“Nearly a week.”
“And then?”
“Then I jumped down a clothes chute, and ran out on the basement door.”
“A clothes chute? You mean a laundry slide?”
“Yes, sir. I’m told it’s that. I didn’t know what it was. Only it was a way out.”
“You jumped?”
“Well, I sorter slid. I threw down pillers and mattresses first, so it was soft.”
“You are a clever boy.”
“No, sir, it ain’t that,” and Fibsy looked embarrassed. “You see, I got that detective instick, an’ I can’t help a usin’ of it. You see, it was me what got Miss Trowbridge to send for Mr. Stone, an’ then Judge Hoyt he tried to head him off.”
“How?”