“Yessir--if that’s how you pronounce 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 ninkypoop! 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.” “Is he mixed up in the Embury case?” “He’s mixed up with Mr. Hendricks in some way, and he learned from Miss Ames that Hendricks was to be among those present, so he made up foolish excuses and betook himself to the vicinity of said Hendricks.” “Why?” “Wanted to converse with him, and couldn’t get hold of him otherwise. Hendricks, it would seem, didn’t hanker for said conversation.”