The Mark of Cain

Whiting saw this point, and agreed to the conclusion, but Alvin Duane looked decidedly crestfallen.

“In that case,” he said to Whiting, “an alibi is always worthless, for they are, according to the learned gentleman, always faked.”

“Not at all,” said Stone, easily. “An alibi is only ‘faked’, as you call it, by the criminal. Had Stryker been the criminal, he would have been shrewd enough, in all probability, to be prepared with a story to tell of where he spent that afternoon, and not say he doesn’t remember.”

The butler himself nodded his head. “That’s right! Of course I wouldn’t kill the master I loved, – the saints forgive me for even wording it! – but if I did, I’d surely have sense to provide an alloby, or whatever you call it.”

As no further questioning seemed to incriminate the man, he was dismissed from the room.

Baffled in his attempt to prove his somewhat vague theory as to Stryker, Duane insisted on a consideration of the note alleged by Avice to have been found in her uncle’s desk.

Judge Hoyt took up this matter somewhat at length. He admitted that Miss Trowbridge had found the note, as she averred, but he urged that it be not taken too seriously, for in his opinion, it had been written on Mr. Trowbridge’s typewriter by other fingers than the owner’s. And it was probably done, he opined, to turn suspicion away from his client.

“And do you want suspicion to rest on your client?” asked Stone.

“I do not and I do not propose that suspicion shall rest on him. But I do not care to divert it from him by fraudulent means.”

Hoyt was careful not to glance toward Avice. He regretted her impulsive act in forging that note, and he felt sure that if he appeared to bank on it, the truth would come out. So he endeavored to have the note’s implication discarded, and the matter ignored.

But this attitude, of itself, roused Whiting’s suspicions.

“Might it not be,” he said, slowly, “that the note, then, is the work of the prisoner, himself? Mr. Landon has been living in the Trowbridge house and would have had ample opportunity to ‘plant’ the note which the young lady found.”

Judge Hoyt looked annoyed. The possibility of this theory being set forth had occurred to him. But, adhering to his one idea, he smiled, and said, lightly:

“That is for you to determine. As I am convinced of Mr. Landon’s innocence, I, of course, feel sure he did not write the note in question; but if you think he did, and can prove it on him, go ahead and do so. But I do not see how it can in any way help your cause.”

This was true. Were it proved that Landon wrote the note, it would be evidence of a most undecisive sort; or at any rate, Hoyt’s indifference made it appear so.

“Perhaps Fibsy will tell us of his clues,” said Avice, smiling at the serious-faced boy, who was quietly listening to all that was said, but making no interruptions.

“Now, now, Avice,” said Judge Hoyt, “don’t bring our young friend into the conversation.”

“Why not?” and Avice pouted a little more at the judge’s opposition to her suggestion, than because she really thought Fibsy could be of any help.

“Well, you see, this youth, though a bright-witted boy, rejoices in the nickname of Fibsy, a title acquired because of his inability to tell the truth. I submit that a customary falsifier is not permissible as a counselor.”

“But I don’t tell lies when I testify, Judge Hoyt,” said the boy, a disappointed look on his freckled face.

“You won’t have a chance to, Fibsy,” and Hoyt smiled at him indulgently, “for you’re not going to testify.”

Fibsy stared at him, and then a strange look came over his face.

“I got you!” he fairly screamed; “I’m onto you! You know I’m nobody’s fool and you’re afraid I’ll queer your client!”

Judge Hoyt didn’t so much as glance at the angry boy. He addressed himself to Avice. “My dear, I protest. And I demand that this impossible person be removed.”

But Fibsy possessed a peculiar genius for making people listen to him.

“Him!” he said, and the finger of withering scorn he pointed at Judge Hoyt was so audacious, that the others held their breath. “Him! He sent me to Philadelphia to get me outen his way! That’s what he did!”

“A sample of his celebrated falsehoods,” said the judge, now smiling broadly. “The little ingrate! I did get him a position in Philadelphia, as he could no longer be in Mr. Trowbridge’s office. But I fail to see how even his fertile imagination can make it appear that I did this to ‘get him out of the way.’ Out of whose way may I ask. He certainly wasn’t in mine.”

Whiting stared. He was trying to put two and two together to make some sort of a four that would worry his opponent, and for the life of him he couldn’t do it.

Why, he thought, would Judge Hoyt want to get rid of this boy, unless the chap knew something detrimental to his client? There could be no other reason, and yet what could the boy know? Hoyt had said he was a bright boy, so he must be afraid of that brightness. And yet – and this point must be well considered – it might well be, if the boy were really an abandoned liar, that Hoyt only feared the falsehoods he could make up, and which might be adverse to Landon’s interests even though untrue.

