The Mark of Cain

“It was one o’ them sudden jerks o’ my thinker, ’at makes me fib sometimes, when I least expect to. I dunno what that thing is, but it trips me up, lots o’ times, an’, Miss Avice, I always just hafto fib when it comes, an’ – ” his voice lowered to a whisper, “an’ I’m always glad I done it!”

“Glad you fibbed! Oh, Terence! I thought Judge Hoyt lectured you about that habit.”

“Yes’m, he did, ’m. But there’s times when I gotter, – jest simpully gotter, an’ that’s all there is about it!”

Somewhat shamefaced, the boy stood, twirling his cap.

“You’re a funny boy, Fibsy,” said Avice, smiling a little at the disturbed countenance.

“Yes’m, I am, Miss: but honust, I ain’t so bad as I look. An’ I don’t tell lies, – not up-and-downers. But they’s times – yes’m, there sure is times – oh, pshaw, a lady like you don’t know nothin’ ’bout it! Say, Miss Avice, kin I keep the cutter thing, all the same?”

“Yes, you may keep that” and Avice spoke a little gravely, “and Fibsy, let it be a reminder to you not to tell naughty stories.”

“Oh, I don’t, Miss, truly, I don’t do that. The fibs I tell ain’t what you’d call stories. They’s fer a purpose – always fer a purpose.”

The earnestness in his tone was unmistakable, whatever its reason for being, and something about him gave Avice a feeling of confidence in his trustworthiness, notwithstanding his reputation.

He went away, awkwardly blurting out a good-by, and then darting from the room in a very spasm of shyness.

“Funny little chap,” said Avice to Eleanor Black, telling her of the interview.

“Horrid little gamin!” was the response. “I’m glad he’s going to Philadelphia; you were becoming too chummy with him altogether. And I think he’s too forward. He oughtn’t to be allowed to come in the house.”

“Don’t fuss, Eleanor. He won’t be here any more, so rest easy on that question.”

And then the two began to discuss again the question that was all-absorbing and never finished, – the subject of Kane’s arrest.

Avice had concluded not to ask Eleanor of her previous acquaintance with Landon, for they had practically joined forces in an effort to prove his innocence, and Avice wanted to keep friends with the older woman, at least until she had learned all Eleanor could tell her in friendship’s confidences.

So they talked, hours at a time, and not once had Eleanor implied by word or hint, that she had known Landon in Denver. And yet Avice was sure she had, and meant to find out sooner or later from Kane himself.

But she rarely had opportunity of seeing him, and almost never alone. On her infrequent visits to him at The Tombs, she was accompanied by Judge Hoyt, and, too, Landon, was morose and taciturn of late, so that the interviews were not very satisfactory.

He had been indicted by the Grand Jury, and was awaiting trial in a very different frame of mind from the one he had shown on his arrest.

The prosecuting attorney was hard at work preparing the case. As is often the condition in a great criminal affair, there were antagonistic elements in the matters of detection and prosecution. The district attorney did not always agree with the police, nor they with the press and general public.

The personal friends and members of the family, too, had their own ideas, and each was equally anxious to prove evidence or establish a case.

The police had done well, but their work had to be supplemented by Whiting and his own detectives, and evidence had to be sifted and tabulated, statements put in writing and sworn to, and much detail work looked after.

Avice chafed at the delay, but Judge Hoyt assured her it was necessary, and asserted that he, too, had much to do to prepare his case for the defence.

So the days dragged by, and one afternoon, when a stranger was announced, Avice said she would see her, in sheer hope of diversion. And a diversion it proved.

The visitor was a middle-aged woman of the poorer class, but of decent appearance and address.

But she had a mysterious air, and spoke only in whispers. Her large dark eyes were deep-set, and glittered as with an uncanny light. Her thin lips drew themselves in, as if with a determination to say no more than was needful to make known her meaning. Her pale face showed two red spots on the high cheek bones, and two deep lines between her eyes bespoke earnest intentness of purpose.

“I am Miss Barham,” she said, by way of introduction, and paused as if for encouragement to proceed.

“Yes,” said Avice, kindly. “What can I do for you?”

“Nothing, Miss Trowbridge. I am here to do something for you.” Her voice was so piercing, though not loud and her eyes glittered so strangely, Avice drew back a little, in fear.

“Don’t be scared,” said Miss Barham, reassuringly. “I mean no harm to you or yours. Quite the contrary. I come to bring you assistance.”

“Of what sort?” and Avice grew a little impatient. “Please state your errand.”

“Yes, I will. I have had a revelation.”

“A dream?”

“No, not a dream – not a vision, – ” the speaker now assumed a slow, droning voice, “but a revelation. It concerned you, Miss Avice Trowbridge. I did not know you, but I had no difficulty in learning of your position and your home. The revelation was this. If you will go to Madame Isis, you will be told how to learn the truth of the mystery of your uncle’s death.”

Avice curled her lip slightly, in a mild scorn of this statement. The caller was, then, only an advertising dodge for some clairvoyant or medium. A charlatan of some sort.

“I thank you for your thoughtfulness,” she said, rising, “but I must beg you to excuse me. I am not interested in such things.”

“Wait!” and the woman held out a restraining hand, and something in her voice compelled Avice to listen further.

“You are perhaps interested in the freedom or conviction of Mr. Landon.”

“But I do not wish to consult a clairvoyant regarding that.”

“I have not called Madame Isis a clairvoyant.”

“Your allusion to her gives me that impression. Isn’t she one?”

“She is a seer of the future, but she reads the stars. Oh, do not tamper with fate! If you go to her she will give you definite and exact direction for finding the real murderer, and it is not the man named Kane Landon. No, it is not!”

The tones were dramatic, but they carried a certain conviction.

“Who are you?” asked Avice. “You do not seem yourself like a fraudulent person, and yet – ”

“I am not! I am a plain American woman. I was a schoolteacher, but I have not taught of late years. I – I live at home now.”

There was a simple dignity in her way of speaking, as if she regretted the days of her school work. But she quickly returned to her melodramatic pleading; “Go, I beg of you, go, to Madame Isis. Can you afford not to when she can tell you the truth, or the way to the truth?”

“What do you mean by the way to the truth? Where is she? No, I will not go! How dare you come to me with this rubbish?”

Avice was getting excited now. She was suddenly aware of a mad longing to see this clairvoyant, whoever she might be. It could do no harm, at any rate. But even as these thoughts went through her brain, came others of the absurdity of the thing she was thinking. Go to a clairvoyant to learn how to save Kane! Well, why not?

“Why not?” said Miss Barham, almost like an echo. “It can do no harm and it will show the way to the light.”

“Are you a fraud?” and Avice suddenly stooped and looked into the woman’s eyes, taking her off her guard.

“No,” she replied so simply and calmly that for the first time Avice believed she was not.