No one objected to the presence of the stranger, nor did they mind when Fibsy slid into the room, and sat down in a corner. It was no secret conclave, and any hint or theory would have been welcomed.
Stryker, who was present, was giving the best answers he could to the questions put to him.
“What were you really doing, Stryker,” the district attorney asked, “that afternoon of Mr. Trowbridge’s death?”
The old man shook his head. “I can’t remember,” he said; “I was at home when the news came, but I can’t just recollect whether I had been out afore that or not.”
Mr. Whiting appeared to think this a little suspicious, and questioned him severely.
But, “Mr. Green” smiled pleasantly;
“His alibi is perfect because he hasn’t any alibi,” he said cryptically.
“Just what does that mean to your cabalistic mind?” asked Whiting, ironically.
“Only this. If Stryker were implicated in this crime, he would have had an unshakable alibi fully prepared against your questions. The very fact that he doesn’t pretend to remember the details of his doings that afternoon, lets him out.”
Whiting saw this point, and agreed to the conclusion, but Alvin Duane looked decidedly crestfallen.