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Updated: June 26, 2025
"These are what I like," said Ruth, smiling, as the footman passed a small bowl of sugared rose-leaves and crisp green candied mint leaves. "Take some, Terence. They're better for you than liqueurs. Help yourself." "They are good," and Fibsy obeyed her. "They taste like goin' into a florist's shop." "So they do," agreed Ruth, herself taking a goodly portion. "Rubbish," said Rhoda.
Go ahead." "Here goes, then," Fibsy made a quick decision, that Hanlon was too keen to stand for any lie. "I'm engaged on the Embury murder case." "I know that's true though it's hard to believe." Fibsy chose to ignore this dig, and went on. "I'm here because I want to see how you're mixed up in it." "Oh, you do! Why not ask me?" "All right, I ask you.
"Oh," and Fibsy looked disappointed at not finding the daring hero he sought for. "I must not presume further on your kindness, Mrs, Embury," Hanlon said, with an attempt at society jargon, "I merely called in for a minute. Mr. Hendricks, are you going my way? I want to see you about that sign-" "No, Hanlon sorry, but I'm not going now," and Hendricks shook his head. "I'm here for the evening."
I closed my eyes involuntarily, and when I opened them again it was gone." "Leaving no trace behind?" "The faint odor of gasoline and the taste of raspberry jam on my tongue." Fibsy snickered, but suppressed it at once, and said, "And he left the little dropper-thing beside your bed?" "Yes, boy! You seem clairvoyant yourself! He did.
I've had enough of the 'celebrated detective'! Quite enough of Fleming Stone and his work!" She stepped back and gazed at him with utter scorn beautiful as a sculptured Medea, haughty as a tragedy queen. "Independent as a pig on ice!" Fibsy communicated with himself, and he stared at her with undisguised admiration.
"I donno," Fibsy scowled in his effort to deduce the truth. "Let's look!" He darted from the room and up the stairs. Stone rose to follow. "That boy is uncanny at times," he said, seriously. "I'm only too glad to follow his intuitions, and not seldom; he's all right." We went upstairs, and then on up to the next floor. Fibsy was in Vicky Van's dressing room, staring about him.
And a wait of an hour and a half registers patience and perseverance to my mind." "Right you are! And you trailed the pair?" "Did I?" Fibsy fell back in his chair, as if exhausted. "I followed them to Mr. Hendricks' home, they chatterin' glibly all the way and then after a few minutes' further remarks on the doorstep Hendricks, he went in and Hanlon ! You know, Mr.
It's very fashionable a sort of fad, just now." "It ain't only this thing or that thing, Mr. Calhoun," said Fibsy, earnestly. "It's the pilin' up of all 'em. An' I ain't through yet. Here's another point. Miss Van Allen, she ain't got any pitchers of nature views no landscapes nor woodsy dells in this whole house.
I remembered that sometimes she was late in arriving at her own parties, although she always came down from upstairs in her party regalia. "How did you come to suspect Tibbetts?" I asked, suddenly. "Her teeth," said Fibsy. "I saw that Tibbetts had false teeth, anyway, an' I says, why can't Julie's gold teeth be false, too? And they are. They're in the safe!"
Schuyler had ruled her with a rod of iron, and she had never rebelled, though at times her patience was nearly worn out. Later in the evening Fibsy asked for some phonograph music, expressing his great delight in hearing a really fine instrument and good records. "I doubt if you'll care for our selections," Ruth remarked, as she looked over the cabinet of records.
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