Raspberry Jam Part 41

"Why, Alvord," said Aunt Abby, "you had it fearfully about a month ago.

Don't you recollect? You were afraid of mastoiditis."

"Oh, that. Well, that was a serious illness. I was thinking of an ordinary earache, when I said I never had one. But I beg of you drop the subject of my ailments! What a thing to discuss!"

"True enough," agreed Stone, "I propose we keep to the theme under consideration. I've been engaged to look into this murder mystery.

I'm here for that purpose. I must insist that I conduct my investigation in my own way."

"That's the right talk," approved Elliott. "Now, Mr. Stone, let's get right down to it."

"Very well, the case stands thus: Shane says--and it's perfectly true--there are five possible suspects. But only one of these had both motive and opportunity. Now, the whole five are here present, and, absurd though it my seem, I'm going to ask each one of you the definite question. Ferdinand," he raised his voice and the butler came in from the dining-room, "did you kill your master?"

"No, G.o.d hearing me--I didn't, sir." The man was quiet and composed, though his face was agonized.

"That will do, you may go," said Stone. "Mr. Elliott, did you kill your friend--your partner in business?"

"I did not," said Elliott, curtly. He was evidently ill-pleased at the question.

"Mr. Hendricks, did you?"

"As I have repeatedly proved, I was in Boston that night. It would be impossible for me to be the criminal--but I will answer your ridiculous query--I did not."

"Mrs. Embury, did you?"

"N--no--but I would rather be suspected, than to have--"

"You said no, I believe," Stone interrupted her. "Miss Ames, do you really think you killed your niece's husband?"

"Oh, sir--I don't know! I can't think I did--"

"Of course, you didn't, Aunt Abby!" Mason Elliott rose from his seat and paced up and down the room. "I must say, Mr. Stone, this is a childish performance! What makes you think any of us would say so, if we had killed Embury? It is utterly absurd!"

"You're absurd, Elliott," cut in Hendricks. "Mr. Stone is a psychologist. He learns what he wants to know not from what we say--but the way we say it. Right, Mr. Stone?"

"Right, Mr. Hendricks." Stone looked grave. "Anything more to say, Mr.

Elliott?"

"Yes, I have! And it's this: I asked you to come here. I asked you to take this case--as you've already surmised--to free Mrs. Embury from wrongful suspicion. Wrongful, mind you! I do not want you to clear her if she is guilty. But she isn't. Therefore, I want you to find the real criminal. That's what I want!"

"And that's what I'm doing."

"Of course he is," Eunice defended him. "I wish you'd keep still, Mason! You talk too much--and you interfere with Mr. Stone's methods."

"Perhaps I'd better go home, Eunice." Elliott was clearly offended.

"If you don't want me here, I'll go."

"Oh, no--" Eunice began, but Hendricks said, "Go on, Elliott, do. There are too many of us here, and as Eunice's counsel, I can look after her interests."

Mason Elliott rose, and turned to Eunice.

"Shall I go?" he said, and he gave her a look of entreaty--a look of yearning, pleading love.

"Go," she said, coldly. "Alvord will take care of me."

And Elliott went.

CHAPTER XVI

FIBSY'S BUSY DAY

"It's this way, F. Stone," said Fibsy, earnestly, "the crooks of the situation--"

"The what?"

"The crooks--that's what they call it--"

"Oh, the crux." Stone did not laugh.

"Yessir--if that's how you p.r.o.nounce it. Guess I'll stick to plain English. Well, to my way of thinkin', the little joker in the case is that there raspberry jam. I'm a strong believer in raspberry jam on general principles, but in pertikler, I should say in this present case, raspberry jam will win the war! Don't eat it!"

"Thought you were going to talk plain English. You're cryptic, my son."

"All right--here goes. That jam business is straight goods. The old lady says she tasted jam--and she did taste jam. That's all there is about that. And that sweet, pleasant, innercent raspberry jam will yet send the moiderer of Mr. Embury to the chair!"

"I think myself there's something to be looked into there, but how are you going about it?"

"Dunno yet--but here's another thing, Mr. Stone, that I ain't had time to tell you yet, that--"

"Suppose you begin at the beginning and tell me your story in order."

"Supposin' I do!" Fibsy thought a moment before he began. It was the morning after the two had dined at the Embury home, and they were breakfasting together in Stone's hotel apartment.

"Well, Mr. Stone, as you know, I left Mrs. Embury's last night d'eckly after Mr. Hendricks took his deeparture. As I s'pected, there was trouble a-waitin' for him just outside the street doorway, that Hanlon chap was standing and he met up with Mr. Hendricks--much to the dismay of the latter!"

"Your English is fine this morning--go ahead."

"Well--Hanlon fell into step like with Mr. Henricks, and they walked along, Hanlon doing the talking. I didn't dare get close enough to overhear them, for they're both live wires, and I don't fool either of 'em into thinking meself a ninkyp.o.o.p! So I trailed, but well out'a sight--and, hold on, Mr. Stone, while I tell you this. The fake mejum that Miss Ames went to see yesterday afternoon, was none other than friend Hanlon himself!"

"What? Fibs, are you sure?"

"Sure as shootin'! I spotted him the minute he came up to Mrs.

Embury's. I didn't reckernize him at first as the whiskered Moses, but I did later. You know, Mr. Stone, I saw him do stunts for newspapers in two towns, and I wonder I didn't tumble to him in the spookshop.

But I didn't--I dessay because when I saw him doing his mind-readin'

tricks outdoors he was blindfolded, which some concealed his natural scenery. Well, he hadn't more'n tripped over the Embury 'Welcome' mat, than I was onto him. Me thinker woiked light lightnin' and I had him ticketed and pigeonholed in no time."