  “Yep, Miss Avice, I gotter go. Judge Hoyt, he’s got me a norful good place in a lawyer’s office, an’ I’m goin’ to get quite a bunch o’ money offen it. I do hate to leave this little ole town, but I don’t wanta trow down that swell job in Philly. So I come over to say goo’by, an’ if you’ll lemme I’d like to wish you well.” Fibsy was embarrassed, as he always was in the presence of gentlefolk. The boy was so honestly ambitious, and tried so hard to overcome his street slang and to hide his ignorance of better language, that he usually became incoherent and tongue-tied. “I’m glad, Fibsy,” Avice said, for she somehow liked to use his funny nickname, “that Judge Hoyt did get you a good position and I hope you’ll make good in it.” “Yes’m, I sure hope so, but you see I’d doped it out to stay an’ help you out on this here case o’ yourn. I mean about Mr. Trowbridge—you know——” “Yes, I know, Fibsy, and it’s kind of you to take such interest, but, I doubt if so young a boy as you are could be of much real help, and so it’s as well for you to go to a good employer, where you’ll have a chance to learn——” “Yes, Miss Avice,” Fibsy interrupted impatiently, “an’ I begs you’ll fergive me, but I wanta ask you sumpum’ ’fore I go. Will you—would you—” “Well, say it, child, don’t be afraid,” Avice smiled pleasantly at him. “Yes’m. Would you—” his eyes roved round the room,—“would you now, gimme some little thing as a soovyneer of Mr. Trowbridge? I was orful fond of him,—I was.” “Why, of course, I will,” said Avice, touched by the request. “Let me see,” she looked about the library table, “here’s a silver envelope opener my uncle often used. Would you like that?” “Oh, yes’m—thank you lots, Miss Avice, and I guess I better be goin’—” “Terence,” and Avice, struck by a sudden thought, looked the boy straight in the face, “Terence, that isn’t what you started to ask,—is it? Answer me truly.” The blue eyes fell and then, lifted again, looked at her frankly. “No, ma’am it ain’t. No, Miss Avice, I—I fibbed, I was a-goin’ to ask you sumpum else.” “Why didn’t you?” “It was one o’ them sudden jerks o’ my thinker, ’at makes me fib sometimes, when I least expect to. I dunno what that thing is, but it trips me up, lots o’ times, an’, Miss Avice, I always just hafto fib when it comes, an’—” his voice lowered to a whisper, “an’ I’m always glad I done it!” “Glad you fibbed! Oh, Terence! I thought Judge Hoyt lectured you about that habit.” “Yes’m, he did, ’m. But there’s times when I gotter,—jest simpully gotter, an’ that’s all there is about it!” Somewhat shamefaced, the boy stood, twirling his cap. “You’re a funny boy, Fibsy,” said Avice, smiling a little at the disturbed countenance. “Yes’m, I am, Miss: but honust, I ain’t so bad as I look. An’ I don’t tell lies,—not up-and-downers. But they’s times—yes’m, there sure is times—oh, pshaw, a lady like you don’t know nothin’ ’bout it! Say, Miss Avice, kin I keep the cutter thing, all the same?” “Yes, you may keep that” and Avice spoke a little gravely, “and Fibsy, let it be a reminder to you not to tell naughty stories.” “Oh, I don’t, Miss, truly, I don’t do that. The fibs I tell ain’t what you’d call stories. They’s fer a purpose—always fer a purpose.” The earnestness in his tone was unmistakable, whatever its reason for being, and something about him gave Avice a feeling of confidence in his trustworthiness, notwithstanding his reputation. He went away, awkwardly blurting out a good-by, and then darting from the room in a very spasm of shyness. “Funny little chap,” said Avice to Eleanor Black, telling her of the interview. “Horrid little gamin!” was the response. “I’m glad he’s going to Philadelphia; you were becoming too chummy with him altogether. And I think he’s too forward. He oughtn’t to be allowed to come in the house.” “Don’t fuss, Eleanor. He won’t be here any more, so rest easy on that question.” And then the two began to discuss again the question that was all-absorbing and never finished,—the subject of Kane’s arrest. Avice had concluded not to ask Eleanor of her previous acquaintance with Landon, for they had practically joined forces in an effort to prove his innocence, and Avice wanted to keep friends with the older woman, at least until she had learned all Eleanor could tell her in friendship’s confidences. So they talked, hours at a time, and not once had Eleanor implied by word or hint, that she had known Landon in Denver. And yet Avice was sure she had, and meant to find out sooner or later from Kane himself. But she rarely had opportunity of seeing him, and almost never alone. On her infrequent visits to him at The Tombs, she was accompanied by Judge Hoyt, and, too, Landon, was morose and taciturn of late, so that the interviews were not very satisfactory. He had been indicted by the Grand Jury, and was awaiting trial in a very different frame of mind from the one he had shown on his arrest. The prosecuting attorney was hard at work preparing the case. As is often the condition in a great criminal affair, there were antagonistic elements in the matters of detection and prosecution. The district attorney did not always agree with the police, nor they with the press and general