was _clues_ only in your hands.”
“The button may be important, and may not.”
“Yes, sir,” and Fibsy beamed “that’s jest exactly what _I_ thought. Now,
my other clue, sir, is this. I ain’t got it here, but I got it safe home.
It’s a hunk o’ dirt that I cut out o’ the ground, right near the—the
spot. You see, it has a print in it, a deep, clear print, sorta round.
Well, sir, I’d like you to see it ’fore I describe it. I’d like to know
if it strikes you like it does me.”
The boy seemed all unaware of any presumption in the manner of
argumentative equality which he had adopted toward the famous detective,
and, to Avice’s surprise, Mr. Stone seemed not to resent it.
“Were there other marks of this nature?”
“Yes, several. I scratched them away with my foot.”
“You did! You destroyed evidence purposely! Why?”
“Because I picked out the best and clearest, and kep’ it safely. I was
goin’ to give it to Miss Avice or Judge Hoyt, but they all made fun o’
me, so I didn’t. They wasn’t no use o’ reporters muddlin’ the case up.
An’ smarty-cat snoopers huntin’ clues, an’ all.”
“You took a great deal on yourself, my boy. You had no right to do it.
But I will reserve judgment. It may well be you have done a good thing.”
“It was too many for me, sir. I couldn’t sling the case myself. An’ Judge
Hoyt wouldn’t pay no ’tention; an’ that gink,—I mean—that Mr. Duane, he
ain’t got no seein’ powers so I says they ain’t no one but you to take it
up as it should be took up. An’ glory to goodness you’re here!”
Fleming Stone smiled a little, but quickly looking serious again, said to
Avice, “If you want me to work on this case, Miss Trowbridge, I will
start by going with this boy to look at his ‘clues.’ They may be of some
importance.”
Avice agreed, and the great detective and the small boy went away
together.
“And so you are Miss Trowbridge’s secretary?” asked Stone as they walked
along.
“No, sir, I ain’t. That was one of my lies. I said it so’s you’d come.”
“Look here, what’s this about your lying habits? Is it a true bill?”
“No, Mr. Stone, I’ve quit. That is, _practically_. But I’ve often found a
lot o’ help in shadin’ the truth now an then. But, shucks, they was only
foolishness, to fuss up people who oughter be bothered. An’ any way, I’ve
quit, ’ceppen as it may be necess’ry in my business.”
“And what is your business?”
“It’s been bein’ office boy, but I’ve always wanted to be a detective,
an’ since I’ve seen you, I know I’m goin’ to be one. I have the same cast
o’ mind as you have, sir.”
Stone looked sharply into the earnest face raised to his, and it showed
no undue conceit, merely a recognition of existing conditions.
“Terence,” he said, quietly, “a good detective cannot be an habitual
liar.”
“I know it, sir; that’s why I’ve quit. After now, I’m only goin’ to tell
lies when me work requires it. Just as you do, sir. You don’t always tell
the strick truth, do you, sir?”
Stone shot a glance at him and then smiled. “Let’s discuss those ethics
some other time, Fibsy. Where do you live?”
“Quite some way off, sir. I’ll show you.”
“We’d better get a taxi, then;” and soon the two detectives were on their
way to Fibsy’s humble home.
Stone waited in the cab, while the boy ran in and out again with his
precious clues.
“I’ve kep’ ’em careful,” he said, “and the dirt ain’t jarred nor nothin.”
First he produced the shoe button. “You see,” he said, earnestly, “if it
was shiny all over it wouldn’t mean much; but it’s rubbed brown on one
side, so if we could find the shoe it came off of, we’d know it in a
minute.”
“Good work,” said Stone, quietly, “go on.”
“Well, sir, it ain’t Mr. Landon’s, cos he ain’t got any shoes with
buttons the least mite like this, and as he came from Denver the day
before the murder, he didn’t have time to get some an’ wear ’em to this
browniness.”
“It is a point, Fibsy.”
“Yes sir, that’s all it is, a point. Now look at this mud.”
With great care, Fibsy opened a box and showed a piece of soil, about
four inches square, in the center of which was clearly defined round
hole.
“I cut it out right near the ‘spot’,” said he, in the awed tone in which
he always referred to the scene of the crime. “It’s the mark of a—”
“_Cane!_” said both voices together.
“Yes sir,” went on Fibsy, eagerly, “an’ that ain’t all! I saw the daisies
and clovers were sorta switched off all around the spot, as if by
sombuddy slashin’ a cane around careless-like. An’ then,” and the boy’s
face grew solemn with the bigness of his revelation, “I seemed to see in
my mind a—what do you call ’em, sir?—a dirk cane, a sword cane, an’—”
“_Cane_ killed me!”
“Yes, sir! Oh, Mr. Stone, I knew you’d see it!”
“Boy, you are a wonder. Even if your deductions are all wrong, you have
shown marvelous acumen.”
Fibsy had no idea what acumen was, nor did he care. He was not seeking
praise, but corroboration, and he was getting it. The mark of a cane was
perfectly clear and was unmistakable. It might mean nothing, but it was a
cane mark, and some canes were murderous weapons.
“You have seeing eyes, child,” said Stone, and Fibsy desired no greater
commendation.