The Mark of Cain

“Well, well, what a little firebrand it is!” and Hoyt smiled at her. “Go ahead, my girl; use every effort you can discover. You will only succeed in getting your friend deeper in the slough of despond. Without being intrusive, may I ask your intended course of procedure?”

“You may not!” And Avice’s eyes flashed. “You are to abide by our bargain, and in no way relax the vigilance of your efforts, unless I see success ahead without your help.”

“Which you never will! But, Avice, I don’t like this talk. It sounds like ‘war to the knife’!”

“And it is! But it is fair and aboveboard. I give you full warning that I, too, am going to fight for Kane’s life, and if I win it, I am his, not yours!”

Judge Hoyt set his jaw firmly. “So be it, my girl: I love you so much I submit even to your rivalry in my own field. But to return frankness for frankness I have not the slightest idea that you can do anything at all in the matter.”

“That’s what I’m afraid of!” And Avice broke down and wept as if her heart would break.

And it was then that Leslie Hoyt met the biggest moment of his life. Met and threw it!

For a brief instant his soul triumphed over his flesh, and flinging his arms round the quivering figure, he cried:

“Avice! I will – ” he was about to say, “give you up,” and in the note of his voice the girl heard the message. Had she kept still, he might have gone on; but she flung up her head with a glad cry and with a beaming face, and Hoyt recanted.

“Never!” he whispered, holding her close; “I will never give you up!”

“You meant to!”

“For a moment, yes. But that moment is passed, and will never return! No, my sweetheart, my queen, I will never give you up so long as there is breath in my body!”

Avice sprang away from him. She was trembling, but controlled herself by sheer force of will.

“Then it is war to the knife!” she cried. “Go on, Leslie Hoyt; remember your bargain, as I shall remember mine!”

With a mocking bow and a strange smile she left the room.

Judge Hoyt pondered. He had no fear of her ability to find any lawyer or detective who could prove Landon’s innocence by actual honest evidence. He had himself tried too thoroughly to do that to believe it possible for another. But from Avice’s sudden smile and triumphant glance as she left him, he had a vague fear that there was something afoot of which he knew nothing. And Leslie Hoyt was not accustomed to know nothing of matters on which he desired to be informed.

As a matter of fact Avice had nothing “up her sleeve.” She had abandoned the idea of calling in Fleming Stone, as a foolish suggestion of a foolish fortune-teller. But none the less she was bent on finding some way to do what she had threatened. She had little real hope, but unlimited determination and boundless energy.

She consulted Alvin Duane, only to meet with most discouraging advice and forecast of failure.

“There’s nothing to be found out,” said the detective. “If there had been, I’d ’a’ found it out myself. I’m as good a detective as the next one, if I have a tiny clue or a scrap of evidence that is the real thing. But nobody can work from nothing. And the only ‘clues’ I’ve heard of, in connection with this case, are the lies made up by that little ragamuffin they call Fibber, or something. No, Miss Trowbridge, whatever hope Mr. Landon has, is vested entirely in the powers of eloquence of his counsel. And it’s lucky for him he’s got a smart chap like Judge Hoyt to defend him.”

Avice went away, thinking. No clues; and every case depended on clues. Stay, – he had said no clues except those Fibsy told of. True, he was mocking, he was making fun of the boy, who was celebrated for untruthfulness, but if those were the only clues, she would at least inquire into them.

Through Miss Wilkinson she found the boy’s address in Philadelphia, and wrote for him to come to see her.

He came.

Avice had chosen a time when Eleanor would be out, and they were not likely to be interrupted.

“Good morning, Terence, how do you do?”

“Aw, Miss Trowbridge, now, – don’t talk to me like that!”

“Why not, child?”

“And don’t call me child, please, Miss Trowbridge. I’m goin’ on sixteen, – leastways, I was fifteen last month.”

“Ah, are you trying to be truthful, now, Fibsy?”

“Yes’m, I am. I’ve got a good position in Philadelphia, and I was agoin’ to keep it. But, well, I feel like I wanted to work on this here case of your uncle.”

The deep seriousness and purpose that shone in the boy’s eyes almost startled Avice.

“Work on the case? What do you mean, Fibsy?” She spoke very gently, for she knew his peculiar sense of shyness that caused him to bolt if not taken seriously.

“Yes’m; Mr. Trowbridge’s murder, you know. They’s queer things goin’ on.”

“Such as what?”

Avice was as earnest as the boy, and he realized her sympathy and interest.

“Well, Miss Trowbridge, why did Judge Hoyt want me out o’ New York? Why did he send me to Philadelphia?”

“I think to get you a good position, Fibsy. It was very kind of Judge Hoyt, and I’m afraid you’re not properly grateful.”

“No, ma’am, I ain’t. ’Cause you see, he just made Mr. Stetson take me on. Mr. Stetson, he didn’t want another office boy, any more’n a cat wants two tails. Why, he had a perfectly good one, an’ he’s got him yet. The two of us. ’Cause, you see I’m only tempo’ry an’ the other feller, he’s perm’nent. Judge Hoyt, he’s payin’ my salary there himself.”

“How do you know this?”

“Billy, the other feller told me. He heard the talk over the telephone, an’ Judge Hoyt says if Mr. Stetson’d take me fer a coupla munts, he’d pay me wages himself. Only I must go at onct. An’ then the judge, he told me I must beat it, cause Mr. Stetson wanted me in a hurry.”

Avice thought deeply, then she said: “Fibsy, I’d be terribly interested in your story, if I could believe it. But you know yourself – ”

“Yes’m, I know myself! That’s just it! And I know I ain’t lyin’ now! And I won’t never, when I’m doin’ detective work. Honest to goodness, I won’t!”

“I believe you, Terence, – not so much on your word, as because the truth is in your eyes.”

“Yes’m, Miss Avice, it is! An’ now tell me why Judge Hoyt wanted me outen his way!”

“I’ve no idea, but if he did, it must have been because he thought you knew something that would work against his case. Oh, Fibsy, if you do, – if you do know anything that would hinder the work of freeing Mr. Landon, don’t tell it, will you? Don’t tell it Fibsy, for my sake!”

“Land, Miss Avice! What I know, – if I know anything, – ain’t a goin’ to hurt Mr. Landon! No-sir-ee!”

“Well, then, Judge Hoyt thinks it is, and that’s why he wanted you out of town.”

“No, Miss Trowbridge, you ain’t struck it right yet. You see, Miss, I’ve got that detective instinck, as they call it, an’ I’ve got it somepin’ fierce! Now I tell you I got clues, an’ if you laugh at that as ev’rybody else does, I’ll jest destroy them clues, an’ let the case drop!”

The earnestness of the freckled face and the flash of the blue eyes robbed the words of all absurdity, and gave Fibsy the dignity of a professional detective dismissing a client.

“What are these clues, really?” she asked him in kindly tones.

“I can’t tell you, Miss Trowbridge. Not that I ain’t willin’, – but them clues is clues, only in the hands of a knowin’ detective.”