The Mystery of the Sycamore

“Hello, Fult,” Fibsy sang out gaily to the chauffeur, and received a pleasant response, for few could resist the contagious smile of the round, freckled face of the boy.

“Hello, Mr. Fibsy,” the other returned, “how you getting on with your detective work?”

“Fine; but I want a little help from you.”

“Me? I don’t know anything about anything.”

“Well, then tell me what you don’t know. That fire now, here in the garage, the night of the murder, did you ever find out how it started?”

Fulton’s face took on a perplexed look and he said: “No, we didn’t – and it’s a queer thing. It must have been started by some one purposely, for there’s no way it could have come about by accident.”

“Spontaneous combustion?”

“Whatever made you think of that? And it couldn’t have been from old paint rags, or such, for there’s nothing like that about. But – well, here’s what I found.”

Fulton produced a small bottle. It was empty and had no label or stopper, and Fibsy looked at it blankly.

“What is it?” he asked.

“Never see one like it?”

“No; have you?”

“Yes, I have. I was in the war, and bottles like that contained acid which, when combined with another acid, caused spontaneous combustion.”

“Combined – how?”

“Well, they used to saturate some cloth or old clothes with the other acid, and throw them about. Then, when the time came they threw a little bottle like that, filled with acid, and with only a paper stopper, in among the clothes. The acid slowly ate out the paper stopper, and then the two acids caused combustion. So, by the time the fire started, the man who was responsible for it was far away from the scene.”

“Whew! And you think that happened here?”

“There’s the bottle. The fire began in Mr. Appleby’s car. Two coats and a rug were burned – now, mightn’t they have been sprinkled with the other acid – ”

“Of course that’s what happened! Why haven’t you told this before?”

“I only found the bottle this morning. It had been kicked under a bench, and the sweeper found it. Then I fell a-thinking, for it’s the very same sort of bottle I saw used over there. Somebody who knew that trick did it.”

“And whoever did it is either Mr. Appleby’s murderer, or an accomplice.”

“You think the two crimes are connected, then?”

“Haven’t a doubt of it. You’re a clever chap, Fulton, to dope this out – ”

“Well, there was no other explanation. Anything else hinted at carelessness of my management of this place, and that hurt my pride, for I like to think this garage the pink of perfection as to cleanliness and order.”

“Mr. Wheeler is fortunate in having such a man as you. Now, one more thing, Fulton; where is Rachel?”

“Rachel!”

“Yes, your blush gives you away. If you know where she is, tell me. If she’s done nothing wrong it can do no harm to find her. If she has done anything wrong, she must be found.”

“I don’t know where she is, Mr. Fibsy – ”

“Call me McGuire. And if you don’t know where she is, you know something about her disappearance. When did she go away?”

“I saw her last night. She said nothing about going away, but she seemed nervous and worried, and I couldn’t say anything to please her.”

“Can’t you form any idea of where she might have gone? Be frank, Fulton, for much depends on getting hold of that girl.”

“I can only say I’ve no idea where she is, but she may communicate with me. In that case – ”

“In that case, let me know at once,” Fibsy commanded, and having learned all he could there, he went off to think up some other means of finding the lost Rachel.

Meantime Sam Appleby was taking his departure.

“I have to go,” he said, in response to the Wheelers’ invitation to tarry longer; “because Keefe is coming down to-morrow. One of us ought to be in father’s office all the time now, there’s so much to attend to.”

“Why is Mr. Keefe coming here?” asked Maida.

“Mr. Stone wants to see him,” Appleby informed her. “You know, Keefe is more or less of a detective himself, and Mr. Stone thinks he may be helpful in finding the criminal. Miss Lane is coming also, she begged to, mostly, I think, because she took such a liking to you.”

“I liked her, too,” returned Maida; “she’s a funny girl but a sincere, thorough nature.”

“Yes, she is. Well, they’ll only stay over a day or two, I can’t spare them longer. Of course, they may be of help to Mr. Stone, and they may not. But I don’t want to miss a trick in this investigation. What a queer little chap that boy of Stone’s is!”

“Fibsy?” and Maida smiled. “Yes, he’s a case! And he’s my devoted slave.”

“As who isn’t?” exclaimed Appleby. “Oh, Maida, do give me a little encouragement. After this awful business is all over, mayn’t I come back with a hope that you’ll smile on me?”

“Don’t talk that way, Sam. You know I’m engaged to Jeffrey.”

“Oh, no, you’re not. I mean, it can be possible for you to change your mind. Girls are often engaged to several men before they marry.”

“I’m not that sort,” and Maida smiled a little sadly.

“Be that sort, then.”

“You seem to forget that I may be openly accused of crime at any moment. And a crime that hits you pretty closely.”

“Don’t say such things, dear. Neither you nor any of your people are responsible for the dreadful thing that happened to father – or, if you are, I never want to know it. And I do want you, Maida dear – so much – ”

“Hush, Sam; I won’t listen to anything like that from you.”

“Not now, but later on,” he urged. “Tell me that I may come back, Maida dear.”

“Of course you may come here, whenever you like, but I hold out no hope of the sort you ask for.”

“I shall hope all the same. I’d die if I didn’t! Good-bye, Maida, for this time.”