“And what is your business?”
“It’s been bein’ office boy, but I’ve always wanted to be a detective, an’ since I’ve seen you, I know I’m goin’ to be one. I have the same cast o’ mind as you have, sir.”
Stone looked sharply into the earnest face raised to his, and it showed no undue conceit, merely a recognition of existing conditions.
“Terence,” he said, quietly, “a good detective cannot be an habitual liar.”
“I know it, sir; that’s why I’ve quit. After now, I’m only goin’ to tell lies when me work requires it. Just as you do, sir. You don’t always tell the strick truth, do you, sir?”
Stone shot a glance at him and then smiled. “Let’s discuss those ethics some other time, Fibsy. Where do you live?”
“Quite some way off, sir. I’ll show you.”
“We’d better get a taxi, then;” and soon the two detectives were on their way to Fibsy’s humble home.
Stone waited in the cab, while the boy ran in and out again with his precious clues.
“I’ve kep’ ’em careful,” he said, “and the dirt ain’t jarred nor nothin.”