JUDGE HOYT’S PLAN
As soon as possible, Avice went to see Landon again, and to tell him what
Fleming Stone had said. Though she was not allowed to see him alone, the
warden had deep sympathy for the lovers, as he had discovered they were,
and he sat as far away from them as possible, apparently immersed in a
most engrossing newspaper.
Knowing of his sympathy, Avice promptly forgot his presence, and under
the spell of her beauty and love, Landon did likewise.
“And you will be more—more humble, won’t you?” she was saying as hands
clasped in hands, they read each other’s eyes.
“Humble! Avice, you’re crazy! Humble? I rather guess not! I didn’t kill
Uncle Rowland, and, if they say I did, let them prove it, that’s all.
Why, dear, they can’t prove a thing that isn’t so!”
“Do you know, Kane, this is the first time you’ve ever said to me that it
isn’t so!” Avice’s eyes were gleaming with joy at the assurance.
“Because, oh, darling, because it hurt me so to have you harbor even a
glimmer of doubt! How could you, dearest? Eleanor didn’t.”
“Didn’t she?” Avice showed a flash of jealousy. “What is she to you,
Kane?”
“Merely an old friend. We were good chums in Denver.”
“Then why did you pretend you were strangers?”
“Oh, you know, Avice, I wanted that money right then and there. When
Uncle wouldn’t give it to me I telephoned and asked Eleanor to lend it to
me. She said she’d meet me at the library and bring some bonds that I
could sell.”
“Why didn’t you come to the house?”
“I didn’t want to,—on that errand. I suppose I was foolish, but my pride
stood in my way. And, too, there was haste. I wanted to send the money
out West at once, and then, knowing the mine business was all right, go
and see you with a free mind.”
“Well, and then you did meet Eleanor at the Library, but you said at the
inquest that you didn’t get the money.”
“What a little cross-examiner it is! No, the bonds she brought me, were
some that are now at a low price, but are sure to go up soon. I couldn’t
do her the injustice of selling them at the present market, so I
refused.”
“And she telephoned you late that night.”
“Yes, to tell me of Uncle’s death. She was the only one who knew I was at
Lindsay’s apartment. Of course, dear, I had expected to see you that day,
but I was so upset by my quarrel with Uncle Rowland,—he was pretty hard
on me,—that I couldn’t trust myself to see him till my temper had cooled
off a little. Don’t be jealous of Eleanor Black, Avice, she is a firm
friend of yours. She is a frivolous, shallow-hearted woman, but she is a
strong and loyal friend. And she was really fond of Uncle, though she
doesn’t seem to mourn for him very deeply.”
“And she doesn’t care who killed him!”
“That is part of her volatile nature. She never looks back. To her, only
the future counts. I don’t believe she does care who the murderer is. Who
do you think, Avice?”
“I can’t form any idea, Kane. I suppose it must have been some stranger,
a robber or Black-Hander. Don’t you?”
“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem altogether likely,—Avice, is Fleming Stone
coming to see me?”
“Yes, don’t you want him to?”
“Indeed I do. I’ve formed some theories myself, during the long lonely
hours I spend here, and I’d like to talk them over with Stone. Avice,
what about Stryker? I mean about his bolting, when he feared he would be
suspected.”
“He says that was sheer fright. He knew he was innocent, but he couldn’t
prove an alibi, so he ran away. He’s very nervous and frightened of late,
anyway. And if Judge Hoyt makes him swear he sent that telephone message,
I just know he’ll break down and they’ll think he’s the murderer, sure.”
“Perhaps he is. There’s the handkerchief, you know. And—oh, don’t bother
your poor little tired brain over it, darling! Leave it to the
detectives. Duane doesn’t amount to much, does he?”
“No. But Mr. Stone will, I’m sure of that.”
“And Harry Pinckney, what’s he doing?”
Avice looked embarrassed. “I had to snub him, Kane. He—he was—”
“He fell in love with you! Oh, Avice, you heartbreaker! Who doesn’t adore
you! Look out for this Stone!”
