“Well, we’ll do everything we can, you may depend on that,” Stone assured him. And Wheeler went away, relieved at the new turn things had taken, though also newly concerned for Maida’s safety.
“Nice old chap,” said Fibsy to Stone. “He stuck to his faked yarn as long as the sticking was good, and then he caved in.”
“Open and shut case, Terence?”
“Open—but not yet shut, F. Stone. Now, where do we go from here?”
“You go where you like, boy. Leave me to grub at this alone.”
Without another word Fibsy left the room. He well knew when Stone spoke in that serious tone that great thoughts were forming in that fertile brain and sooner or later he would know of them. But at present his company was not desired.
The boy drifted out on the terraced lawn and wandered about among the gardens. He, too, thought, but he could see no light ahead.
“S’long as the old man saw her,” he observed to himself, “there’s no more to be said. He never’d say he saw her shoot, if he hadn’t seen her. He’s at the end of his rope, and even if they acquit the lady I don’t want to see her dragged through a trial. But where’s any way of escape? What can turn up to contradict a straight story like that? Who else can testify except the eye-witness who has just spoken? I wonder if he realized himself how conclusive his statement was? But he trusted in F. Stone to get Maida off, somehow. Queer, how most folks think a detective is a magician, and can do the impossible trick!”
In a brown study he walked slowly along the garden paths, and was seen by Keefe and Maida, who sat under the big sycamore tree.
“Crazy idea, Stone bringing that kid,” Keefe said, with a laugh.