And so, in spite of Hoyt’s protests, indeed, really because of them, Whiting insisted on questioning the boy.

The first questions put to him were of little interest, but when Fibsy, in his dramatic way, announced the finding of a button on the scene of the crime, Whiting pricked up his ears. Could it be a button of Landon’s clothing? Could it be traced to the prisoner?

“What kind of a button?” he asked the lad.

“A – a sus-sus-sus-shoe button!”

The final word came out in a burst of emphasis, and Fibsy, raised a defiant, determined face, as if expecting opposition. And he got it!

“Now, I protest!” said Judge Hoyt, and he was actually laughing; “this mendacious youth told me about that button some time ago; only then, he said it was a suspender button! Didn’t you, Fibsy?”

“Yep;” was the sulky reply, “and I came near callin’ it that this time, too!”

“Well, why not? or why not a coat button?”

“That’s it!” and Fibsy’s eyes sparkled; “it was a coat button! I remember now! It was a coat button!”

Hoyt laughed out in triumph. “And tomorrow it will be a waist-coat button,” he said; “and the day after, a sleeve button!”

“Yep,” said Fibsy staring at him; “Yep, most prob’ly! anyway, it’s a clue, that’s what it is!”

The audience shook with laughter. The funny shock-headed boy was out of place in this serious affair, but he was there, and his comical face was irresistibly humorous.

But Judge Hoyt was solemn enough now.

“Send away that boy!” he said sternly; “is this matter to be made a burlesque on the Law? a comic opera of ‘Trial by Jury?’ Order him out, Avice, I’ll see him later.”

And Fibsy was ordered out. No one could take seriously the sort of talk he had treated them to.

But the boy was not covered with confusion. Nor did he even appear chagrined at his misbehaviour. He looked thoughtful and wondering. He gazed at Hoyt with an unseeing, almost uncanny stare. He walked to the door, and as he left the room, he exploded his breath in a deep-toned “Gee!”

Whiting looked after the boy a little uncertainly. Hoyt looked at Whiting.

But the prosecuting attorney could see no reason to recall the lad, and though he felt there was something going on he couldn’t fathom, he could get no glimmer of an idea as to its nature.

Judge Hoyt smiled, and try as he would, Whiting could not discern the meaning or intent of that smile.

Fleming Stone remained, after the others left, for a talk with Avice.

“None of them recognized me,” he said, “I’ve not been in New York for a year or more, and though I have seen Judge Hoyt before, we were not personally acquainted.”

“The judge is doing his best,” said Avice, wearily, “but he is very fearful of the outcome. It is strange there is so much circumstancial evidence against Mr. Landon, when he is entirely innocent.”

“Kane Landon is his own worst enemy,” declared Stone. “I have not seen him yet, but what I’ve heard about him does not prepossess me in his favor.”

“You don’t think him guilty?”

“I can’t say as to that, at this moment, but I mean his attitude and behaviour are, I am told, both truculent and insolent. Why should this be?”

“It’s his nature. Always he has been like that. If anybody ever accused him of wrong, as a child, he immediately became angry and would neither confess nor deny. I mean if he was wrongfully accused. It rouses his worst passions to be unjustly treated. That’s an added reason, to me, for knowing him innocent in this matter. Because he is so incensed at being suspected.”

“I understand that sort of nature,” and Stone spoke musingly, “but it is carrying it pretty far, when one’s life is the forfeit.”

“I know it, and I want to persuade Kane to be more amenable and more willing to talk. But he shuts up like a clam when they question him. You’re going to see him, aren’t you, Mr. Stone?”

“Yes, very soon. I’m glad you gave me this information about his disposition. I shall know better how to handle him. And, now, Miss Trowbridge, will you call your butler up here again, please?”

Stryker was summoned, and Fleming Stone spoke to him somewhat abruptly.

“My man,” he said, “what is the secret understanding between you and Judge Hoyt?”

“I don’t know what you mean, sir.”

“Oh, yes, you do. You are not only under his orders, but he owns you, – body and soul. How did it come about?”

The old butler looked at his questioner and an expression of abject fear came into his eyes. “N-no, sir,” he said, trembling, “no, – that is not so – ”

“Don’t perjure yourself. You do not deceive me in the least. Come now, Stryker, there’s no reason for such secrecy. Tell me frankly, why the judge holds you in the hollow of his hand.”

