This sounded a bit enigmatical, but Stone was so serious, that I grasped his general meaning and let it go at that.
"I mean," he said, divining my thoughts, "that things may or may not be evidence according to the guilt or innocence of the suspect. If you find a little boy in the pantry beside an empty jampot, you suspect him of stealing jam. Now, if lots of other circumstances prove that child did take the jam, the empty pot is evidence. But, if circumstances develop that convince you the child did not have any jam whatever, that day, then the jampot is no evidence at all."
"And you have found empty jampots?" I asked.
"I have. But, so far, I'm not sure that they are condemnatory evidence. Though, in justice to my own work, I must add, that they have every appearance of being so."
"You already like Vicky Van, then," I said, quickly, moved to do so, by a certain note of regret in his voice.
"No man could help liking a woman who possesses her traits. She has delightful taste and tastes. She is most charitable, her accounts show sums wisely expended on worthy charities. And letters from friends prove her a truly loyal and lovable character."
"Such a girl couldn't kill a man!" I broke out.
"Don't say that. There is no one incapable of crime. But such a nature would require very strong provocation and desperate conditions. These granted, it is by no means impossible. Now, I am through for to-day, but, if you please I will keep the key of the house. As the case is now in my hands, you will not object?"
"No," I said, a little reluctantly. For suppose Vicky should give me another commission or ask me to perform another errand in the house.
"You have a transparent face, Mr. Calhoun," and Fleming Stone smiled quizzically. "Why do you want to keep the key?"