  Avice went occasionally to see Landon in The Tombs. The formalities and restrictions had been looked after by Judge Hoyt, and Avice was free to go at certain times, but she was not allowed to see Kane alone. In the warden’s room they met for their short visits, but of late, the warden had been kind enough to efface himself as much as possible, and one day, as he stood looking out of a window, he was apparently so absorbed in something outside, that the two forgot him utterly, and Landon grasped the hands of the girl and stood gazing into her sad brown eyes with a look of longing and despair that Avice had never seen there before. At last, he said, slowly, “I suppose you know I love you,” and his voice, though intense, was as bare of inflection or emphasis as the room was of decoration. It seemed as if one must speak coldly and simply in that empty, hollow place. The very bareness of the floor and walls, made the baring of the soul inevitable and consequent. And as she looked at Kane, Avice did know it. And the radiance of the knowledge lighted the darkness, dispelled the gloom and filled the place with a thousand pictures of life and joy. With sparkling eyes, she went nearer to him, both hands outstretched. The three words were enough. No protestations or explanations were necessary in that moment of soul-sight. But Kane gave no answering gesture. “Don’t,” he said; “it means nothing. I only wanted you to know it. That is all.” “Why is that all?” and Avice looked at him blankly. Kane gave a short, sharp laugh. “First, because I am already the same as a condemned man; second, because if I weren’t, I couldn’t ask you to marry me and thereby lose your whole fortune.” “I don’t care about the fortune,” said Avice, still speaking with this strange new directness that marked them both; “but I have promised Leslie Hoyt that if he frees you, I will marry him.” “Avice! What a bargain! Do you suppose I would accept freedom at such a price? Do you love him?” “No; I love you. I have told him so. But he will not get you off unless I will marry him, so I have promised.” “Promised! That promise counts for less than nothing! I will get freed without his assistance, and you shall marry me! Darling!” “But you can’t, Kane,” and Avice spoke now from the shelter of his arms. “No one but Leslie can get you off. He says he will do so whether you are guilty or not. He is very clever.” “Is he! But so are other people. I will get a lawyer who also is able to ‘get me off whether I am guilty or not’! Oh, Avice!” “How can you? You have no money. Leslie says you will never get that inheritance from uncle.” “Does he! Well, let me tell you, dear, I don’t care. My mine is an assured fact; my interests are safe and protected.” “Where did you get the money for that?” “Mrs. Black lent it to me. She is a fine business woman, and I turned to her, as the time was growing short and I had to have the money at once, if at all.” “And I thought you were in love with her!” “No; she was truly in love with Uncle Trowbridge. But she is a clear-headed financier, and saw at once the scope and promise of my mining interests. She and I will both be rich from that deal. And so, Avice, I can offer you a fortune, not so large as you would get by marrying Hoyt, but still, a fortune. Oh, darling, do you really love me!” But Avice was weeping silently. “It doesn’t matter that I do, Kane; I am promised to Leslie, and you cannot be freed without his help.” “I may not be,” said Landon, solemnly; “there is little hope as things stand now, except through Hoyt’s cleverness and,—well, shrewdness.” “Kane, why should it require shrewdness to get you acquitted? Why, doesn’t your innocence speak for itself?” “Am I innocent?” And then the warden had to tell them the time was up, and Avice had to go away with that strange speech and that strange look on Kane’s face, indelibly impressed on her memory. “Am I innocent?” If he were, why not say so; and if he were not, why not declare it to her and tell her the circumstances, which must have been such as to force him to the deed. But out in the sunshine, outside that awful chill of the gloomy jail, Avice’s soul expanded to her new knowledge like a flower. Kane loved her! All other good in the world must follow! Suddenly she knew he