The Mark of Cain

“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.

CHAPTER XVI

A PROMISE

Of the General Public, there were few who doubted Landon’s guilt. When no other explanation offered, it was plausible think that the dying man referred to his murderer as Cain. But when a man named Kane was shown to have motive and opportunity, when also, he was a bold and even impudent westerner, who could doubt that he was the murderer the victim meant to denounce?

Yet, some argued, ought he not to have the benefit of the doubt? Though he had an apparent motive, though he confessed to being in the vicinity at or near the time of the murder, that was not actual proof.

And, all the time, Kane Landon, in jail, was seemingly unconcerned as to what people thought of him, and apparently in no way afraid of the doom that menaced him.

Again and again the district attorney talked with Landon.

At first non-committal, Landon later denied the crime.

“Of course, I didn’t do it!” he declared; “I had quarreled with my uncle, I’ve quarreled with other people, but I don’t invariably kill them!”

“But you were in the same woods at the time of the crime.”

“I was; but that doesn’t prove anything.”

“Mr. Landon, I believe you are depending on our lack of proof to be acquitted of this charge.”

“I am,” and Landon’s tone was almost flippant; “what else have I to depend on? You won’t take my word.”

“If you want to be acquitted, it will take a pretty smart lawyer to do it.”

“What do you want me to do, confess?”

“I think you’ll be indicted, anyway. Perhaps you may as well confess.”

With this cheering reflection, Whiting left him.

Avice Trowbridge, instead of being prostrated at the news of Landon’s arrest, was furiously angry.

“I never heard of such injustice!” she exclaimed to Judge Hoyt, who told her about it. “It’s outrageous! Kane never did it in the world. You know that, don’t you, Leslie?”

“I wish I were sure of it, dear. But it looks dark against him just now. Still, there’s little real proof, – ”

“There isn’t any! There can’t be any! I know he is innocent. I may have had a shadow of doubt before, but I am sure now. Kane never did it!”

“But, Avice, your assertions and reiterations wouldn’t carry any weight with a jury. It needs more than a woman’s opinion of a man to prove the truth.”

“Then I shall get what it does need, but the truth must be proved. And you will help me, won’t you, Leslie? You promised, you know.”

“Yes, and what did you promise me in return? Announce our engagement, Avice, wear my ring, set a day to marry me, and I swear I will get Landon free, no matter what the truth may be.”

“You are contemptible!” and Avice gave him a look of utter scorn.

“I know it. I acknowledge it. But it is my love and devotion to your own dear self that makes me so. Can’t you understand, – no, no, – you can’t. No woman could guess what it means to a hitherto honorable man to resolve to commit perjury, – to swear to a lie, – but the prize is worth it! For you, my beauty, my idol, I would do anything! And I can do it safely; I shall never be found out, for my reputation is too unsullied and too far above reproach for me even to be suspected. I will exploit that letter you so cleverly wrote, and however they may doubt its integrity, they can’t prove that Mr. Trowbridge didn’t write it.”

“Kane doesn’t believe Uncle Rowly wrote it.”

“Did he say so?”

“Not exactly; but he implied it.”

“Don’t you see why, dear? Landon, being guilty himself, knew the note was forged, and of course, he knew only you would do it.”

“Oh, I never thought of that! Do you think it helps to prove Kane guilty?”

“Of course, and so do you, but you don’t want to admit it. But you know it, Avice, in your heart, – so how can you keep on loving him?”

“I don’t know how I can – ” and Avice looked awed at her own thoughts. “But never mind that now. You have promised – oh, Leslie, – do you think it was that little Fibsy boy’s getting that information about the Scaphinotus and the trap-bottle from Professor Meredith, that made them arrest Kane?”

“It helped mightily, Avice. That boy came to see me, and he told me of some clues he had picked up in the woods. But they sounded pretty rubbishy, I thought, and I paid no attention to them. I did offer, though, to get him a position, and I found one for him with a man I know in Philadelphia. It’s a good place, and he ought to do well there.”

“I think you were awfully good to him,” Avice said, with glowing eyes. “I have a sort of liking for the boy, and Uncle was really fond of him.”

“I gave him a talking to about telling stories. But he didn’t seem much impressed. I fear he is incorrigible.”

“Leslie,” and Avice looked him straight in the eyes; “tell me the truth yourself! Why did you do that for Fibsy? You had some reason of your own!”

Hoyt started; “Why Avice, you’re clairvoyant! Well, since you ask, I will tell you. The boy is clever in a detective way. And he might stumble on some clue that would – that would – ”

“Oh, I know! That would implicate Kane!”

“Yes; and so you see, dear, it is better to get him out of the way before he makes any trouble for us.”

“Were his clues, as he calls them, of any importance?”

“Probably not; but the boy is unusually, almost abnormally shrewd, and we can’t afford to take chances. I didn’t care to look at his buttons and foot prints, for I thought it better to remain in ignorance of their significance, if they have any.”

“Oh, Leslie, isn’t it awful? I never deliberately committed an act of deception before.”

“Why are you so sure that Landon is innocent?”

Avice’s eyes fell. “I’m not,” she said in a low tone. “But I want him cleared, anyway.”

“I wished you loved me like that!”

“I wish I did! But I don’t and never shall.”

“But I shall have you, darling and I’ll make you so happy you can’t help loving me. Avice, my only excuse for taking you this way, is my positive conviction that I can make you happy.”

“But you haven’t freed Kane yet – ”

“He isn’t indicted yet, dear. Perhaps he never will be. Not if I can prevent it. But his freedom, sooner or later, will mean our marriage, so I shall accomplish it, somehow. With the boy out of the way, I ought to manage it. But that little chap is so shrewd, he might even see through that note you made up. You know he has an eye for details, and the paper is different from the sort your uncle used and McGuire might easily notice that. And if the least question were raised about that note’s genuineness, I fear it would go hard with us.”

“How clever, Leslie, to think of these things.”

“And you do love me a little, don’t you, my girl?”

“I like you a whole lot, but – ”

“Never mind the but – stop there. I’ll make you love me yet, and if doing this thing for you will help, I’ll willingly do it. Since I’m not incriminating an innocent man, I’m willing to let a guilty one go free. But Avice, if some guiltless person should be suspected, – I couldn’t then keep back the truth.”

“That’s why I want John Hemingway suspected. Then there is no danger of accusing an innocent person. If the police really think it was a man named Hemingway, they can’t do anything to Kane, but free him.”

“We’ll see,” and Judge Hoyt sighed. It was not an easy task he had undertaken, to fasten suspicion on a mythical character, but he would carry it through, if possible, because of the reward that was to be his. To do him justice, he didn’t think Avice was deeply in love with Landon, but rather, that her sympathies had been aroused by the man’s tragic position and perhaps by the injustice of his sudden and unexpected arrest.

And he fully believed that Landon, once freed, would turn to Mrs. Black and not to Avice. The judge felt that these two had known each other well and long before their recent meeting at the Trowbridge home, and that they were only biding their time to renew their relations, whatever they were or had been.

Judge Hoyt and Avice went together to the Tombs to see Landon. The application of Hoyt for permission was readily granted and the prisoner was brought to see them in the warden’s room.

Landon was in an aggravating mood. He was indifferent, almost jaunty in his demeanor, and Avice was really annoyed at him.

“Kane,” she said, earnestly, “I don’t know why you assume this light air, but it must be assumed. It can’t be your real feelings. Now, Judge Hoyt is willing to help you, – to help us. If you are indicted – ”