“Never!” he whispered, holding her close; “I will never give you up!”
“You meant to!”
“For a moment, yes. But that moment is passed, and will never return! No, my sweetheart, my queen, I will never give you up so long as there is breath in my body!”
Avice sprang away from him. She was trembling, but controlled herself by sheer force of will.
“Then it is war to the knife!” she cried. “Go on, Leslie Hoyt; remember your bargain, as I shall remember mine!”
With a mocking bow and a strange smile she left the room.
Judge Hoyt pondered. He had no fear of her ability to find any lawyer or detective who could prove Landon’s innocence by actual honest evidence. He had himself tried too thoroughly to do that to believe it possible for another. But from Avice’s sudden smile and triumphant glance as she left him, he had a vague fear that there was something afoot of which he knew nothing. And Leslie Hoyt was not accustomed to know nothing of matters on which he desired to be informed.
As a matter of fact Avice had nothing “up her sleeve.” She had abandoned the idea of calling in Fleming Stone, as a foolish suggestion of a foolish fortune-teller. But none the less she was bent on finding some way to do what she had threatened. She had little real hope, but unlimited determination and boundless energy.
She consulted Alvin Duane, only to meet with most discouraging advice and forecast of failure.
“There’s nothing to be found out,” said the detective. “If there had been, I’d ’a’ found it out myself. I’m as good a detective as the next one, if I have a tiny clue or a scrap of evidence that is the real thing. But nobody can work from nothing. And the only ‘clues’ I’ve heard of, in connection with this case, are the lies made up by that little ragamuffin they call Fibber, or something. No, Miss Trowbridge, whatever hope Mr. Landon has, is vested entirely in the powers of eloquence of his counsel. And it’s lucky for him he’s got a smart chap like Judge Hoyt to defend him.”