was innocent! She fought back the thought that she knew it because she knew he loved her. She knew he would be freed! And fought back the thought that she knew it because she knew he was hers. From an apathetic, hopeless inaction, she suddenly sprang to activity. She would find a way to save him without Hoyt’s help; then she would be free of her promise to the clever lawyer. But how to go about it? It was one thing to feel the thrill of determination, the power of an all-conquering love, and quite another to accomplish her set purpose. Hoyt came in the evening. With the canniness of her new-found love, Avice approached the subject in a roundabout way. “I saw Kane this afternoon,” she began. “You did! You went to the Tombs?” “Yes; Leslie, that man is innocent.” “Indeed! I wish you had the task of proving it to the G. P. instead of me. Avice, things are not going well. Whiting is saving up something; I don’t know quite what. But I confess to you I am afraid of his coming revelations.” “What do you mean? Has he evidence that you don’t know of?” “I’m not sure. He may have, and he may only pretend it to frighten me.” “But you promised to free Kane!” “And I will if I can. But, dear child, I am but human. It would take almost a miracle to clear that man from the network of circumstantial evidence that trips us up at every step. I assure you I am doing my best, and more than my best. You believe that?” “Of course, I do,” and Avice studied the earnest, careworn face that looked into hers. “And you also know why?” “Yes,” came the answer in a low tone. “Not because I believe him innocent, though I do believe him so, but because of your promise. That is what makes me work for his release, as I dare to say no counsel ever worked before. That is why I fear the result as I have never feared anything in my life. Because of my reward if I win! Because of you, you beautiful prize, that I shall deserve, when I conquer the fight!” “Leslie, could no one else free Kane, but you?” “No! a thousand times No! Who else would use every means, honorable or not! Who else would jeopardize his legal standing, forget professional ethics, resort to underhand methods, fearless of censure and opprobrium, so he but win his case? And all because a girl holds my heart in the hollow of her little white hand!” Avice was amazed and almost frightened at his vehemence. What was she, she asked herself, that these two men should love her so desperately? Kane had not declared himself in such glowing words as Hoyt, nor had he expressed willingness to do wrong for her sake; but she knew his love was as deep, his passion as strong as that of his counsel. “Leslie,” she began timidly, for she had determined to stake all on one throw; “if you free Kane,——” “Don’t say if,—say when!” “Well, then, when you free him, won’t you,—won’t you let me off from my—my promise to marry you,—if I give you all the fortune?” “Avice, what do you mean? Are you crazy? Of course I won’t! It is you I want, not the fortune. And, besides, you couldn’t do that. If you don’t marry me, the fortune goes to found a museum.” “Yes, I know,—but,—you are so clever, Leslie, couldn’t you somehow break the will, or get around it, or——” “Dishonestly! Why, Avice!” “But you’re freeing Kane dishonestly.” “I am not! I fully believe Landon is innocent. But it seems impossible to find the real culprit, and it is to persuade the judge and jury, that I do things I would scorn to do in a less urgent case.” “But Leslie, I don’t want to marry you.” “Very well, then, don’t.” “And you’ll free Kane, just the same?” “Indeed I will not! Your lover may shift for himself. And we’ll see what verdict he will get!” “Oh, Leslie, don’t talk like that! I shouldn’t think you’d want a girl who loves somebody else.” “I’d far rather you’d love me, dear,” and Hoyt spoke very tenderly; “but I love you so much I’ll take you on any terms. And, too, I have faith to believe I can teach you to love me. You are very young, dearest, and in the years to come you will turn to me, though you don’t think so now.” “Then you refuse to get Kane free, except on condition that I marry you?” “I most certainly do.” “Then listen to me, Leslie Hoyt! Go on and do your best for him. I promise that if you get him acquitted by your own efforts I will