Avice thought deeply, then she said: “Fibsy, I’d be terribly interested in your story, if I could believe it. But you know yourself—”
“Yes’m, I know myself! That’s just it! And I know I ain’t lyin’ now! And I won’t never, when I’m doin’ detective work. Honest to goodness, I won’t!”
“I believe you, Terence,—not so much on your word, as because the truth is in your eyes.”
“Yes’m, Miss Avice, it is! An’ now tell me why Judge Hoyt wanted me outen his way!”
“I’ve no idea, but if he did, it must have been because he thought you knew something that would work against his case. Oh, Fibsy, if you do,—if you do know anything that would hinder the work of freeing Mr. Landon, don’t tell it, will you? Don’t tell it Fibsy, for my sake!”
“Land, Miss Avice! What I know,—if I know anything,—ain’t a goin’ to hurt Mr. Landon! No-sir-ee!”
“Well, then, Judge Hoyt thinks it is, and that’s why he wanted you out of town.”
“No, Miss Trowbridge, you ain’t struck it right yet. You see, Miss, I’ve got that detective instinck, as they call it, an’ I’ve got it somepin’ fierce! Now I tell you I got clues, an’ if you laugh at that as ev’rybody else does, I’ll jest destroy them clues, an’ let the case drop!”
The earnestness of the freckled face and the flash of the blue eyes robbed the words of all absurdity, and gave Fibsy the dignity of a professional detective dismissing a client.
“What are these clues, really?” she asked him in kindly tones.