The Mark of Cain

“Can’t a will like that be broken?”

“In no possible way. Your uncle was in full possession of all his faculties, the will is duly witnessed and recorded, there isn’t a flaw that could be found on which to base a contest. But don’t let us talk in this strain, dear. If you don’t want to marry me, you shan’t, but you must realize the situation.”

“I begin to realize it at last. But I cannot decide now. Give me time, Leslie,” and the sweet brown eyes looked appealingly into his.

“Of course, I will, you darling girl, all the time you want. And please, Avice, if you want any information or advice, come to me and let me help you, without feeling that you are committing yourself to anything. You understand?”

“Oh, thank you! That is what I wanted. Yes, I do understand, and I bless you for it. I am very much perplexed, Leslie, but I want to think out things a little for myself, before I tell you what I’m bothered about.”

“So be it, then. And whenever you’re ready, I’m waiting.”

Judge Hoyt went away, and Avice, wandering listlessly through the house, came upon Eleanor Black. That volatile spirit had already assumed complete ownership and command of the home that was now all her own. She was giving orders to the servants in quite a different manner from the one she had shown as a mere housekeeper, and was already arranging for a different mode of life.

“I shall close the house for the summer and go away,” she was saying to Stryker, “and then in the fall there must be complete renovation. Avice, what are your plans?”

“Oh, Eleanor, I haven’t made any yet. How can you be so hasty? Do have a little respect for uncle’s memory, if you have no sorrow in your heart.”

“Don’t trouble yourself to talk to me like that, Avice,” and the black eyes snapped. “There’s no need of pretense between us.”

“Then let’s lay pretense aside,” and the girl’s attitude suddenly became as haughty as the older woman’s. “Who is Jim Lindsay?”

“Mercy! I don’t know, I never heard of him. Why?”

It was impossible to doubt the sincerity of Eleanor’s speech and expression, and Avice was at once sure that it was the truth.

“Nothing, then. I don’t know him either. And Eleanor, I’ll talk with you some time, soon, about our future plans and all that, but I can’t just yet. You don’t mind my staying in the house a short time, do you?”

“Of course, not. Don’t be a goose. Stay till you marry Judge Hoyt, if you will. But I’m going away for the summer.”

“When?”

“As soon as I can settle up some matters and get off. But you stay here if you choose. Keep the servants, and get some one to chaperone you. My dear Avice, look on the place as your home just as long as it suits you to do so, won’t you?”

The invitation was given in a whole-souled, honest manner, and Avice really appreciated the kindness that prompted it.

“Thank you, Eleanor,” she said; “I shall be glad to stay for a time, I can’t say yet how long. And it’s good of you to be so hospitable.”

“I’ve asked Mr. Landon to stay a while,” Mrs. Black added, “until I go away, at any rate.”

Avice wanted to ask her then, how long she had known Kane Landon, but something seemed to restrain the question. So with a few murmured words of acquiescence, she went her way.

CHAPTER X

STRYKER’S HANDKERCHIEF

It was soon after this, that the reporter, Pinckney, came again to see Avice. The girl liked the wide-awake young man, and granted him an interview.

“Shall I announce your engagement to Judge Hoyt?” he asked, gravely, but with intense interest.

“No, indeed!” said Avice, with spirit.

“You’re not going to lose all that fortune?”

“Not necessarily. But I object to having my engagement announced before it has taken place! Oh, do all these things have to be in the papers?”

“Certainly they do; and that’s why you’d better tell me the truth than to have to stand for all the yarns I’d make up.”

“Oh, don’t make up a lot of stuff, please don’t!”

“Well, I won’t, if you’ll give me a few facts to work on. First, do you think that Swede killed your uncle?”

“Oh, I don’t know what to think! But I’m going to get the best detective I can find, and let him find out all he can. I believe uncle was killed by some robber, and his reference to Cain was merely the idea of a murderer. Uncle often talked that way.”

“Look here, Miss Trowbridge, I don’t want to butt in, I’m sure; but I’m a bit of a detective, myself, in an amateur way. Don’t you want me to, – but I suppose you want a professional.”

“I think I do want a professional,” began Avice, slowly; “still Mr. Pinckney, if you have a taste for this sort of thing, and know how to go about it, I might work with you more easily than with a professional detective. I’m going to do a lot myself, you know. I’m not just going to put the matter in an expert’s hands.”

“I hardly know what to say, Miss Trowbridge; I’d like to take up the case, but I might muff it awfully. I suppose you’d better get the real thing.”

“Well, until I do, why don’t you have a try at it? If you discover anything, very well; and if not, no harm done.”

Jim Pinckney’s face glowed. “That’s great of you!” he cried; “I’d like to take it up on that basis, and if I don’t find out anything of importance in a few days, engage any Sherlock Holmes you like.”

But a few days later when Pinckney again called on Avice, he was in a discouraged mood.

“I can’t find out anything,” he said. “The whole case is baffling. I went to the scene of the crime, but could find no clues. But, what do you think, Miss Trowbridge? When I reached the place where they found Mr. Trowbridge, there was that young office boy, looking over the premises.”

“That Fibsy, as he calls himself?”

“Yes; I asked him what he was doing, and he said, ‘Oh, just pokin’ around,’ and he looked so stupid that I feel sure he had found something.”

“He’s just smart enough for that,” and Avice smiled a little.

“Yes, he is. I asked him to come here today, and I thought you and I would both talk to him, and see if we can learn anything of his find. If not, I admit I am at the end of my rope, and if you choose, perhaps, you’d better get a real detective on the case.”

“I spoke to Judge Hoyt about that, and he agreed. But Mr. Landon doesn’t want a detective. Ah, here’s Fibsy, now. Come in, child.”

The boy had appeared at the door with a beaming face, but at Avice’s calling him “child,” his countenance fell.

“I ain’t no child,” he said, indignantly; “and say, Miss Avice, I found some clues!”

“Well, what are they?”

“A shoe button, and a hunk o’ dirt.”

“Interesting!” commented Pinckney. “Just what do you deduce from them?”

Then Fibsy rose up in his wrath. “I ain’t a-goin’ to be talked to like that! I won’t work on this case no more!”