The Mark of Cain

  CHAPTER XXI STONE'S QUESTIONS

  "Now," went on Stone, "I'm going to begin at the beginning of this thingand I propose to take you along with me."

  "Yes, sir, I'll help," and Fibsy settled back in his seat in the taxicabwithout a trace of presumption or forwardness on his freckled face or inhis blue, 'seeing' eyes.

  The beginning seemed to be at police headquarters and the two went inthere.

  Inspector Collins was interviewed as to the message that brought to himthe first news of the murder.

  He patiently retold the story, now old to him, and Stone questioned himas to the woman's voice.

  "I couldn't rightly hear her, sir. Her kids was all screamin' andwhoopin'-coughin' to beat the band."

  "Gee!" remarked Fibsy, "Vapo-crinoline!"

  "What?" asked Stone.

  "It's the stuff they uses for whoopin' cough. Me kid brother had it onct.Vapo Kerosene, or sumpin."

  "Also," the captain went on, "there was a phonograph goin' and there wasbuilding goin' on near. I could hear riveters."

  "But who was the woman? Didn't she give her name?"

  "No, she was a dago woman," Collins said, stroking his chin reflectively;"I couldn't find out where she lived, nor why she sent the message. Therewas such a racket goin' on where she was, I couldn't half hear her."

  "What sort of a racket?"

  "All sorts. She said her children had whooping-cough, and they did, forsure; but there was other noises. Seemed like hammerin' and screechin'and music all at once."

  "Music?"

  "Oh, only a phonograph goin'. Playin' some rag-time. Dunno what 'twas;'My Cockieleekie Lassie' or some such song. Or maybe----"

  "Well, never mind the song. Did you finally get the message?"

  "Yes, I did."

  "What was it?"

  "Only that Rowland Trowbridge was dead and for me to go to Van CortlandtPark woods for the body."

  "Singular that an Italian woman should tell you the news."

  "Very singular, sir."

  "What did you do then?"

  "Called up the Van Cortlandt Park Station, and told them to look into thematter."

  Stone asked further details concerning the finding of the body, and theninquired as to the nature of the wound.

  "He was stabbed," said Collins, "And, without doubt, by a slender-bladeddagger or stiletto."

  "An Italian stiletto?" asked Stone.

  "That is impossible to tell," answered the Inspector a little pompously."The wound would present the same appearance if made by any sharp,narrow-bladed weapon."

  "This weapon was not found?" went on Stone.

  "No," replied Collins, "I had vigorous search made in vain. But itsabsence proves the deed of an intelligent person. Whoever killed Mr.Trowbridge, went to the woods, knowing his victim would be there, andcarrying his weapon with him."

  "It seems to prove that the criminal was provided with a dagger," agreedStone, "but it in no way convinces that it was not an accidental meetingbetween the murderer and his victim."

  So far the facts were bare ones. The announcement through the green cordof the telephone, the finding of the dagger-killed body, and theidentification of the victim were clearly stated, but what inferences,could be drawn? There were no side lights, no implications, no pegs onwhich to hang theories.

  Still keeping Fibsy with him, Stone returned to the Trowbridge house. Ithad been agreed that should he meet any one there, he was to beintroduced as Mr. Green, a friend of Kane Landon's.

  As, it happened, there was quite a crowd in the library. Judge Hoyt hadasked the district attorney and Alvin Duane to meet him there for aconference with Avice. Also, they wanted a few more words with Stryker,who had returned to his old place as butler.

  As a friend of Landon's and as an acquaintance of Avice's "Mr. Green" wasmade welcome, and Avice asked that he be allowed to discuss the matterwith them all. "Mr. Green is sure that Kane is innocent," Avice said,"and he may be able to suggest some point that we may have overlooked."

  No one objected to the presence of the stranger, nor did they mind whenFibsy slid into the room, and sat down in a corner. It was no secretconclave, and any hint or theory would have been welcomed.

