“Yes--I know--” Fleming Stone showed no surprise. “Did he fall?” “Yessir. Got up the climb all right, and ‘most down again, and fell from the sixth floor. Killed him--but not instantly. I went to the hospital, and he confessed.” “Who did?” said Shane, coming in at the door as the last words were spoken. “Willy Hanlon--a human fly.” And then Fleming Stone told the whole story--Fibsy adding here and there his bits of information. “But I don’t understand,” said Shane, at last, “why would that chap kill Mr. Embury?” “Hired,” said Fibsy, as Stone hesitated to speak; “hired by a man who paid him ten thousand dollars.” “Hanlon a gunman!” said Shane, amazed. “Not a professional one,” Fibsy said, “but he acted as one in this case. The man who hired him knew he was privately learning to be a ‘human fly,’ and he had the diabolical thought of hiring him to climb up this house, and get in at the only available window, and kill Mr. Embury with that henbane stuff.” “And the man’s name?” shouted Shane, “the name of the real criminal?” Fibsy sat silent, looking at Stone. “His name is Alvord E. Hendricks,” was Stone’s quiet reply. An instant commotion arose. Eunice, her great eyes full of horror, ran to Aunt Abby, who seemed about to collapse from sheer dismay. Mason Elliott started up with a sudden “Where is he?” and Shane echoed, with a roar: “Yes, where is he? Can he get away?” “No,” said Stone; “he can’t. I have him covered day and night by my men. At present, Mr. Shane, he is--I am quite sure--in his office--if you want to go there--” “If I want to go there! I should say I do! He’ll get his!” And in less than half an hour, Shane had taken Alvord Hendricks into custody, and in due time that arch criminal received the retribution of justice. Shane gone, Fibsy went over the whole story once again. “You see, it was Mr. Stone’s keeping at it what did it. He connected up Hanlon and the jam--he connected up Mr. Hendricks and the Hamlet business--we connected up Hanlon and the gasoline--and Hanlon and the jersey and the motor-cycle and all!” Fibsy grew excited; “then we connected up Hendricks and his ‘perfect alibi.’ Always distrust the perfect alibi--that’s one of Mr. Stone’s first maxims. Well, this Hendricks--he had a pluperfect alibi--couldn’t be shaken--so Mr. Stone, he says, the more perfect the alibi, the more we must distrust it. So he went for that alibi--and he found that Mr. Hendricks was sure in Boston that night, but he didn’t have any real reason, not any imperative reason for going--it was a sorta trumped up trip. Well--that’s the way it was. He had to get Mr. Embury out of the way just then, or be shown up--a ruined man--and, too, he was afraid Mr. Embury’d be president of the club--and, too--he wanted to--”