public. The personal friends and members of the family, too, had their own ideas, and each was equally anxious to prove evidence or establish a case. The police had done well, but their work had to be supplemented by Whiting and his own detectives, and evidence had to be sifted and tabulated, statements put in writing and sworn to, and much detail work looked after. Avice chafed at the delay, but Judge Hoyt assured her it was necessary, and asserted that he, too, had much to do to prepare his case for the defence. So the days dragged by, and one afternoon, when a stranger was announced, Avice said she would see her, in sheer hope of diversion. And a diversion it proved. The visitor was a middle-aged woman of the poorer class, but of decent appearance and address. But she had a mysterious air, and spoke only in whispers. Her large dark eyes were deep-set, and glittered as with an uncanny light. Her thin lips drew themselves in, as if with a determination to say no more than was needful to make known her meaning. Her pale face showed two red spots on the high cheek bones, and two deep lines between her eyes bespoke earnest intentness of purpose. “I am Miss Barham,” she said, by way of introduction, and paused as if for encouragement to proceed. “Yes,” said Avice, kindly. “What can I do for you?” “Nothing, Miss Trowbridge. I am here to do something for you.” Her voice was so piercing, though not loud and her eyes glittered so strangely, Avice drew back a little, in fear. “Don’t be scared,” said Miss Barham, reassuringly. “I mean no harm to you or yours. Quite the contrary. I come to bring you assistance.” “Of what sort?” and Avice grew a little impatient. “Please state your errand.” “Yes, I will. I have had a revelation.” “A dream?” “No, not a dream—not a vision,—” the speaker now assumed a slow, droning voice, “but a revelation. It concerned you, Miss Avice Trowbridge. I did not know you, but I had no difficulty in learning of your position and your home. The revelation was this. If you will go to Madame Isis, you will be told how to learn the truth of the mystery of your uncle’s death.” Avice curled her lip slightly, in a mild scorn of this statement. The caller was, then, only an advertising dodge for some clairvoyant or medium. A charlatan of some sort. “I thank you for your thoughtfulness,” she said, rising, “but I must beg you to excuse me. I am not interested in such things.” “Wait!” and the woman held out a restraining hand, and something in her voice compelled Avice to listen further. “You are perhaps interested in the freedom or conviction of Mr. Landon.” “But I do not wish to consult a clairvoyant regarding that.” “I have not called Madame Isis a clairvoyant.” “Your allusion to her gives me that impression. Isn’t she one?” “She is a seer of the future, but she reads the stars. Oh, do not tamper with fate! If you go to her she will give you definite and exact direction for finding the real murderer, and it is not the man named Kane Landon. No, it is not!” The tones were dramatic, but they carried a certain conviction. “Who are you?” asked Avice. “You do not seem yourself like a fraudulent person, and yet——” “I am not! I am a plain American woman. I was a schoolteacher, but I have not taught of late years. I—I live at home now.” There was a simple dignity in her way of speaking, as if she regretted the days of her school work. But she quickly returned to her melodramatic pleading; “Go, I beg of you, go, to Madame Isis. Can you afford not to when she can tell you the truth, or the way to the truth?” “What do you mean by the way to the truth? Where is she? No, I will not go! How dare you come to me with this rubbish?” Avice was getting excited now. She was suddenly aware of a mad longing to see this clairvoyant, whoever she might be. It could do no harm, at any rate. But even as these thoughts went through her brain, came others of the absurdity of the thing she was thinking. Go to a clairvoyant to learn how to save Kane! Well, why not? “Why not?” said Miss Barham, almost like an echo. “It can do no harm and it will show the way to the light.” “Are you a fraud?” and Avice suddenly stooped and looked into the woman’s eyes, taking her off her guard. “No,” she replied so simply and calmly that for the first time Avice believed she was not. “No, I am no fraud. I tell you truly, if you go to Isis, she will tell you. If you do not, you will never know, and,”—she paused, “you will regret it all your life.” The last words, spoken in an emphatic and impressive manner, were accompanied by a nod of the head, and the speaker moved toward the door. “That is all,” she said, as she paused on the threshold, “I have told you. You may do as you choose, but it will be an eternal regret if you fail to do my bidding.” She was gone, and Avice, bewildered, sat quiet for a moment. “How absurd,” she thought, as soon as she could think coherently at all. “Fancy my going to a clairvoyant, or seer or whatever she called her! And anyway, I don’t know where the Isis person is.” Then, chancing to look down at the table near her, she saw a card lying there. Immediately she knew what it was and that the woman had left it. She picked it