Fibsy glanced up, as if surprised not to hear some humorous or sarcastic reply to this speech, but Judge Hoyt nodded, as if to a more self-evident observation.
“You see I’m aimin’ to be a big man, myself.”
“Ah, a lawyer?”
“No, sir; I’m goin’ to be a detective! I’ve got a notion to it an’ I’m goin’ to work at it till I succeed. But that’s what I came to see you about. You know this here Trowbridge murder case?”
“Yes, I know it.”
“Well, you know that feller Landon ain’t guilty.”
“Indeed, this is important information. Are you sure?”
“Now you’re makin’ fun o’ me. Well, I can’t blame you, I s’pose I am only a kid, and an ignerant one at that. But, Judge, I’ve found clues. I found ’em up on the ground, right near where they found the guv’nor’s body.”
“And what are your clues?”
“Well, when I told that Pinckney reporter about ’em, he snorted. Promise me you won’t do that, sir.”