“That lets Tom Willard out, too,” said Rob, with a slight smile; “for he’s nearly six feet tall, and weighs more than two hundred pounds.”
“The only man I know of,” said Mr. Fairbanks thoughtfully, “who could come up through that hole is Slim Jim.”
“Who is Slim Jim?” cried Rob quickly. “Go for him; he is the man!”
“Not so fast,” said Mr. Fairbanks. “Slim Jim is a noted burglar and a suspected murderer, but he is safely in prison at present and has been for some months.”
“But he may have escaped,” exclaimed Rob. “Are you sure he hasn’t?”
“I haven’t heard anything about him of late; but if he is or has been away from the prison, it can be easily found out.”
“Isn’t it unlikely,” said Fleming Stone quietly, “that a noted burglar should enter a house and commit murder, without making any attempt to steal?”
“He may have been frightened away by the sound of Schuyler’s latch-key,” suggested Rob, and Kitty looked at him with pride in his ingenuity, and thought how much cleverer he was, after all, than the celebrated Fleming Stone.
Fessenden urged Mr. Fairbanks to go at once and look up the whereabouts of Slim Jim, and the detective was strongly inclined to go.
“Go, by all means, if you choose,” said Fleming Stone pleasantly. “There’s really nothing further to do here in the way of examination of the premises. I do not mind saying that my own suspicions are not directed toward Slim Jim, but my own suspicions are by no means an infallible guide. I will ask you, though, gentlemen, not to say anything about this ash-chute matter to-day. I consider it is my right to request this. Of course you can find out all about Slim Jim without stating how he entered the house.”