  Stryker, who was present, was giving the best answers he could to thequestions put to him.

  "What were you really doing, Stryker," the district attorney asked, "thatafternoon of Mr. Trowbridge's death?"

  The old man shook his head. "I can't remember," he said; "I was at homewhen the news came, but I can't just recollect whether I had been outafore that or not."

  Mr. Whiting appeared to think this a little suspicious, and questionedhim severely.

  But, "Mr. Green" smiled pleasantly;

  "His alibi is perfect because he hasn't any alibi," he said cryptically.

  "Just what does that mean to your cabalistic mind?" asked Whiting,ironically.

  "Only this. If Stryker were implicated in this crime, he would have hadan unshakable alibi fully prepared against your questions. The very factthat he doesn't pretend to remember the details of his doings thatafternoon, lets him out."

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

  "In that case," he said to Whiting, "an alibi is always worthless, forthey are, according to the learned gentleman, always faked."

  "Not at all," said Stone, easily. "An alibi is only 'faked', as you callit, by the criminal. Had Stryker been the criminal, he would have beenshrewd enough, in all probability, to be prepared with a story to tell ofwhere he spent that afternoon, and not say he doesn't remember."

  The butler himself nodded his head. "That's right! Of course I wouldn'tkill the master I loved,--the saints forgive me for even wording it!--butif I did, I'd surely have sense to provide an alloby, or whatever youcall it."

  As no further questioning seemed to incriminate the man, he was dismissedfrom 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 havebeen found in her uncle's desk.

  Judge Hoyt took up this matter somewhat at length. He admitted that MissTrowbridge had found the note, as she averred, but he urged that it benot 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 wasprobably 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 donot care to divert it from him by fraudulent means."

  Hoyt was careful not to glance toward Avice. He regretted her impulsiveact in forging that note, and he felt sure that if he appeared to bank onit, the truth would come out. So he endeavored to have the note'simplication 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 ofthe prisoner, himself? Mr. Landon has been living in the Trowbridge houseand would have had ample opportunity to 'plant' the note which the younglady found."

  Judge Hoyt looked annoyed. The possibility of this theory being set forthhad 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'sinnocence, 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. ButI 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 beevidence of a most undecisive sort; or at any rate, Hoyt's indifferencemade it appear so.

  "Perhaps Fibsy will tell us of _his_ clues," said Avice, smiling at theserious-faced boy, who was quietly listening to all that was said, butmaking no interruptions.

  "Now, now, Avice," said Judge Hoyt, "don't bring ou
r young friend intothe conversation."

  "Why not?" and Avice pouted a little more at the judge's opposition toher suggestion, than because she really thought Fibsy could be of anyhelp.

  "Well, you see, this youth, though a bright-witted boy, rejoices in thenickname of Fibsy, a title acquired because of his inability to tell thetruth. I submit that a customary falsifier is not permissible as acounselor."

  "But I don't tell lies when I testify, Judge Hoyt," said the boy, adisappointed 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'sfool and you're afraid I'll queer your client!"

  Judge Hoyt didn't so much as glance at the angry boy. He addressedhimself to Avice. "My dear, I protest. And I demand that this impossibleperson 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 JudgeHoyt was so audacious, that the others held their breath. "Him! He sentme to Philadelphia to get me outen his way! That's what _he_ did!"

  "A sample of his celebrated falsehoods," said the judge, now smilingbroadly. "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 seehow 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'tin mine."

  Whiting stared. He was trying to put two and two together to make somesort of a four that would worry his opponent, and for the life of him hecouldn't do it.

  Why, he thought, would Judge Hoyt want to get rid of this boy, unless thechap knew something detrimental to his client? There could be no otherreason, and yet what could the boy know? Hoyt had said he was a brightboy, so he must be afraid of that brightness. And yet--and this pointmust be well considered--it might well be, if the boy were really anabandoned 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 ofthe crime, Whiting pricked up his ears. Could it be a button of Landon'sclothing? 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 adefiant, determined face, as if expecting opposition. And he got it!

