Rob put his useless clue back into his pocket with a sigh. “I’m going to give it up,” he said, “and go back to New York. I’ve stayed here in Mapleton over a week now, hoping I could be of some help to poor old Carleton; but I can’t—and yet I know he’s innocent! Fairbanks, the detective on the case, is pleasant to work with, and I like him; but if he can’t find out anything, of course I needn’t hope to. I’d stay on, though, if I thought Carleton cared to have me. But I’m not sure he does, so I’m going back home. When are you going to New York, Kitty?”
But the girl did not answer his question. “Rob,” she said, for the intimacy between these two young people had reached the stage of first names, “I have an inspiration.”
“I wish I had some faith in it, my dear girl; but your inspirations have such an inevitable way of leading up a tree.”
“I know it, and this may also. But listen: doesn’t Schuyler believe that you suspect him?”
“I don’t suspect him,” declared Rob, almost fiercely.
“I know you don’t; but doesn’t Schuyler think you do?”
“Why, I don’t know; I never thought about it. I think very likely he does.”
“And he’s so proud, of course he won’t discuss it with you, or justify himself in any way. Now, look here, Rob: you go to Schuyler, and in your nicest, friendliest way tell him you don’t believe he did it. Then—don’t you see?—if he is innocent, he will expand and confide in you, and you may get a whole lot of useful information. And on the other hand, if he is guilty, you’ll probably learn the fact from his manner.”
Rob thought it over. “Kitty,” he said at last, “you’re a trump. I believe you have hit upon the only thing there is to try, and I’ll try it before I decide to go to New York. I’ll stay in Mapleton a day or two longer, for the more I think about it, the more I think I haven’t been fair or just to the old boy in not even asking for his confidence.”
“It isn’t that so much, but you must assure him of your belief in him. Tell him you know he is innocent.”