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CHAPTER XIV
TWO SUITORS
“Oh, of course, that settles it” Pinckney was saying to Avice, as he watched for her answering gleam of satisfaction at his words. She had been telling him about the Hemingway letter, and had said he might use it in his newspaper story.
Avice was disappointed that the police had not been entirely convinced by the note she found, and while they searched for the unknown Hemingway, they kept strict surveillance over Kane Landon and a wary eye on Stryker.
But Pinckney agreed with her, positively, that Hemingway was the murderer, and that it was in accordance with the dead man’s wishes that he should not be hunted down, consequently the matter ought to be dropped.
However, the young reporter had reached such a pitch of infatuation for the beautiful girl, that he would have agreed to any theory she might have advanced. He lived, nowadays, only to get interviews with her, and to sanction her plans and carry out her orders. They had evolved theories and discarded them time and again, and now, Avice declared, this was the absolute solution.
“Of course, Uncle Rowland looked forward to this fate,” she said, her face saddened at the thought, and, “Of course,” Pinckney echoed.
“Seems queer, though,” put in Landon, who was present, “that the note just cropped up. Where was it, Avice?”
“In a pigeon-hole of uncle’s desk, stuffed in between a lot of old papers, – bills and things.”
“A fine search the police put up, not to find it sooner!”
“But it doesn’t matter, Kane, since I came across it,” and Avice smiled at him. “You must admit that the mystery is solved, even if we don’t know who Hemingway is, and are asked not to find out.”
“Oh, it’s as good a solution as any,” Landon said, indifferently; “but I don’t take much stock in it, and Pinck doesn’t either. Do you, old chap?”
“I see no reason to doubt that the probabilities point to the man mentioned in the note,” Pinckney returned, a little stiffly. He was horribly jealous of Landon, and though not sure that Avice cared for him, he feared that she did. Kane Landon was a handsome fellow, and had, too, as Pinckney noted with concern, that devil-may-care air that is so taking with women. It was Landon’s fad never to discuss anything seriously, and he scoffed at all theories and all facts put forth by Pinckney in his amateur detective work.
Moreover, Pinckney, who was not at all thick-skinned, couldn’t help observing how Avice’s interest in him flagged when Landon was present. Alone with the girl, the reporter could entertain and amuse her, but let Landon appear, and her attention was all for him.
So Pinckney reluctantly went away, knowing he would only be made miserable if he remained longer.
“What makes you act so about that note?” demanded Avice of Landon, after Pinckney left.
“Act how?”
“As if it were of no account. Why, Kane, if uncle wrote that, he must have known how he would meet his death.”
“Yes – , if he wrote it?”
“What do you mean?” Avice looked startled. “Can you have any doubt that he wrote it? Why, I know his typewriter letters as well as I know his handwriting.”
“Do you?” and Landon smiled quizzically. “Avice, you are very beautiful this morning.”
“Is that so unusual as to require comment?” The smile she flashed at him was charming.
“It isn’t unusual, but it does require comment. Oh, Avice, I wish I could kidnap you and carry you off, away from all this horrid mess of police and detectives and suspicion.”
“Would we take Eleanor Black with us?” The brown eyes looked straight at him, challenging him to declare himself for or against the one Avice felt to be a rival.
“If you like,” and Landon smiled teasingly at her. “Go on, Avice, fly in a rage, I love to see you angry.”
“’Deed I won’t! I’ve nothing to rage about. If you admire Eleanor, I can only say I admire your taste. She is certainly beautiful.”
“Bravo! Good for you, little girl! Now, just for that I’ll tell you that in my opinion she can’t hold a candle to you for beauty.”
“Your compliments are so subtle, Kane! I suppose that’s due to your western training.”
“And your sarcasm is that known as the withering variety. Oh, Avice, don’t let’s fence. You are beautiful, and you are very dear to me. If I weren’t – if they didn’t – oh, pshaw! if I were free of all suspicion in this horrid matter, would you, – could you – ”
“Kane,” she said, looking at him seriously; “you didn’t do it, did you?”
