Fleming Stone stood up. “Miss French,” said he, “if it is any satisfaction to you, you may know that you have helped me a great deal in my work. Will you excuse me now, as I find I have important business elsewhere?”
Kitty smiled and bowed politely, but after Mr. Stone had left her she wondered what she could have said or done that helped him; and she wondered, too, what had caused that unspeakably sad look in his eyes as he went away.
XXIV
A CONFESSION
Mr. Taylor, the landlord of the Mapleton Inn, showed a pleased surprise when Fleming Stone walked into his hotel and approached the desk. The men had never met, but everybody in Mapleton knew that Fleming Stone was in town, and had heard repeated and accurate descriptions of his appearance.
“Perhaps you can spare half an hour for a smoke and a chat,” said Stone affably, and though Mr. Taylor heartily agreed, he did not confess that he could easily have spared half a day or more had the great detective asked him.
In the landlord’s private office they sat down for a smoke, and soon the conversation, without effort, drifted around to the Van Norman affair.
Unlike detectives of fiction, Fleming Stone was by no means secretive or close-mouthed. Indeed he was discursive, and Mr. Taylor marvelled that such a great man should indulge in such trivial gossip. They talked of old Richard Van Norman and the earlier days of the Van Norman family.
“You’ve lived here a long time, then?” inquired Mr. Stone.
“Yes, sir. Boy and man, I’ve lived here nigh onto sixty years.”