“Oh, he’s married. Almost a bridegroom, in fact. Most romantic affair, I
believe. But you know, Kane, if you are freed by Leslie’s efforts, I’ve
promised—”
“You’ve promised me, my girl,” and Landon’s voice rang out exultantly,
“promised me all your love and faith and trust, now and forever. Do you
suppose for a minute, that Leslie Hoyt can take you from me? Never!”
But Avice only shook her head sadly. Kane was young and impetuous and
hopeful. But Judge Hoyt was older and more experienced, and if he said
Kane could be freed only by his efforts, Avice strongly believed it was
so.
Avice went away, and it was not much later when Fleming Stone was
admitted to an interview with Kane Landon. Still posing as Mr. Green, an
old friend of the prisoner, admittance was granted him under the regular
rules for visitors. But a disclosure of his real identity to the
authorities secured for him a private session and, wasting no time, the
detective began to talk earnestly of the murder and the impending trial.
Kane at first showed a spirit of truculence and answered curtly the
remarks of his visitor. But seeing at once that Stone presupposed his
innocence, Landon became friendly, and talked and listened with
eagerness.
“My uncle and I wrote occasionally,” Kane said, “and his letters had been
most friendly of late, and he had urged me to come back East to live. I
was ready to do so, as soon as I had enough money to marry and settle
down. Then the chance for a splendid mining investment turned up, and I
lit out for New York, feeling sure I could put it to Uncle Rowland in
such a way that he would give or lend me the money necessary. But he
wouldn’t, and he was so harsh and unjust that I decided to wait a day or
two before going to his house. So I went to Lindsay’s, an old chum of
mine, and, as he was going away for a few days he lent me his diggings.
But you know all this. Let us get to the things to be discussed.”
“To my mind,” said Stone, “the main clue is that handkerchief. Without a
doubt it is Stryker’s, but Stryker never left it there. It is a plan to
incriminate the old man. I’m sure of that. Now, who did it?”
“I can’t agree with you about that, entirely. It seems to me, that that
handkerchief was in my uncle’s pocket when he was killed, and was used by
the murderer and left there. I know my uncle’s careless habits, of old,
and he was quite as likely to have the butler’s handkerchief in his
pocket as his own. When I lived with him, he wore my cap or picked up my
gloves quite unconsciously. It wasn’t exactly absentmindedness, but
extreme carelessness in such matters. Why, I remember his going to church
once, and at prayer time he shook out a clean, folded handkerchief from
his pocket, and it was one of Avice’s! I drew her attention to it, and we
both snickered right out in meeting. No, Mr. Stone, that handkerchief is
Stryker’s, of course, but it’s no clue.”
“I didn’t know of this carelessness of Mr. Trowbridge; it does put a
different light on the matter. Well, then, there’s the pencil picked up
at the scene of the crime. The police have paid little, if any, attention
to that, and it seems to me important. You don’t know, I suppose, as to
the pencils your uncle used?”
“No; but they all said,—the office people and the home people both,—that
Uncle Rowland used that make and letter always. So it was doubtless his.”
“I only saw it for a moment. I shall examine it more closely. But I
observed it was sharpened with an automatic sharpener. Did you notice one
on your uncle’s desk?”
“No, and I don’t believe he would have one. He was too old-fogy to use
modern contraptions much. Maybe the murderer dropped it.”
“Maybe he did. It is often on such small things that great conclusions
hinge. What do you think of that office boy?”
“Fibsy? He’s a case. A little fresh, perhaps, but a bright chap, and
devoted to my uncle’s memory.”
“I don’t think he’s fresh, exactly. But I do think he’s
bright,—exceptionally so, and I have asked him to help me—”
“Fibsy! To help Fleming Stone! Excuse me if I seem amused.”
“Oh, I don’t mind your amusement. Now, here’s the case as it stands, Mr.
Landon. You didn’t telephone to Mr. Trowbridge that afternoon at two,
calling him ‘Uncle’ did you?”
“I did not.”
“And there are no other nephews?”
“None, that I know of.”
“Then, somebody did it to throw suspicion on you. There seems to be no
getting away from that.”
