“Servants’ gossip, sir. I picked it up in the apartment house. He and the Emburys live in the same one, you know.” “McGuire, you are on a wrong trail. Mr. Embury may have lent money to his friends--may have had collateral security from them--probably did--but that’s nothing to do with his being killed. And as it is a blot on his memory, I do not want the matter made public.” “I understand that, Mr. Elliott--neither do I. But sposin’ the discovery of the murderer hinges on that very thing--that very branch of Mr. Embury’s business--then mustn’t it be looked into?” “Perhaps it--must--but not by you.” “No, sir, By F. Stone.” Chapter XVII Hanlon’s Ambition An important feature of Fleming Stone’s efficiency was his ability to make use of the services of others. In the present case, he skilfully utilized both Shane and Driscoll’s energies, and received their reports--diplomatically concealing the fact that he was making tools of them, and letting them infer that he was merely their co-worker. Also, he depended greatly on Fibsy’s assistance. The boy was indefatigable, and he did errands intelligently, and made investigations with a minute attention to details, that delighted the heart of his master. Young McGuire had all the natural attributes of a detective, and under the tuition of Fleming Stone was advancing rapidly. When assisting Stone on a case, the two usually lived together at some hotel, Stone going back and forth between there and his own home, which was now in a Westchester suburb. It was part of the routine that the two should breakfast together and plan the day’s work. These breakfasts were carefully arranged meals, with correct appointments, for Stone had the boy’s good at heart, and was glad to train him in deportment for his own sake; but also, he desired that Fibsy should be presentable in any society, as the pursuit of the detective calling made it often necessary that the boy should visit in well-conducted homes. Fibsy was, therefore, eating his breakfast after the most approved formula, when Stone said, “Well, Fibs, how about Sykes and Barton? Now for the tale of your call on Willy Hanlon yesterday.” “I went down there, Mr. Stone, but I didn’t see Hanlon. He was out. But I did a lot better. I saw Mr. Barton, of Sykes and Barton, and I got an earful! It seems friend Willy has ambitions.” “In what line?” “Upward! Like the gentleman in the poetry-book, he wants to go higher, higher, ever higher--” “Aeroplane?” “No, not that way--steeplejack.” “Painting spires?” “Not only spires, but signs in high places--dangerous places-and, you know, Mr. Stone, he told us--that day at the Embury house--that he didn’t climb--that he painted signs, and let other people put them up.” “Yes; well? What of it?” “Only this: why did he try to deceive us? Why, Mr. Barton says he’s a most daring climber--he’s practicing to be a human fly.” “A human fly? Is that a new circus stunt?”