Stone’s manner was kindly, his voice gentle, though compelling, and the old man looked at him, as if fascinated.

“He saved my life,” he said, slowly, “and so – ”

“And so it, – in a way, – belongs to him,” supplemented Stone. “I begin to see. And how did Judge Hoyt save your life, Stryker?”

“Well, sir, it was a long time ago, and I was accused of – of murder, sir, – and Mr. Hoyt, he wasn’t a judge then, he got me off.”

“Even though you were guilty?” and Fleming Stone’s truth-demanding gaze, brought forth a low “yes, sir. But if you knew the whole story, sir – ”

“Never mind that, Stryker, I don’t want to know the whole story. It was long ago?”

“Yes, sir, a matter of twenty years now.”

“Then let it pass. But ever since, the judge has held your life at his own disposal?”

“Yes, sir, and glad I am to have it so. I’d willingly give it up for him, if so be he asks me.”

“Do you think he will ever do so?”

“I don’t know, sir. It may be.”

“And it may be in connection with this coming trial of Mr. Landon?”

“It may be, sir.”

“And what has he asked you to do, so far?”

Fleming Stone shot out the question so suddenly, that Stryker replied without a moment’s thought, “He says he may ask me to testify that I telephoned to Mr. Trowbridge to go to the woods that day.”

“Ridiculous!” cried Avice. “Why, Stryker, you don’t know about the birds and insects Uncle Rowly was so fond of collecting.”

“Oh, yes, I do, Miss Avice. I used to set his traps for him, often. And I know quite a lot of the long names of the queer beetles and things.”

“Can this be, Miss Trowbridge? Is Judge Hoyt capable of using a false witness thus, to win his cause?”

Avice blushed deeply, and her eyes fell before Stone’s inquiring glance.

“He wouldn’t be, Mr. Stone, except for – Judge Hoyt is a most honorable lawyer. He makes a fetish of punctilious practice. But there is a certain reason why – he might – ”

“You needn’t say any more, Miss Trowbridge. I understand now. It is because of – pardon me if I seem intrusive, – because of you.”

“Yes, Mr. Stone,” returned Avice, simply. “Since you are here to help in this matter, I will tell you frankly, that if Judge Hoyt succeeds in winning his case and freeing Kane Landon, I have promised to marry him.”

Stryker had been dismissed, and the two were alone. With infinite pity, Stone looked at the sad-eyed girl, and intuitively understood the whole situation.

“I see,” he said, gently, “Judge Hoyt is going to sacrifice Stryker for you. It is a clever idea, and he will see to it, somehow, that the old man does not suffer penalty.”

“Yes, it is so. Judge Hoyt told me the only way to get Kane off, is to get somebody else to swear to that telephone message. If Stryker does this, they can’t prove Kane’s guilt.”

“It’s a desperate move,” observed Stone.

“It is; but Judge Hoyt is a desperate man. If he determines to do a thing, he sweeps away all obstacles.”

“A strong nature. And a most capable mind. I was impressed today by his marvelous faculty of making other people see things as he does.”

“Yes,” and Avice sighed. “He can do that. It is that power that I am banking on in his conduct of the trial.”

CHAPTER XXII

JUDGE HOYT’S PLAN

As soon as possible, Avice went to see Landon again, and to tell him what Fleming Stone had said. Though she was not allowed to see him alone, the warden had deep sympathy for the lovers, as he had discovered they were, and he sat as far away from them as possible, apparently immersed in a most engrossing newspaper.

Knowing of his sympathy, Avice promptly forgot his presence, and under the spell of her beauty and love, Landon did likewise.

“And you will be more – more humble, won’t you?” she was saying as hands clasped in hands, they read each other’s eyes.

“Humble! Avice, you’re crazy! Humble? I rather guess not! I didn’t kill Uncle Rowland, and, if they say I did, let them prove it, that’s all. Why, dear, they can’t prove a thing that isn’t so!”

“Do you know, Kane, this is the first time you’ve ever said to me that it isn’t so!” Avice’s eyes were gleaming with joy at the assurance.

“Because, oh, darling, because it hurt me so to have you harbor even a glimmer of doubt! How could you, dearest? Eleanor didn’t.”

“Didn’t she?” Avice showed a flash of jealousy. “What is she to you, Kane?”

“Merely an old friend. We were good chums in Denver.”

“Then why did you pretend you were strangers?”

“Oh, you know, Avice, I wanted that money right then and there. When Uncle wouldn’t give it to me I telephoned and asked Eleanor to lend it to me. She said she’d meet me at the library and bring some bonds that I could sell.”

