Raspberry Jam

“No,” said Stone; “he can’t. I have him covered day and night by my men. At present, Mr. Shane, he is—I am quite sure—in his office—if you want to go there—”

“If I want to go there! I should say I do! He’ll get his!”

And in less than half an hour, Shane had taken Alvord Hendricks into custody, and in due time that arch criminal received the retribution of justice.

Shane gone, Fibsy went over the whole story once again.

“You see, it was Mr. Stone’s keeping at it what did it. He connected up Hanlon and the jam—he connected up Mr. Hendricks and the Hamlet business—we connected up Hanlon and the gasoline—and Hanlon and the jersey and the motor-cycle and all!” Fibsy grew excited; “then we connected up Hendricks and his ‘perfect alibi.’ Always distrust the perfect alibi—that’s one of Mr. Stone’s first maxims. Well, this Hendricks—he had a pluperfect alibi—couldn’t be shaken—so Mr. Stone, he says, the more perfect the alibi, the more we must distrust it. So he went for that alibi—and he found that Mr. Hendricks was sure in Boston that night, but he didn’t have any real reason, not any imperative reason for going—it was a sorta trumped up trip. Well—that’s the way it was. He had to get Mr. Embury out of the way just then, or be shown up—a ruined man—and, too, he was afraid Mr. Embury’d be president of the club—and, too—he wanted to—”

Fibsy gave one eloquent glance at Eunice, and paused abruptly in his speech. Every one knew—every one realized that love of Sanford Embury’s wife was one reason, at least, for the fatal deed. Everybody realized that Alvord Hendricks was a villain through and through—that he had killed his friend—though not by his own hand.

Eunice never saw Hendricks again. She and Aunt Abby went away for a year’s stay. They traveled in lovely lands, where the scenery and climate brought rest and peace to Eunice’s troubled heart, and where she learned, by honest effort, to control her quick temper.

And then, after two of the one-time friendly quartet had become only a past memory, the remaining two, Eunice and Mason Elliott, found happiness and joy.

“One of our biggest cases, F. Stone,” said Fibsy, one day, reminiscently.

“It was, indeed, Fibs; and you did yourself proud.”

“Great old scheme! Perfect alibi—unknown human fly—bolted doors—all the elements of a successful crime—if he hadn’t slipped up on that Raspberry jam!”