be your wife. But I also warn you, that I shall try to get him freed without your assistance, and if I do so, by any means whatever, that are in no way connected with your efforts, I shall not consider myself bound to you!” “Well, well, what a little firebrand it is!” and Hoyt smiled at her. “Go ahead, my girl; use every effort you can discover. You will only succeed in getting your friend deeper in the slough of despond. Without being intrusive, may I ask your intended course of procedure?” “You may not!” And Avice’s eyes flashed. “You are to abide by our bargain, and in no way relax the vigilance of your efforts, unless I see success ahead without your help.” “Which you never will! But, Avice, I don’t like this talk. It sounds like ‘war to the knife’!” “And it is! But it is fair and aboveboard. I give you full warning that I, too, am going to fight for Kane’s life, and if I win it, I am his, not yours!” Judge Hoyt set his jaw firmly. “So be it, my girl: I love you so much I submit even to your rivalry in my own field. But to return frankness for frankness I have not the slightest idea that you can do anything at all in the matter.” “That’s what I’m afraid of!” And Avice broke down and wept as if her heart would break. And it was then that Leslie Hoyt met the biggest moment of his life. Met and threw it! For a brief instant his soul triumphed over his flesh, and flinging his arms round the quivering figure, he cried: “Avice! I will——” he was about to say, “give you up,” and in the note of his voice the girl heard the message. Had she kept still, he might have gone on; but she flung up her head with a glad cry and with a beaming face, and Hoyt recanted. “Never!” he whispered, holding her close; “I will never give you up!” “You meant to!” “For a moment, yes. But that moment is passed, and will never return! No, my sweetheart, my queen, I will never give you up so long as there is breath in my body!” Avice sprang away from him. She was trembling, but controlled herself by sheer force of will. “Then it is war to the knife!” she cried. “Go on, Leslie Hoyt; remember your bargain, as I shall remember mine!” With a mocking bow and a strange smile she left the room. Judge Hoyt pondered. He had no fear of her ability to find any lawyer or detective who could prove Landon’s innocence by actual honest evidence. He had himself tried too thoroughly to do that to believe it possible for another. But from Avice’s sudden smile and triumphant glance as she left him, he had a vague fear that there was something afoot of which he knew nothing. And Leslie Hoyt was not accustomed to know nothing of matters on which he desired to be informed. As a matter of fact Avice had nothing “up her sleeve.” She had abandoned the idea of calling in Fleming Stone, as a foolish suggestion of a foolish fortune-teller. But none the less she was bent on finding some way to do what she had threatened. She had little real hope, but unlimited determination and boundless energy. She consulted Alvin Duane, only to meet with most discouraging advice and forecast of failure. “There’s nothing to be found out,” said the detective. “If there had been, I’d ’a’ found it out myself. I’m as good a detective as the next one, if I have a tiny clue or a scrap of evidence that is the real thing. But nobody can work from nothing. And the only ‘clues’ I’ve heard of, in connection with this case, are the lies made up by that little ragamuffin they call Fibber, or something. No, Miss Trowbridge, whatever hope Mr. Landon has, is vested entirely in the powers of eloquence of his counsel. And it’s lucky for him he’s got a smart chap like Judge Hoyt to defend him.” Avice went away, thinking. No clues; and every case depended on clues. Stay,—he had said no clues except those Fibsy told of. True, he was mocking, he was making fun of the boy, who was celebrated for untruthfulness, but if those were the only clues, she would at least inquire into them. Through Miss Wilkinson she found the boy’s address in Philadelphia, and wrote for him to come to see her. He came. Avice had chosen a time when Eleanor would be out, and they were not likely to be interrupted. “Good morning, Terence, how do you do?” “Aw, Miss Trowbridge, now,—don’t talk to me like that!” “Why not, child?” “And