“Might it not be,” he said, slowly, “that the note, then, is the work of the prisoner, himself? Mr. Landon has been living in the Trowbridge house and would have had ample opportunity to ‘plant’ the note which the young lady found.”
Judge Hoyt looked annoyed. The possibility of this theory being set forth had occurred to him. But, adhering to his one idea, he smiled, and said, lightly:
“That is for you to determine. As I am convinced of Mr. Landon’s innocence, I, of course, feel sure he did not write the note in question; but if you think he did, and can prove it on him, go ahead and do so. But I do not see how it can in any way help your cause.”
This was true. Were it proved that Landon wrote the note, it would be evidence of a most undecisive sort; or at any rate, Hoyt’s indifference made it appear so.
“Perhaps Fibsy will tell us of his clues,” said Avice, smiling at the serious-faced boy, who was quietly listening to all that was said, but making no interruptions.
“Now, now, Avice,” said Judge Hoyt, “don’t bring our young friend into the conversation.”
“Why not?” and Avice pouted a little more at the judge’s opposition to her suggestion, than because she really thought Fibsy could be of any help.
“Well, you see, this youth, though a bright-witted boy, rejoices in the nickname of Fibsy, a title acquired because of his inability to tell the truth. I submit that a customary falsifier is not permissible as a counselor.”
“But I don’t tell lies when I testify, Judge Hoyt,” said the boy, a disappointed look on his freckled face.
“You won’t have a chance to, Fibsy,” and Hoyt smiled at him indulgently, “for you’re not going to testify.”