“I will not tell you.”
“That can mean either of two things; one, which I hope, that you are innocent, and so, resent my question; the other, which I fear, that you are – ”
“Guilty,” supplemented Kane.
“Yes; oh, Kane, why won’t you tell me?”
“Would you care? Avice, would you really care whether I’m guilty or not?”
The girl looked up at him, a sudden light in her big, dark eyes; “Oh, yes, Kane, I do care.”
“Do you mean it, Avice? My little girl, do you mean it!”
Impulsively, Landon took her hand, and drew her to him, looking deep into her eyes.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, and there was a thrill in his voice Avice had never heard there before, “I will clear myself of these awful matters, and then I can ask you – ”
“But, Kane, you know the note from John Hemingway – ”
“Bother John Hemingway! Avice, do you take me for a fool?”
Landon crushed her to him in a desperate embrace, and then held her off and looked at her with a strange expression on his face.
“Dear heart!” he said, and gently kissing her downcast, frightened eyes he went swiftly from the room.
Going to the window, Avice watched him stride down the street. His swinging walk was a splendid thing in itself, and the girl felt a thrill of pride in the strong, well-proportioned figure, so full of life and energy.
“But I can’t understand him,” she thought, “he acts so queer every time he talks about Uncle’s death. And then, he pretends to love me, – and he’s all mixed up with Eleanor, – I wish I could get up courage to ask him about her, – but I’m – oh, I’m not really afraid of Kane – but, – well, he is strong, – every way.”
She sank into a chair and gave herself up to day dreams.
“A bright, new, Lincoln penny for your thoughts,” said a deep voice, and Avice looked up to see Judge Hoyt smiling down at her.
For the first time in her life, she felt an aversion to him. She knew she was not in love with her elderly suitor, but always she had felt great friendship and esteem for him. Now, the esteem was still there, but the remembrance of Landon’s caress so recent, she experienced a shrinking from the passion she could not fail to read in the eyes now bent upon her.
Leslie Hoyt was a man whose physical presence dominated any group of which he was a member. Towering some inches above most of his fellow men, his fine head was carried proudly and with an air of aristocracy that gave him especial prestige. Few had ever seen his grave, scholarly face aglow with emotion of any sort, but Avice knew well the light that love kindled in those deep, dark eyes, and though not entirely responding to it, she had gratefully appreciated it, and had tacitly accepted her uncle’s plan that she should marry the judge. But that was during her uncle’s lifetime, and before Kane Landon had come home from the West.
In a swift mental picture, Avice contrasted the two men. Landon, too, was tall and big and strong. Hoyt was far superior in manner, and in that indefinable effect given by cultured associations. Landon had the advantage of youth and the careless grace of that lack of self-consciousness, so often the result of western life. The self-possession of both men was complete, but Landon’s was somewhat that of bravado and Hoyt’s that of experience.
Without detailing these thoughts to herself, Avice was quite aware of them and of their value, and she knew that she was going to choose between two of the finest specimens of men she had ever seen.
“I’m thinking about Kane Landon,” she said in answer to the remark of her new visitor. Avice was naturally mischievous, and well knew the effect of her aggravating speeches.
The kindly look in Judge Hoyt’s eyes gave way to an ironic gleam, as he said “Then I offered you full value, I think.”
“That’s so clever that I forgive its mean spirit,” and Avice smiled at him. “Yes, my thoughts were penny-wise, which is far better than if they had been pound-foolish.”
“Think pound-foolish ones of me – ”
“Of you! Why, Leslie, I can’t connect you and foolishness in my mind!”
“I’m foolishly in love with you, I know that! What is there about you, Avice, that makes me lose my head entirely the moment I see you?”
“Do you really? It seems incredible! I’d like to see dignified Judge Hoyt in that state commonly described as having lost his head!”
