"I knew you would," and Sarah Schuyler nodded her head, in satisfaction. "I told Rhoda to give you more time and you would not disappoint us. All right, Mr. Stone, use all the time you need. But no Schuyler must remain unavenged. I want to see that woman killed—yes, killed, for her murder of my brother."
Sarah Schuyler looked like a figure of Justice herself, as, with flashing eyes she declared her wrath. And it was her right. Her brother's blood called out for vengeance. But the more gentle-souled Ruth shuddered and shrank from this stern arraignment.
"Oh, Sarah," she murmured, "not killed! Don't condemn a woman to that!"
"Why not, Ruth? If a woman can kill, a woman should be killed. But she won't be," she added, bitterly. "No jury ever convicts a woman, no matter how clearly her guilt is proven."
Just then Fibsy appeared. He was a strange little figure, and showed a shy awkwardness at the grandeur of his surroundings. He bobbed a funny little curtsy to Ruth, whom he already adored, and with an embarrassed nod, included the rest of us in a general greeting.
Then to Fleming Stone he said, in an eager, triumphant tone, "I got 'em!"
"Got what?" asked Ruth, smiling at him.
"Got pictures of Miss Van Allen, and Julie, too."
"What!" cried Ruth, interested at once; "let me see them."
Fibsy glanced at her and then at Stone, and handed a parcel to the latter.