don’t call me child, please, Miss Trowbridge. I’m goin’ on sixteen,—leastways, I was fifteen last month.” “Ah, are you trying to be truthful, now, Fibsy?” “Yes’m, I am. I’ve got a good position in Philadelphia, and I was agoin’ to keep it. But, well, I feel like I wanted to work on this here case of your uncle.” The deep seriousness and purpose that shone in the boy’s eyes almost startled Avice. “Work on the case? What do you mean, Fibsy?” She spoke very gently, for she knew his peculiar sense of shyness that caused him to bolt if not taken seriously. “Yes’m; Mr. Trowbridge’s murder, you know. They’s queer things goin’ on.” “Such as what?” Avice was as earnest as the boy, and he realized her sympathy and interest. “Well, Miss Trowbridge, why did Judge Hoyt want me out o’ New York? Why did he send me to Philadelphia?” “I think to get you a good position, Fibsy. It was very kind of Judge Hoyt, and I’m afraid you’re not properly grateful.” “No, ma’am, I ain’t. ’Cause you see, he just made Mr. Stetson take me on. Mr. Stetson, he didn’t want another office boy, any more’n a cat wants two tails. Why, he had a perfectly good one, an’ he’s got him yet. The two of us. ’Cause, you see I’m only tempo’ry an’ the other feller, he’s perm’nent. Judge Hoyt, he’s payin’ my salary there himself.” “How do you know this?” “Billy, the other feller told me. He heard the talk over the telephone, an’ Judge Hoyt says if Mr. Stetson’d take me fer a coupla munts, he’d pay me wages himself. Only I must go at onct. An’ then the judge, he told me I must beat it, cause Mr. Stetson wanted me in a hurry.” Avice thought deeply, then she said: “Fibsy, I’d be terribly interested in your story, if I could believe it. But you know yourself—” “Yes’m, I know myself! That’s just it! And I know I ain’t lyin’ now! And I won’t never, when I’m doin’ detective work. Honest to goodness, I won’t!” “I believe you, Terence,—not so much on your word, as because the truth is in your eyes.” “Yes’m, Miss Avice, it is! An’ now tell me why Judge Hoyt wanted me outen his way!” “I’ve no idea, but if he did, it must have been because he thought you knew something that would work against his case. Oh, Fibsy, if you do,—if you do know anything that would hinder the work of freeing Mr. Landon, don’t tell it, will you? Don’t tell it Fibsy, for my sake!” “Land, Miss Avice! What I know,—if I know anything,—ain’t a goin’ to hurt Mr. Landon! No-sir-ee!” “Well, then, Judge Hoyt thinks it is, and that’s why he wanted you out of town.” “No, Miss Trowbridge, you ain’t struck it right yet. You see, Miss, I’ve got that detective instinck, as they call it, an’ I’ve got it somepin’ fierce! Now I tell you I got clues, an’ if you laugh at that as ev’rybody else does, I’ll jest destroy them clues, an’ let the case drop!” The earnestness of the freckled face and the flash of the blue eyes robbed the words of all absurdity, and gave Fibsy the dignity of a professional detective dismissing a client. “What are these clues, really?” she asked him in kindly tones. “I can’t tell you, Miss Trowbridge. Not that I ain’t willin’,—but them clues is clues, only in the hands of a knowin’ detective.” “Then tell Mr. Duane.” “I said a knowin’ detective. That goat don’t know a clue from pickled pigs’ feet! No ma’am! ’Scuse me, but them clues is my own,—and they’ll go to waste, lessen I can give ’em to the right man.” “And who is the right man, Fibsy?” “He’s Fleming Stone, that’s who he is! And no one else is any good whatsumever.” “Fleming Stone? I have heard of him.” “Have you, Miss Avice! Well, if you want ter find out for sure who killed your uncle, they ain’t no one as can find out but that same Fleming Stone!” “You go back now, Fibsy,” said Avice, after a moment’s thought, “and if I decide to send for this man, I’ll let you know.” “All right, Miss Avice, but I ain’t goin’ back to Phil’delphia, I’m goin’ to stay here fer awhile. If you wanter see me, they’s a telephone to the house where I live. Here, I’ll write you down the number. If I ai’n’t home, leave word wit’ me Aunt Becky.” Avice took the paper Fibsy gave her, and nodded pleasantly to him as he went away, but she was so deeply absorbed in her own thoughts she scarcely heeded the boy. |
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