“Would you?” and a dangerous fire blazed in Hoyt’s eyes as he took a step nearer to her.
“No, no!” cried Avice, really alarmed, “not now. I mean some other time.”
“There’ll be times enough. You’ll have to spend the rest of your life getting used to seeing me headless. But Avice, I came to talk to you about that Hemingway note.”
“Yes, do. Will it clear Kane?”
“Why?” said the lawyer, a sudden anger coming into his eyes. “Do you love him?”
Avice looked at him. “Yes,” she said simply.
“Then he shall not be cleared!” and Hoyt’s voice was full of deep hatred. “Do you know it rests with me to free him from suspicion or not! Do you know that I hold his life in my hands?”
Avice looked at him in horror. “Do you mean,” she cried “that you would let him be suspected, knowing he is innocent?”
“On the contrary,” and Hoyt looked at her meaningly, “I know the only hope of freedom Landon has, is that letter found in your uncle’s desk. And I know, – ” he paused.
“You know what?” said Avice, grasping a chair for support, as she felt herself giving away.
“I know who wrote that letter.”
“What do you mean?”
“You know what I mean. You wrote that letter yourself. Oh, it was a fine scheme to save a guilty man, but it didn’t deceive me.”
“How do you know?”
“I know because I am familiar with all your uncle’s papers and business matters. I know, because it is not written on a style of paper that he ever used. Because it is not in his style of diction. Because, moreover, you ‘discovered’ it, just after you were told that only another suspect could save Kane Landon. And you concluded to invent that other suspect! Oh, it was clever, my girl, but it didn’t deceive me! Now, why did you do it? Because you love that man?”
Avice stood up straight and faced him. “Yes,” she cried, while her eyes shone. “Yes, that was the reason. I know he is innocent, both you and Mr. Duane declared he would not be thought so, unless there was another suspect. So I did resort to that ruse, and I’m glad of it. It does no wrong. The man it accuses is only imaginary, and if it saves the life of an innocent man it is a justifiable deception.”
“And do you suppose I will be a party to it? Do you suppose for a minute that I will stand up for a man, knowing that my attitude is based on a falsehood?”
“Not if it is a harmless, justifiable falsehood? Not if I ask you to do it?”
“Avice, don’t tempt me. What is this man to you? You have known me for years, and along comes this stranger, and you turn to him. I won’t have it!”
“Don’t talk like that, Leslie. He doesn’t really care for me. He is in love with Mrs. Black. But she can’t save him from an awful fate, and I can, yes, and I have, if you don’t interfere with my plans. And you won’t, will you?”
Avice looked very coaxing and sweet, as she urged her plea, and Leslie Hoyt caught her in his arms. “I’ll do it,” he said, in a whisper, “if you’ll marry me at once.”
“Oh, I can’t!” and Avice shrank away from him with a gesture of aversion. “Don’t ask me that now! Wait till this awful ordeal is over.”
“That’s just it, Avice. I’m in earnest. Promise to marry me and I’ll get Landon cleared of all suspicion whether he is guilty or not.”
“Is that your price?”
“Yes, and the only condition on which I will keep your secret! Do you know I shall have to perjure myself? Do you know that I will do that only to gain you? What is your answer? Tell me, Avice, my beautiful darling? Oh, I love you so!”
“Leslie, you frighten me. I don’t love you. I have told you I love Kane. But he must never know it. He is infatuated with Eleanor Black, and I shall in no way hamper his happiness. But, I don’t want to marry anybody.”
“You’ll marry me, or that precious adoration of yours will pay the full penalty of his crime. And, too, Avice, remember your uncle’s will. Do you want to throw away a million to escape a union with me? I’ll be very good to you, dear. You shall have your own way in everything.”
“Do you want me to marry for money’s sake?”
“Yes; if you won’t marry me for my own.”
“Are you sure you can save Kane?”
“My skill is small else. With that letter that you forged, to work on, I ought to be able to manage it.”