“Quite right.”
“Again, if I am right about the handkerchief being a ‘planted’ clue, some
one tried to throw suspicion on Stryker.”
“Yes.”
“Again, if the pencil was purposely left there, and it may have been,
that’s another effort to mislead.”
“Well?”
“Well, if these ‘clues’ were arranged with such meticulous care and
precision, it surely argues a clear, clever brain that planned them, and
diverts our search from such criminals as thugs or highway robbers.”
“That’s all true, Mr. Stone, and I wonder our police didn’t see that
point at once.”
“Police are a capable lot, but rarely subtle in their deductions. The
obvious appeals to them, rather than the obscure. But that boy, Fibsy,
has the brain of a thinking detective. With training and experience, he
ought to develop into something remarkable. Now, I must be going. I fancy
my time is up, and I have an appointment with young McGuire this
afternoon.”
Fleming Stone went away, better pleased with Kane Landon than he had
expected to be. Several people had told him of Landon’s perverseness and
flippancy, and after seeing him, Stone had concluded that while Landon’s
nature was irritable and his temper quick, he could be easily managed by
any one who cared for him and understood him.
Meantime Judge Hoyt was calling on Avice, and was telling her,
exultantly, that he had plans laid that augured success for his case.
“You’re going to do something wrong!” Avice exclaimed.
“Hush! Never put that in words! The walls have ears. If I do, Avice, you
must never ask what I have done. My God, girl, isn’t it enough that I
perjure my soul, jeopardize my reputation and forfeit my self-respect,
for you, without having to bear your reproaches? Rest assured, it is only
after failing in every honorable attempt, that I can bring myself to
do—what you call something wrong.”
“Forgive me, Leslie,” and Avice was touched by the look of agony on the
strong man’s face. “I do know you do it for me, and I will never reproach
you. But you know, if I can accomplish Kane’s acquittal myself—”
“But you can’t! How can you? Avice, you haven’t engaged Stone, have you?”
“Why, you told me not to,” said the girl, prevaricating purposely.
“That’s right,” and the judge took her words to mean denial, as she hoped
he would. “There’s no use calling him in, for, dear, he is very clever, I
am told, and if I do this thing,—this wrong,” the fine eyes clouded every
time Hoyt referred to his projected plan, “Fleming Stone might discover
it,—though Duane never will.”
“Then you’re afraid of Mr. Stone?”
“In that way, yes. If I do something secret to win our cause,—to win
_you_, it must remain secret or be of no avail. If Stone were here and
discovered my—my plan,—he would expose it, and I should be disgraced for
life,—and our case would be lost.”
“You still think Kane guilty, then?”
“Avice! Who else is there to suspect? Where is any other possible way to
look? And so, I must invent a suspect. I beg of you, my darling, do not
impede or prevent my progress,—it is all for you. You asked of me what is
practically an impossibility. If I achieve it, it will be at great,—at
colossal cost. But I undertake it, for your sweet sake. Avice! Beloved!
Can you imagine, have you the faintest idea of how I love you? Who else
would sin for you? Do you know the impeccability of my past record? Do
you know what it would mean to me to have the slightest smirch on my
untarnished honor? Yet I chance this for you. I do not expect to be found
out, but there is, of course, a risk. That risk I take, my glorious girl,
for you. And I take it willingly, gladly, whatever the penalty, because—I
love you.”
The last words, whispered, thrilled Avice to the soul. She did not love
Judge Hoyt; her heart was bound up in Kane Landon, but this impassioned
declaration, every word throbbing with truth, moved her,—as it must have
moved any woman. She felt a guilty sensation at the thought of Fleming
Stone’s connection with the case, but she was not willing to retract. It
must go on. Kane must be exonerated, if possible, without Leslie’s help,
and then she would be free to join her heart’s true love. And if Kane
were freed by Judge Hoyt’s plans,—Avice shuddered to think of her
promise. Well she knew that the judge would hold her to it, no matter how
much Landon protested the contrary. Landon was determined, but his
determination was a weak thing compared with the iron will of Judge Hoyt.