Raspberry Jam Part 37

"To discover the truth, or to free Mrs. Embury?"

There was a pause, and the two men looked at each other. Then Mason Elliott said, in a low voice, "To free Mrs. Embury."

"I can't take the case that way," Stone replied. "I will abandon the whole affair, or--I will find out the truth."

"Abandon it!" cried a ringing voice, and the door of her bedroom was flung open as Eunice again appeared.

She was in a towering fury, her face was white and her lips compressed to a straight scarlet line.

"Give up the case! I will take my chances with any judge or jury rather than with you!" She faced Stone like the "Tiger" her husband had nicknamed her. "I have heard every word--Aunt Abby's story--and your conclusions! Your despicable 'deductions,' as I suppose you call them! I've had enough of the 'celebrated detective'! Quite enough of Fleming Stone--and his work!"

She stepped back and gazed at him with utter scorn beautiful as a sculptured Medea, haughty as a tragedy queen.

"Independent as a pig on ice!" Fibsy communicated with himself, and he stared at her with undisguised admiration.

"Eunice," and the pain in Mason Elliott's voice was noticeable; "Eunice, dear, don't do yourself such injustice."

"Why not? When everybody is unjust to me! You, Mason, you and this--this infallible detective sit here and deliberately build up what you call a 'case' against me--me, Eunice Embury! Oh--I hate you all!"

A veritable figure of hate incarnate, she stood, her white hands clasping each other tightly, as they hung against her black gown. Her head held high, her whole att.i.tude fiercely defiant, she flung out her words with a bitterness that betokened the end of her endurance--the limit of her patience.

Then her hands fell apart, her whole body drooped, and sinking down on the wide sofa, she sat, hopelessly facing them, but with head erect and the air of one vanquished but very much unsubdued.

"Take that back, Eunice," Elliott spoke pa.s.sionately, and quite as if there were no others present; "you do not hate me--I am here to help you!"

"You can't, Mason; no one can help me. No one can protect me from Fleming Stone!"

The name was uttered with such scorn as to seem an invective of itself!

Stone betrayed no annoyance at her att.i.tude toward him, but rather seemed impressed with her personality. He gave her a glance that was not untinged with admiration, but he made no defence.

"I can," cried Fibsy, who was utterly routed by Eunice's imperious beauty. "You go ahead with Mr. F. Stone, ma'am, and I'll see to it that they ain't no injustice done to you!"

Stone looked at his excited young a.s.sistant with surprise, and then good-naturedly contented himself with a shake of his head, and a

"Careful, Terence."

"Yes, sir--but, oh, Mr. Stone--" and then, at a gesture from the great detective the boy paused, abashed, and remained silent.

"Now, Miss Ames," Stone began, "in Mrs. Embury's presence, I'll ask you--"

"You won't ask me anything, sir," she returned crisply. "I'm going out. I've a very important errand to do."

"Oh, I don't know about that," Elliott said; "it's almost six o'clock, Aunt Abby. Where are you going?"

"I've got an errand--a very important errand--an appointment, in fact.

I must go--don't you dare oppose me, Mason. You'll be sorry if you do!"

Even as she spoke, the old lady was scurrying to her room, from which she returned shortly, garbed for the street.

"All right," Stone said, in reply to a whisper from Fibsy, and the boy offered, respectfully:

"Let me go with you, Miss Ames. It ain't fittin' you should go alone.

It's 'most dark."

"Come on, boy," Aunt Abby regarded him kindly; "I'd be glad of your company."

At the street door, the old lady asked for a taxicab, and the strangely a.s.sorted pair were soon on their way.

"You're a bright lad, Fibsy," she said; "by the way, what's your real name--I forget."

"Terence, ma'am; Terence McGuire. I wish't I was old enough to be called McGuire! I'd like that."

"I'll call you that, if you wish. You're old for your age, I'm sure.

How old are you?"

"Goin' on about fifteen or sixteen--I think. I sort'a forget."

"Nonsense! You can't forget your age! Why do they call you Fibsy?"

"'Cause I'm a born liar--'scuse me--a congenital prevaricator, I meant to say. You see, ma'am, it's necessary in my business not always to employ the plain unvarnished. But don't be alarmed, ma'am; when I take a fancy to anybuddy, as I have to you, ma'am, I don't never lie to 'em.

Not that I s'pose you'd care, eh, ma'am?"

Aunt Abby laughed. "You are a queer lad! Why, I'm not sure I'd care, if it didn't affect me in any way. I'm not responsible for your truthfulness--though I don't mind advising you that you ought to be a truthful boy."

"Land, ma'am! Don't you s'pose I know that? But, honest now, are you always just exactly, abserlutely truthful, yourself?"

"Certainly I am! What do you mean by speaking to me like that?"

"Well, don't you ever touch up a yarn a little jest sort'a to make it more interestin' like? Most ladies do--that is, most ladies of intelligence and brains--which you sure have got in plenty!"

"There, there, boy; I'm afraid I've humored you too much you're presuming."

"I presume I am. But one question more, while we're on this absorbin'

subject. Didn't you, now, just add a jot or a t.i.ttle to that ghost story you put over? Was it every bit on the dead level?"

"Yes, child," Aunt Abby took his question seriously; "it was every word true. I didn't make up the least word of it!"

"I believe you, ma'am, and I congratulate you on your clarviant powers.

Now, about that raspberry jam, ma'am. That's a mighty unmistakable taste--ain't it, now."

"It is, McGuire. It certainly is. And I tasted it, just as surely as I'm here telling you about it."

"Have you had it for supper lately, ma'am?"

"No; Eunice hasn't had it on her table since I've been visiting her."

"Is that so, ma'am?"