up, and saw the address of a palmist and fortune-teller in Longacre Square. “I’ll never go there,” she said to herself, but she put the card away in a book. It was after only two or three brown studies over the queerness of the thing that she started for the address given. She had a subconsciousness that she had known all along that she would go, but she had to persuade herself first. That she had done, almost without knowing it, and now she was on her way. She had told no one, for she hadn’t even yet acknowledged to herself that she would go in, only that she would go and look at the place. It was in an office building, unpretentious and altogether ordinary. She went up in the elevator and looked at the door that bore the given number. And in another moment she was inside. It was the usual sort of place, decently furnished, but commonplace of atmosphere and appointments. There was no attempt at an air of mystery, no velvet hangings or deep alcoves. The room was light and cheerful. As Avice waited, a young woman came in. She wore a trailing robe and her pale gray eyes had a mystic far-seeing gaze. “You want a reading?” she asked in a low, pleasant voice. “I do if you can tell me one thing I want to know,” replied Avice, a little bluntly, for she had no faith in the seer’s powers. “I am Isis,” and the clairvoyant or astrologer or whatever she called herself, looked at her client closely. “I think I can tell you what you wish to know, better, by gazing in my crystal.” She went to her table, and taking a crystal ball from its case set it on a black velvet cushion. Then resting her chin on her hands she stared into the changing depths of the limpid crystal. Avice watched her. Surely, if she were a fraud, she had most sincere and convincing manners. There was no attempt at effect or pretense of occult power. After a time, Isis began in her soft, low voice: “I see a man in danger of his life. He is dear to you. I do not know who he is or what he has done, but his life is in grave danger. Ah, there is his salvation. I see a man who can save him. The man who is to save him must be summoned quickly, yes, even at once. Waste no time. Call him to you.” “Who is he?” and Avice breathlessly awaited the answer. “Fleming Stone. He is the only hope for the doomed man. Fleming Stone will rescue him from peril, but he must come soon. Call him.” “Who is Fleming Stone? Where can I find him?” “He is a detective. The greatest detective in the city. Maybe, in the country. But he is the one. None other can do it. It is all. You do your own will, but that is the truth.” Isis turned from the crystal, looking a little weary. She raised her pale eyes to Avice’s anxious face, and said, “Will you obey?” “I don’t know. How can I call a detective? I am pretty sure my advisers will not approve of calling another detective on the case, for it is a case. A criminal affair.” Avice found herself talking to the clairvoyant as if she had known her a long time. It seemed as if she had. She could not have said that she liked the personality of Isis, but neither did she dislike it. She seemed to Avice more of a force than a person. She seemed to have no particular individuality, rather to be merely a mouthpiece for otherwise unavailable knowledge. Avice rose to go. “That is all?” she said. “That is all, but will you not consent to save this man?” “Is there no hope else?” “None. It rests with you. You will agree to call Mr. Stone?” Compelled by the glance, almost hypnotic, that the seeress bent upon her, Avice said “Yes,” involuntarily. “You promise?” “I promise.” “You will tell no one until after you have summoned Stone.” This was an assertion rather than a question, and Isis went on. “You can find his address in the telephone book, and then write him a letter. Tell him he must come to you,—but stay,—can you afford it?” “Is it a great price?” “As such things go, yes. But not more than a person in fairly good circumstances can pay.” “I can afford it, then.” Avice paid the fee of Madame Isis, and went away in a daze. Not so much at the directions she had received, as at the fact of this woman knowing about Kane and knowing that it was a case for a great detective. For it was, Avice felt sure of that. She had become conscious of late, of undercurrents of mystery, of wheels within wheels, and she could not rest for vague, haunting fears of evil still being done, of crime yet to be committed. The whole effect of the clairvoyant’s conversation heightened these feelings, and Avice was glad to be advised to seek out Stone. She had heard of him, but only casually; she knew little of his work and had but a dim impression that he stood high in his profession. She went to the nearest telephone booth and found his address. But she remembered she had been told to write him, not telephone. So, not waiting to get home, and also, with a view toward secrecy, she stopped in at one of her clubs, and wrote to Fleming Stone, urging him to take this case, and promising any fee he might ask. Then, feeling she had burnt her bridges behind her, or, rather that she was building a new bridge in front of her, Avice went home. |
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