“But I don’t understand,” said Shane, at last, “why would that chap kill Mr. Embury?”
“Hired,” said Fibsy, as Stone hesitated to speak; “hired by a man who paid him ten thousand dollars.”
“Hanlon a gunman!” said Shane, amazed.
“Not a professional one,” Fibsy said, “but he acted as one in this case. The man who hired him knew he was privately learning to be a ‘human fly,’ and he had the diabolical thought of hiring him to climb up this house, and get in at the only available window, and kill Mr. Embury with that henbane stuff.”
“And the man’s name?” shouted Shane, “the name of the real criminal?”
Fibsy sat silent, looking at Stone.
“His name is Alvord E. Hendricks,” was Stone’s quiet reply.
An instant commotion arose. Eunice, her great eyes full of horror, ran to Aunt Abby, who seemed about to collapse from sheer dismay.
Mason Elliott started up with a sudden “Where is he?” and Shane echoed, with a roar: “Yes, where is he? Can he get away?”
“No,” said Stone; “he can’t. I have him covered day and night by my men. At present, Mr. Shane, he is—I am quite sure—in his office—if you want to go there—”