“And otherwise, – ”
“Otherwise, prepare yourself for the worst.” Hoyt spoke seriously, even solemnly, and Avice knew he meant every word he said. With a sob in her throat, she turned to him and held out her hand.
“So be it, then,” she said, and her voice was as sad as a funeral chime. “But always remember that I warned you I don’t love you.”
“I’ll make you love me!” and Hoyt’s voice rang out exultantly.
CHAPTER XV
THE TRAP THAT WAS SET
When, in his conversation with Judge Hoyt, Terence McGuire stated that his wardrobe purchases were made under the guidance and jurisdiction of his sister, he was creating a fabrication of purest ray serene. For, in this sorry scheme of things, no sister had been allotted to Fibsy, nor, until that moment, had he ever felt need of one. So, the need arising, a sister easily sprang, full fledged, from the red head of the well-named inventor.
Fibsy, likewise was unprovided with parents, and lived with a doting aunt. This relative, a knobby-coiffured spinster, was of the firmly grounded opinion that the orb of day has its rising and setting in her prodigy of a nephew. That he was not a bigoted stickler for the truth, bothered her not at all, for Fibsy never told his aunt lies, at least none that could possibly matter to her.
Now, being temporarily out of a business position, and not minded to go at once to Philadelphia, Fibsy was giving Aunt Becky the ecstatic bliss of having him at home for a time.
He was mostly absorbed in thoughts and plans of his own, but when she saw him, hands in pockets, sprawled bias on a chair, she forbore to bother him; and, like Charlotte, went on cutting bread and butter, to which she added various and savory dishes for her pet’s demolition.
Nor were her efforts unappreciated.
“Gee! Aunt Beck, but this is the scream of a strawberry shortcake!” would be her well-earned reward. “You sure do beat the hull woild fer cookin’!”
And Aunt Becky would beam and begin at once to plan for supper.
“There’s no use talkin’” said Fibsy, to himself, as he writhed and twisted around in the dilapidated rocker that graced his sleeping-room; “that milk bottle, with the old druggy stuff in it, means sumpum. Here I’ve mumbled over that fer weeks an’ ain’t got nowhere yet. But I got a norful hunch that it’s got a lot to do with our moider. An’ I’ve simply gotto dig out what!”
Scowling fearfully, he racked his brain, but got no answer to his own questions. Then he turned his thoughts again to Miss Wilkinson’s strange account of that queer telephone message. “That’s the penny in the slot!” he declared. “I jest know that rubbish she reels off so slick, is the key clue, as they call it. Me for Wilky, onct again.”
Grabbing his hat he went to interview the stenographer. She too, had not yet taken another place, though she had one in view.
Obligingly she parroted over to Fibsy the lingo of the message.
“Did the guy say he’d give the Stephanotis to Mr. Trowbridge, or they’d get it?” he demanded, his blue eyes staring with deep thought.
“W’y, lemmesee. I guess he said, – oh, yes, I remember, he said, I guess we’ll find some Stephanotis – ”
“Oh, did he? Are you sure?”
“Pretty sure. What dif, anyhow?”
But Fibsy didn’t wait to answer. He ran off and went straight to the Trowbridge house.
“Miss Avice,” he said, when he saw her, “Please kin I look at Mr. Trowbridge’s c’lection, if I won’t touch nothin’? Oh, please do lemme, won’t you?”
“Yes, if you promise to touch nothing,” and Avice led the way to the room, with its glass cases and cabinets of shallow drawers that held the stuffed birds and mounted insects so carefully arranged by the naturalist.
Rapidly Fibsy scanned the various specimens. Eagerly he scrutinized the labels affixed to them. Oblivious to the amused girl who watched him, he darted from case to case, now and then nodding his shock of red hair, or blinking his round blue eyes.
After a time, he stood for a moment in deep thought, then with a little funny motion, meant for a bow, he said, abstractedly, “Goo’ by, Lady. Fergive me fer botherin – ” and rapidly descending the stairs he ran outdoors, and up the Avenue.