“Why didn’t you come to the house?”

“I didn’t want to, – on that errand. I suppose I was foolish, but my pride stood in my way. And, too, there was haste. I wanted to send the money out West at once, and then, knowing the mine business was all right, go and see you with a free mind.”

“Well, and then you did meet Eleanor at the Library, but you said at the inquest that you didn’t get the money.”

“What a little cross-examiner it is! No, the bonds she brought me, were some that are now at a low price, but are sure to go up soon. I couldn’t do her the injustice of selling them at the present market, so I refused.”

“And she telephoned you late that night.”

“Yes, to tell me of Uncle’s death. She was the only one who knew I was at Lindsay’s apartment. Of course, dear, I had expected to see you that day, but I was so upset by my quarrel with Uncle Rowland, – he was pretty hard on me, – that I couldn’t trust myself to see him till my temper had cooled off a little. Don’t be jealous of Eleanor Black, Avice, she is a firm friend of yours. She is a frivolous, shallow-hearted woman, but she is a strong and loyal friend. And she was really fond of Uncle, though she doesn’t seem to mourn for him very deeply.”

“And she doesn’t care who killed him!”

“That is part of her volatile nature. She never looks back. To her, only the future counts. I don’t believe she does care who the murderer is. Who do you think, Avice?”

“I can’t form any idea, Kane. I suppose it must have been some stranger, a robber or Black-Hander. Don’t you?”

“I don’t know. It doesn’t seem altogether likely, – Avice, is Fleming Stone coming to see me?”

“Yes, don’t you want him to?”

“Indeed I do. I’ve formed some theories myself, during the long lonely hours I spend here, and I’d like to talk them over with Stone. Avice, what about Stryker? I mean about his bolting, when he feared he would be suspected.”

“He says that was sheer fright. He knew he was innocent, but he couldn’t prove an alibi, so he ran away. He’s very nervous and frightened of late, anyway. And if Judge Hoyt makes him swear he sent that telephone message, I just know he’ll break down and they’ll think he’s the murderer, sure.”

“Perhaps he is. There’s the handkerchief, you know. And – oh, don’t bother your poor little tired brain over it, darling! Leave it to the detectives. Duane doesn’t amount to much, does he?”

“No. But Mr. Stone will, I’m sure of that.”

“And Harry Pinckney, what’s he doing?”

Avice looked embarrassed. “I had to snub him, Kane. He – he was – ”

“He fell in love with you! Oh, Avice, you heartbreaker! Who doesn’t adore you! Look out for this Stone!”

“Oh, he’s married. Almost a bridegroom, in fact. Most romantic affair, I believe. But you know, Kane, if you are freed by Leslie’s efforts, I’ve promised – ”

“You’ve promised me, my girl,” and Landon’s voice rang out exultantly, “promised me all your love and faith and trust, now and forever. Do you suppose for a minute, that Leslie Hoyt can take you from me? Never!”

But Avice only shook her head sadly. Kane was young and impetuous and hopeful. But Judge Hoyt was older and more experienced, and if he said Kane could be freed only by his efforts, Avice strongly believed it was so.

Avice went away, and it was not much later when Fleming Stone was admitted to an interview with Kane Landon. Still posing as Mr. Green, an old friend of the prisoner, admittance was granted him under the regular rules for visitors. But a disclosure of his real identity to the authorities secured for him a private session and, wasting no time, the detective began to talk earnestly of the murder and the impending trial.

Kane at first showed a spirit of truculence and answered curtly the remarks of his visitor. But seeing at once that Stone presupposed his innocence, Landon became friendly, and talked and listened with eagerness.

“My uncle and I wrote occasionally,” Kane said, “and his letters had been most friendly of late, and he had urged me to come back East to live. I was ready to do so, as soon as I had enough money to marry and settle down. Then the chance for a splendid mining investment turned up, and I lit out for New York, feeling sure I could put it to Uncle Rowland in such a way that he would give or lend me the money necessary. But he wouldn’t, and he was so harsh and unjust that I decided to wait a day or two before going to his house. So I went to Lindsay’s, an old chum of mine, and, as he was going away for a few days he lent me his diggings. But you know all this. Let us get to the things to be discussed.”

“To my mind,” said Stone, “the main clue is that handkerchief. Without a doubt it is Stryker’s, but Stryker never left it there. It is a plan to incriminate the old man. I’m sure of that. Now, who did it?”

