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In silence Stone lighted a cigar and offered me one, which I took, feeling a strange notion that the end of the world was about to come. In another moment Fibsy came slowly down stairs, walked into the living-room, where we were, gave one look at Stone, and then threw himself on a divan, buried his face in the cushions and burst into tears.
In the name of the law, let me in!" And then a more coherent insistence brought him permission, and he was immediately admitted to Hanlon's presence. A priest was there, administering extreme unction, and saying such words of comfort as he could command, but at sight of Fibsy, Hanlon's dull eyes brightened and he partially revived.
Fibsy stood, looking raptly at the gold gown, and now and then his eyes turned toward the knife on the dressing-table. The table was covered with silver toilet implements, and save for its unfitting suggestion, the knife was unnoticeable among the other trinkets. "It's all right," said Stone, returning. "Mrs. Schuyler sends a cordial invitation for all three of us to dine with her."
The journey ended at the rooms of Marigny, the psychic recommended by Willy Hanlon. As Fibsy, his bright eyes wide with wonder, found himself in the unmistakable surroundings of dingy draperies, a curtained cabinet and an odor of burning incense, he exclaimed to himself, "Gee! a clairviant! Now for some fun!"
Aunt Abby looked disappointed. She had hoped for something more exciting. But she said, "I'll get it," and went at once to Sanford Embury's room. "Thank you," said Fibsy, as he took it. But his eager scrutiny failed to disclose any trace of jam on its sleeves. "Which arm did you bite?" he asked, briefly. "I didn't really bite at all," Miss Ames returned.
His present duty done, he started forth on his own tour of investigation. He went to a small boarding house, in an inconspicuous street, the address of which had been given him by Mr. Barton, and asked for Mr. Hanlon. "He ain't home," declared the frowning landlady who opened the door. "I know it," returned Fibsy, nonchalantly, "but I gotta go up to his room a minute. He sent me."
To my amusement, Fibsy and Ruth were holding a tete-a-tete conversation. The kind-hearted woman had, doubtless, felt sorry for the boy's shyness, and had drawn him into chat to put him at his ease. She had succeeded, too, for he was animated, and had lost his self-consciousness under the charm of her smile.
She sat down on a sofa and motioned Fibsy to sit beside her. I drew a chair up to them and thanked a kind fate that let us all leave the table at once, dispensing with a more formal tarrying of the men. After the coffee there were liqueurs. I glanced at Fibsy to see if he accepted a tiny glass from the butler's tray. He did, and, moreover, he examined the contents with the air of a connoisseur.
"Hired," said Fibsy, as Stone hesitated to speak; "hired by a man who paid him ten thousand dollars." "Hanlon a gunman!" said Shane, amazed. "Not a professional one," Fibsy said, "but he acted as one in this case.
When you come at me like that, I lose all faith in my notions. For it's only a notion and a crazy one at that, and well, sir, you wait till I've worked it up a little further and if there's anything to it I'll expound. Now, what's my orders for to-day?" Fibsy had an obstinate streak in his make-up, and Fleming Stone was too wise to insist on the boy's "expounding" just then.
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