Half an hour later, he was at the door of a large college building, begging to be allowed to see Professor Meredith.
“Who are you?” asked the attendant.
“Nobody much,” returned Fibsy, honestly. “But me business is important. Wontcha tell Mr. – here, I’ll write it, it’s sorta secret – ” and taking a neat pad and pencil from his pocket, the boy wrote, “Concerning the Trowbridge murder,” and folded it small.
“Give him that,” he said, with a quiet dignity, “and don’t look inside.”
Then he waited, and after a moment was given audience with the Professor of Natural History.
“You wished to see me?” said the kindly voice of a kind-faced man, and Fibsy looked at him appraisingly.
“Yessir. Most important. And please, if you don’t want to tell me what I ask, don’t laugh at me, will you?”
“No, my lad, I rarely laugh at anything.”
The serious face of the speaker bore out this assertion, and Fibsy plunged at once into his subject.
“Is there a bug, sir, named something like Stephanotis?”
“Well, my child, there is the Scaphinotus. Do you mean that?”
“Oh, I guess I do! I think maybe, perhaps, most likely, that’s the trick! What sort of a bug is it?”
“It’s a beetle, a purplish black ground-beetle, of the genus Carabidæ, – ”
“What! Say that again – please!”
“Carabidæ?”
“Caribbean Sea! Stephanotis!”
“No, Scaphinotus. That is, the Scaphinotus Viduus, Dejean, – ”
“Oh, sir, thank you.”
“Did you say this has something to do with the Trowbridge case? Mr. Trowbridge was a friend of mine, – ”
“Oh, please sir, I don’t know but I think this here beetle business will help a lot. Do these pertikler bugs show up in Van Cortlandt Park woods?”
“Yes, they may be found there. I’ve set traps there for them myself – ”
“How do you set a trap for a beetle, kin I ask?”
“Why, you’re really interested, aren’t you? Well it’s a simple matter. We take a wide-mouthed bottle, – ”
“Say, a milk bottle?”
“Yes, if you like. Then put it about a half-inch of molasses and asafoetida – ”
A whoop from Fibsy startled the Professor. “What’s the matter?” he cried.
“Matter, Sir! Didn’t you read the accounts of the Trowbridge murder in the papers?”
“Not all of it. I get little time to read the papers, – ”
“Well, then, this here bottle o’ stuff – does it smell bad?”
“Oh, the asafoetida is unpleasant, of course, but we get used to that. We next sink this bottle in the ground, up to its neck, and – ”
“And you call it a trap!”
“Yes, a trap to catch unwary insects. Not very kind to them, but necessary for the advancement of science. You seem a bright lad, would you care to see some fine specimens of – ”
“Oh, sir, not now, but some other day. Oh, thank you fer this spiel about the bugs! But who was the guy what did it? You didn’t telephone Mr. Trowbridge to go after Stephanotises, did you?’”
“Scaphinotus, the name is. No, I didn’t telephone him. I haven’t seen Mr. Trowbridge for years.”
“Oh, yes, I remember, you an’ him was on the outs. Well, I’m much obliged, I sure am! Goo’ by, Sir.” and with his usual abruptness of departure, Fibsy darted out of the door, leaving the Professor bewildered at the whole episode.
Back to Miss Wilkinson the boy hurried, to verify his new discoveries.
“Say, Yellowtop,” he began, “did you sure hear Caribbean Sea?”
“Yep, fer the thoity thousandth time, – yep!”
“Sure of the Sea?”
Miss Wilkinson stared at him. “Gee, Fibsy, you are a wiz, fer sure! I was a thinkin’ that the guy jest said Caribbean, but I knew he musta meant Sea, so I ’sposed I skipped that woid.”
“Naw, he didn’t say it. Wot he said wuz, Carabidæ.”
“It was! I know it now! What’s that mean?”