“I can’t agree with you about that, entirely. It seems to me, that that handkerchief was in my uncle’s pocket when he was killed, and was used by the murderer and left there. I know my uncle’s careless habits, of old, and he was quite as likely to have the butler’s handkerchief in his pocket as his own. When I lived with him, he wore my cap or picked up my gloves quite unconsciously. It wasn’t exactly absentmindedness, but extreme carelessness in such matters. Why, I remember his going to church once, and at prayer time he shook out a clean, folded handkerchief from his pocket, and it was one of Avice’s! I drew her attention to it, and we both snickered right out in meeting. No, Mr. Stone, that handkerchief is Stryker’s, of course, but it’s no clue.”

“I didn’t know of this carelessness of Mr. Trowbridge; it does put a different light on the matter. Well, then, there’s the pencil picked up at the scene of the crime. The police have paid little, if any, attention to that, and it seems to me important. You don’t know, I suppose, as to the pencils your uncle used?”

“No; but they all said, – the office people and the home people both, – that Uncle Rowland used that make and letter always. So it was doubtless his.”

“I only saw it for a moment. I shall examine it more closely. But I observed it was sharpened with an automatic sharpener. Did you notice one on your uncle’s desk?”

“No, and I don’t believe he would have one. He was too old-fogy to use modern contraptions much. Maybe the murderer dropped it.”

“Maybe he did. It is often on such small things that great conclusions hinge. What do you think of that office boy?”

“Fibsy? He’s a case. A little fresh, perhaps, but a bright chap, and devoted to my uncle’s memory.”

“I don’t think he’s fresh, exactly. But I do think he’s bright, – exceptionally so, and I have asked him to help me – ”

“Fibsy! To help Fleming Stone! Excuse me if I seem amused.”

“Oh, I don’t mind your amusement. Now, here’s the case as it stands, Mr. Landon. You didn’t telephone to Mr. Trowbridge that afternoon at two, calling him ‘Uncle’ did you?”

“I did not.”

“And there are no other nephews?”

“None, that I know of.”

“Then, somebody did it to throw suspicion on you. There seems to be no getting away from that.”

“Quite right.”

“Again, if I am right about the handkerchief being a ‘planted’ clue, some one tried to throw suspicion on Stryker.”

“Yes.”

“Again, if the pencil was purposely left there, and it may have been, that’s another effort to mislead.”

“Well?”

“Well, if these ‘clues’ were arranged with such meticulous care and precision, it surely argues a clear, clever brain that planned them, and diverts our search from such criminals as thugs or highway robbers.”

“That’s all true, Mr. Stone, and I wonder our police didn’t see that point at once.”

“Police are a capable lot, but rarely subtle in their deductions. The obvious appeals to them, rather than the obscure. But that boy, Fibsy, has the brain of a thinking detective. With training and experience, he ought to develop into something remarkable. Now, I must be going. I fancy my time is up, and I have an appointment with young McGuire this afternoon.”

Fleming Stone went away, better pleased with Kane Landon than he had expected to be. Several people had told him of Landon’s perverseness and flippancy, and after seeing him, Stone had concluded that while Landon’s nature was irritable and his temper quick, he could be easily managed by any one who cared for him and understood him.

Meantime Judge Hoyt was calling on Avice, and was telling her, exultantly, that he had plans laid that augured success for his case.

“You’re going to do something wrong!” Avice exclaimed.

“Hush! Never put that in words! The walls have ears. If I do, Avice, you must never ask what I have done. My God, girl, isn’t it enough that I perjure my soul, jeopardize my reputation and forfeit my self-respect, for you, without having to bear your reproaches? Rest assured, it is only after failing in every honorable attempt, that I can bring myself to do – what you call something wrong.”

“Forgive me, Leslie,” and Avice was touched by the look of agony on the strong man’s face. “I do know you do it for me, and I will never reproach you. But you know, if I can accomplish Kane’s acquittal myself – ”

“But you can’t! How can you? Avice, you haven’t engaged Stone, have you?”

“Why, you told me not to,” said the girl, prevaricating purposely.

“That’s right,” and the judge took her words to mean denial, as she hoped he would. “There’s no use calling him in, for, dear, he is very clever, I am told, and if I do this thing, – this wrong,” the fine eyes clouded every time Hoyt referred to his projected plan, “Fleming Stone might discover it, – though Duane never will.”

“Then you’re afraid of Mr. Stone?”

“In that way, yes. If I do something secret to win our cause, – to win you, it must remain secret or be of no avail. If Stone were here and discovered my – my plan, – he would expose it, and I should be disgraced for life, – and our case would be lost.”