  "Now, I protest!" said Judge Hoyt, and he was actually laughing; "thismendacious youth told me about that button some time ago; only then, hesaid 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! Iremember now! It was a coat button!"

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

  "Yep," said Fibsy staring at him; "Yep, most prob'ly! anyway, it's aclue, that's what it is!"

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

  But Judge Hoyt was solemn enough now.

  "Send away that boy!" he said sternly; "is this matter to be made aburlesque 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 talkhe had treated them to.

  But the boy was not covered with confusion. Nor did he even appearchagrined at his misbehaviour. He looked thoughtful and wondering. Hegazed at Hoyt with an unseeing, almost uncanny stare. He walked to thedoor, 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 atWhiting.

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

  Judge Hoyt smiled, and try as he would, Whiting could not discern themeaning 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 ayear or more, and though I have seen Judge Hoyt before, we were notpersonally acquainted."

  "The judge is doing his best," said Avice, wearily, "but he is veryfearful of the outcome. It is strange there is so much circumstancialevidence against Mr. Landon, when he is entirely innocent."

  "Kane Landon is his own worst enemy," declared Stone. "I have not seenhim yet, but what I've heard about him does not prepossess me in hisfavor."

  "You don't think him guilty?"

  "I can't say as to that, at this moment, but I mean his attitude andbehaviour are, I am told, both truculent and insolent. Why should thisbe?"

  "It's his nature. Always he has been like that. If anybody ever accusedhim of wrong, as a child, he immediately became angry and would neitherconfess nor deny. I mean if he was wrongfully accused. It rouses hisworst passions to be unjustly treated. That's an added reason, to me, forknowing him innocent in this matter. Because he is so incensed at beingsuspected."

  "I understand that sort of nature," and Stone spoke musingly, "but it iscarrying it pretty far, when one's life is the forfeit."

  "I know it, and I want to persuade Kane to be more amenable and morewilling 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 hisdisposition. I shall know better how to handle him. And, now, MissTrowbridge, 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 andJudge Hoyt?"

  "I don't know what you mean, sir."

  "Oh, yes, you do. You are not only under his orders, but he ownsyou,--body and soul. How did it come about?"

  The old butler looked at his questioner and an expression of abject fearcame into his eyes. "N-no, sir," he said, trembling, "no,--that is notso--"

  "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 thejudge holds you in the hollow of his hand."

  Stone's manner was kindly, his voice gentle, though compelling, and theold 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 tosee. 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 waslong ago?"

  "Yes, sir, a matter of twenty years now."

  "Then let it pass. But ever since, the judge has held your life at hisown 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 repliedwithout a moment's thought, "He says he may ask me to testify that Itelephoned to Mr. Trowbridge to go to the woods that day."

  "Ridiculous!" cried Avice. "Why, Stryker, you don't know about the birdsand insects Uncle Rowly was so fond of collecting."

  "Oh, yes, I do, Miss Avice. I used to set his traps for him, often. And Iknow 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 falsewitness 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 honorablelawyer. He makes a fetish of punctilious practice. But there is a certainreason why--he might--"

  "You needn't say any more, Miss Trowbridge. I understand now. It isbecause of--pardon me if I seem intrusive,--because of _you_."

  "Yes, Mr. Stone," returned Avice, simply. "Since you are here to help inthis matter, I will tell you frankly, that if Judge Hoyt succeeds inwinning 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 wholesituation.

  "I see," he said, gently, "Judge Hoyt is going to sacrifice Stryker foryou. It is a clever idea, and he will see to it, somehow, that the oldman does not suffer penalty."

  "Yes, it is so. Judge Hoyt told me the only way to get Kane off, is toget somebody else to swear to that telephone message. If Stryker doesthis, 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 athing, he sweeps away all obstacles."

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

  "Yes," and Avice sighed. "He can do that. It is that power that I ambanking on in his conduct of the trial."