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Updated: June 26, 2025
"You got the earache?" asked Fibsy suddenly, of Hendricks, as that gentleman half absently rubbed his ear. "Bless my soul, no! What do you mean by such a question? Mr. Stone, this boy of yours is too fresh!" "Be quiet, Terence," said Stone, paying but slight attention to the matter. "Oh, all right, no offense meant," and the boy grinned at Hendricks. "But didn't you ever have an earache?
"No," said Stone, "not now." "Explain, please," I said, beginning to get angry. "I will," said Stone. "No!" cried Fibsy, "no, Mr. Stone, let me t-t-tell. W-wait a minute, I'll tell. Oh, oh, I knew it all day, b-b-but I couldn't believe it! I wouldn't believe it! Why, Mr. Calhoun, Vicky Van is is why, Mrs. Schuyler is Vicky Van!" "You are absolutely crazy!"
The man leaned back in his chair, and gradually seemed to enter a hypnotic state. His muscles relaxed, his face became still and set, and his breathing was slow and a little labored. Fibsy retained his vacuous look he even fidgeted a little, in a bored way and rarely glanced toward the man of "clear sight." Miss Ames, though anxious for results, was alert and quite on her guard against fraud.
"I'll call you that, if you wish. You're old for your age, I'm sure. How old are you?" "Goin' on about fifteen or sixteen I think. I sort'a forget." "Nonsense! You can't forget your age! Why do they call you Fibsy?" "'Cause I'm a born liar 'scuse me a congenital prevaricator, I meant to say. You see, ma'am, it's necessary in my business not always to employ the plain unvarnished.
Fibsy flung the question at him with such force that it seemed to rouse a last effort of the ebbing life in the dying man and he answered, faintly but clearly: "Alvord Hendricks ten thousand dollars " and then Hanlon was gone. Reminding the priest and the doctor that they were witnesses to this dying confession, Fibsy rushed from the room and back to New York as fast as he could get there.
"They are unimpeachable," he went on; "I was at home, and Mr. Hendricks was in Boston. This has been proved over and over by many witnesses, both authentic and credible." "Yes," Fibsy nodded. "I'm sure of it, too. And, of course, that lets you two out. Now, Mr. Elliott, the butler didn't do it F. Stone says that's a self-evident fact. Bringin' us back as per usual to the two ladies. But, Mr.
Now, Fibsy, stop your sobbing and tell me what makes you think this foolish thing, and I'll relieve your mind of any such ideas." "I don't blame you, Mr. Calhoun," and Fibsy mopped his eyes with his wet handkerchief. He was a strange little figure, in his new clothes, but with his red hair tumbled and his eyes big and swollen with weeping.
Shane, he is I am quite sure in his office if you want to go there " "If I want to go there! I should say I do! He'll get his!" And in less than half an hour, Shane had taken Alvord Hendricks into custody, and in due time that arch criminal received the retribution of justice. Shane gone, Fibsy went over the whole story once again. "You see, it was Mr. Stone's keeping at it what did it.
Clearly the lad was embarrassed, probably at the unaccustomed luxury of his surroundings and the presence of so many high-bred strangers. For Terence, or Fibsy, as he was nicknamed, was a child of the streets, and though a clever assistant to Fleming Stone in his career, the boy seldom accompanied his employer to the homes of the aristocracy.
"If we find Miss Van Allen," said Stone, "we can at least see if they are her's." "Pooh!" said Fibsy contemptuously, "why did'n' youse tell me before that you had the claw prints? I kin get Miss Van Allen's all right, all right!" "How?" said I, for Fibsy had lapsed into the careless speech that meant business. "Over to her house. Why, they're all over.
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