“New England it is.”
“Start this afternoon, stay a few days, maybe a week among the classic shades of Corinth.”
“Corinth it is.”
This somewhat laconic conversation was all that was necessary for Fleming Stone’s assistant and general factotum to make preparations for the trip, achieve tickets, and arrive, with his chief, at the train gate at the proper time.
Terence McGuire, sometimes called Fibsy, because of a certain tendency to mendacity, had begun as Stone’s office boy, and, by virtue of his general aptitude for detective work and his utter devotion to Stone, had become a worthwhile and much appreciated assistant. Not only did the lad look after all details of their trips as well as taking care of the offices, but many times his ingenious mind so stimulated or aided Stone’s own, that more often than not they were practically colleagues.
They had a compartment to themselves at the end of the car, and they were no sooner started than Stone began to discuss the case with the boy.
“I don’t know all the details, of course,” he began, “but it’s a setting after my own heart.”
“Then I can guess it,” put in the wise Fibsy. “Man found dead in sealed room.”
“You’re a wizard! What made you think of that?”
“’Cause that’s the problem you like best, F. Stone. Wise me up some more.”