“Never mind. What d’you mean, sayin’ the feller said things he didn’t say at all? He said Scaphinotus too, not Stephanotis.”
“I can’t tell any difference when you say ’em.”
“Never mind, you don’t have to. Now, turn that thinker of yourn backward, and remember hard. Don’t it seem to you like the guy said somebody’d set a trap, no matter who, and that he and Mr. Trowbridge’d get the Stephanotis and the Carib – whatever it was, – outen the trap?”
“Yes, it does seem like he said that, only that ain’t sense.”
“Never you mind the sense. I’m lookin’ after that end. An’ then, wasn’t Mr. Trowbridge tickled to death to go an’ get these queer things from the trap?”
“Yes, said he had a nengagement, but he’d break it to get the Stephanotis – ”
“Sure he would! In a minute! All right, Wilky. You keep all this under your Yellowtop; don’t squeak it to a soul. Goo’ by.”
“Sumpum told me not to go off to Philadelphia so swift,” the boy mused, as he went home. “Now, here I am chock-a-block with new dope on this murder case, an’ I dunno what to do with it. If I tell the police first, maybe Miss Avice won’t like it. And if I tell Judge Hoyt first, maybe the police’ll get mad. There’s that Duane guy, but he don’t know enough to go in when it rains. I wisht I was a real detective. Here I am just a kid, an’ yet I got a lot o’ inside info that orta be put to use. Lemmesee, who do I want to favor most? Miss Avice, o’course. But sure’s I go to her, that Pinckney feller’ll butt in, an’ he does get my goat! I b’lieve I’ll do the right thing, an’ take it straight to the strong arm o’ th’ law.”
Fibsy went to the Criminal Court Building, and by dint of wheedling, fighting, coaxing and, it must be admitted, lying, he at last obtained access to the district attorney’s office, for the boy declined to entrust his secrets to any intermediary.
Judge Hoyt was there and Detective Groot. Also Mr. Duane, looking a bit despairing, and several others, all discussing the Trowbridge case.
Fibsy was a little frightened, not at the size of his audience, but because he was not sure he wanted all those present to know of his news. And yet, after all, it might not prove of such great importance as he expected. He had misgivings on that score, as well as on many others.
But Mr. Whiting, though he greeted the boy with a nod, was in no hurry to listen to him, and Fibsy was given a chair and told to wait. Nothing loath, he sat down and pretended to be oblivious to all that was being said, though really he was taking in every thing he could hear.
At last the district attorney, in a preoccupied way told him to tell his story, and to make it as brief as he could.
But when the boy began by simply stating that he had discovered what was the meaning of the mysterious telephone message and also what relation the milk bottle bore to the trip to the woods, all eyes and ears gave him attention.
Knowing the importance of the occasion and anxious to make a good impression, Fibsy strove to make his language conform, as far as he could, to the English spoken by his present audience.
“So I asked Perfesser Meredith,” he related, “and he told me there is a beetle named Scaphinotus, and it’s of the Carabidæ fambly.”
He had obtained these names in writing from the Professor, and had learned them, unforgettably, by heart.
“What!” exclaimed Whiting, more amazed at this speech from the boy, than its bearing on the matter in hand.
“Yessir; an’ I says to myself, ‘that’s the meanin’ of Wilky’s puffumery dope and Caribbean Sea.” In his excitement, Fibsy forgot his intended elegance of diction.
“But the girl said she overheard Sea,” said Judge Hoyt, looking in amazement at the boy.
“Yessir, I know. I read that in my Pus-shol-ogy book. It says that what you expect to hear, you hear. That is, Wilky heard Caribbean, as she thought, an’ she natchelly spected to hear Sea next, so she honest thought she did!”
“That is psychological reasoning,” said Whiting. “It’s Münsterberg’s theories applied to detection. I’ve read it. And it’s true, doubtless, that the girl thought she heard Caribbean, expected to hear Sea next, and assumed she did hear it.”
