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Updated: June 26, 2025
"I can't explain that," declared Elliott, a little shortly, "but it's all rubbish, and I don't think you ought to be allowed to go to such places! It's disgraceful " "You hush up, Mason," Miss Ames cried; "I'll go where I like! I'm not a child. And, too, I wasn't alone I had an escort a very nice one." She looked kindly at Fibsy. "Thank you, ma'am," he returned, bobbing his funny red head.
"Let's talk about the weather," suggested Fibsy, who was not conducting himself on the seen and not heard plan. "The park is fine now. All full o' red an' gold autumn leaves. Have you noticed it, Mrs. Schuyler?" "Not especially," and Ruth smiled at him, in appreciation of his conversational help. "I must walk over there to-morrow." "Yes,'m.
"But I don't believe," mused Stone, "that it would help us any to learn all those women know. If Miss Van Allen thought they could help us find her, she would give them more than that for silence or get them out of the city altogether." "Where is Miss Van Allen, Mr. Stone?" Fibsy asked the question casually, as one expectant of an answer. "She's in the city, Fibs, living as somebody else."
"I sent Fibsy over there to induce her to give us at least a hint of Miss Van Allen's personal appearance. The boy could wheedle it from her, when I couldn't. See?" He handed the pictures to Miss Rhoda, for he, too, respected authority, but we all gathered round to look. They were the merest sketches. A wash of water-color, but they showed merit.
"Credit for fastening this lie, this base lie oh, you are well named Fibsy! on the best and loveliest woman that ever lived! For it is a lie! Not a word of truth in it. A distorted notion of a crazy brain! "Hold on, Calhoun," remonstrated Stone, and I dare say I was acting like a madman. "Listen to the rest of this more quietly or take your hat and go home."
Schuyler heard us say this evening that Fibsy could photograph the brushes and such things over here to get Miss Van Allen's finger prints, and what does she do? She sends Tibbetts over to scrub and wipe off those same brushes, also the mirrors, chairbacks and all such possible evidence. A hopeless task for the woman couldn't eradicate all the prints in the house.
Elliott, neither of those ladies did it." "Bless you, my boy, that's my own opinion, of course, but how can we prove it?" Fibsy deeply appreciated the "we" and gave the speaker a grateful smile. "There you are, Mr. Elliott, how can we? Mr. Stone, as you know, is the cleverest detective in the world, but he's no magician. He can't find the truth, if the truth is hidden in a place he can't get at."
Now, I don't understand that so well, for laundresses don't overhear the ladies talkin', but, anyway, Julie told her if she wouldn't answer a question to anybody, she'd give her half a century, too. And did." "Doubtless the laundress knew something Miss Van Allen wants kept secret." "Doubtless, sir," said Fibsy, gravely.
Fibsy, thanks to Fleming Stone's thoughtful kindness, was arrayed in the proper dinner garb of a schoolboy, and his immaculate linen and correct jacket seemed to invest him in a mantle of politeness that sat well on his youthful buoyancy and enthusiasm. I glanced round the table. It was a strange combination of people.
I glanced at the sheaf of cards the boy had and Fleming Stone took them to scrutinize. "I got those prints from all sorts of places," Fibsy went on.
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