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Updated: September 26, 2025
Seemingly unimpressed, Fibsy declared it was pickle-fiends he was searching for, and departed, outwardly crestfallen, but inwardly elated. Going out of doors, he walked to the corner of Park Avenue, and turned into the side street.
Fibsy was, therefore, eating his breakfast after the most approved formula, when Stone said, "Well, Fibs, how about Sykes and Barton? Now for the tale of your call on Willy Hanlon yesterday." "I went down there, Mr. Stone, but I didn't see Hanlon. He was out. But I did a lot better. I saw Mr. Barton, of Sykes and Barton, and I got an earful! It seems friend Willy has ambitions." "In what line?"
Those nearest the catastrophe stepped back others pushed forward and an ambulance, ready for such a possible occasion, hurried the wounded man to the hospital. For Hanlon was not killed, but so crushed and broken that his life was but a matter of hours perhaps moments. "Let me in I must see him!" Fibsy fought the doormen, the attendants, the nurses. "I tell you I must!
Just then Fibsy appeared. He was a strange little figure, and showed a shy awkwardness at the grandeur of his surroundings. He bobbed a funny little curtsy to Ruth, whom he already adored, and with an embarrassed nod, included the rest of us in a general greeting. Then to Fleming Stone he said, in an eager, triumphant tone, "I got 'em!" "Got what?" asked Ruth, smiling at him.
"Yes, it was just at that time I know, because it was almost daylight just before dawn and I was asleep, but not entirely asleep " "Sort'a half dozing " "Yes; and Sanford Mr, Embury, you know, came gliding through my room, and he stopped at my bedside to say good-by " "Was he alive?" asked Fibsy, awe-struck at her hushed tones and bright, glittering eyes.
An' why don't you go for a long motor; ride up Westchester way? The scenery's great!" "How do you know, have you been there?" "Not just lately, but I was last fall. Do you remember the big trees just at the turn of the road by " But Ruth was not listening to the child. Stone had said something that claimed her attention. However, Fibsy was unabashed.
He looked at Hanlon strangely still and white, yet his eyes burning with a desperate desire to communicate something. "Come here," he whispered, and Fibsy drew nearer to him. "You know?" he said. "Yes," and Fibsy glanced around as if f to be sure of his witnesses to this strange confession, "you killed Sanford Embury." "I did. I I oh, I can't talk. You talk "
And Fibsy darted to a wardrobe and began feeling among the gowns and wraps hanging there. With a touch as light as a pickpocket's he slid his lightning-like fingers through the folds of silk and tulle, and turned back with a disappointed air. "Frisked the whole pack; nothin' doin'," he grumbled. "But don't give up the ship." We didn't.
"Well, ma'am," and here Fibsy changed his demeanor to a stern, scowling fierceness, "I'm a special investigator." He rose now, and strode about the room. "I'm engaged on the Embury murder case, and I'm here to ask you a few pointed questions about it." "My heavens!" cried Fifi, "what are you talking about?" "Don't scoff at me, ma'am; I'm in authority." "Oh, well, go ahead.
"Much obliged, I'll be there," said Fibsy, unsmilingly. That dinner at Ruth Schuyler's was memorable. And, yet, it was in no way markedly unusual. The service was perfect, as might be expected in that well-ordered household, and the guests were well behaved.
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