“Yessir,” cried Fibsy, eagerly; “that’s the guy, Musterberg, – or whatever his name is. I’m studyin’ him, ’cause I’m goin’ to be a detective.”
“Now, let us see how this new angle of vision affects our outlook,” said Judge Hoyt, ignoring the boy, and turning to the district attorney.
“It gives us a fresh start,” said Whiting, musingly. “And here’s my first thought. Whoever telephoned that message, not only knew of Mr. Trowbridge’s interest in rare beetles, but knew the scientific names for them.”
“Right,” agreed Hoyt, “and doesn’t that imply that we must start afresh for a suspect? For, surely, neither Stryker the butler, nor Mr. Landon would have those names so glibly on his tongue.”
“Also, it was somebody who knew how to set the trap, – the milk-bottle trap. Terence, my boy, you did a big thing, this morning. How did you come to think it out?”
“I thought such a long time, sir.” Fibsy’s manner was earnest and not at all conceited. “I thought of every thing I could find in me bean to explain those crazy words that Wilky, – Miss Wilkinson said she heard. An’ I knew the goil well enough to know she heard jest about what she said she did, an’ so, I says to myself, there must be some meanin’ to ’em. An’ at last, I doped it out they must have sumpum to do with Mr. Trowbridge’s bug c’lection. He’d go anywhare or do anythin’ fer a new bug or boid. So I went an’ asked Miss Avice to let me give the c’lection the once-over. An’ she did, an’ then I saw a name sumpum like Wilky’s Stephanotis, an’ I was jest sure I was on the right track. So I ups an’ goes to see Perfesser Mer’dith, – an’ there you are!”
Fibsy’s face glowed, not with vanity, but with honest pride in his own achievement.
The boy was sent away, with an assurance that his assistance would be duly recognized at some other time, but that now he was in the way.
Not at all offended, he took his hat, and with his funny apology for a bow he left the room.
“Looks bad,” said Groot.
“For whom?” asked Whiting.
“Landon, of course. He knows all that scientific jargon. He’s a college man, – ”
“He never was graduated,” said Judge Hoyt.
“No matter; he gathered up enough Latin words to know names and things. Or he looked them up on purpose. Then he set the milk bottle trap, – what happens? Do the things crawl in?”
“Yes,” said Hoyt. “Attracted by the odor of the drug, and the molasses, they crawl to the edge, tumble in, and can’t get out.”
“H’m, well, Landon knows all this, and he sets the trap and baits his uncle as well as the beetles. He tempts him with a promise of this Stephanotis bug, and off goes uncle, willingly. Then Landon meets him there, or goes with him, – it’s all one, – and he stabs him, and Mr. Trowbridge lives long enough, thank goodness, – to say Kane killed me! You can’t get away from that speech, Mr. Whiting. If there hadn’t been any suspect named Kane, we might say Mr. Trowbridge meant Cain, – any murderer. But with the only real suspect bearing that very name, it’s too absurd to look any further. Then the murderer having thoughtfully provided himself with a handkerchief belonging to the next possible suspect, wipes the bloody blade on that and throws it where it’ll be found. Could anything be clearer? Who wants money right away? Who has just quarreled with the victim? Who is impudent and insolent when questioned about it? Who is now enjoying his ill-gotten gains, and has already used a lot of money for the purpose he told his uncle about that first day he saw him? Answer all those questions, and then doubt, if you can, who murdered Rowland Trowbridge!”
Groot spoke quietly, but forcibly, and all present realized there was no answer save the one he indicated.
Judge Hoyt looked aghast. “It’s incredible!” he exclaimed. “Kane Landon – ”
“You mean any other theory or suspicion is incredible, Judge,” said Whiting. “I have thought this was the only solution for some time. I have had a strict watch kept on Landon’s movements, and he has spent that money, as Groot says. In every way he seems guilty of this crime and I say the time has come to arrest him.”
And so Kane Landon was arrested for the murder of his uncle, Rowland Trowbridge, and was taken to The Tombs.
