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.
He learned by telephone that Fleming Stone was at Mrs. Embury’s, and, pausing only to telephone for Shane to go at once to the same house, Fibsy jumped into a taxicab and hurried up there himself.
“It’s all over,” he burst forth, as he dashed into the room where Stone sat, talking to Eunice. Mason Elliott was there, too—indeed, he was a frequent visitor—and Aunt Abby sat by with her knitting.
“What is?” asked Stone, looking at the boy in concern. For Fibsy was greatly excited, his fingers worked nervously and his voice shook.
“The whole thing, Mr. Stone! Hanlon’s dead—and he killed Mr. Embury.”
“Yes—I know—” Fleming Stone showed no surprise. “Did he fall?”
“Yessir. Got up the climb all right, and ‘most down again, and fell from the sixth floor. Killed him—but not instantly. I went to the hospital, and he confessed.”
“Who did?” said Shane, coming in at the door as the last words were spoken.
“Willy Hanlon—a human fly.”
And then Fleming Stone told the whole story—Fibsy adding here and there his bits of information.