"Come in," said Stone. "I want these ladies to know you." Awkwardly the boy entered, and blushed furiously as Stone gravely introduced him all round. "We'll be friends, Terence," said Iris, who felt sorry for his embarrassment, and who pleasantly offered her hand. "Thank you, ma'am, and will you please call me Fibsy, it makes me feel more at home--like." "Fibsy! What a funny name! Because you tell fibs?" "Yes'm! How'd you guess?" The laughing eyes met hers and the boy's stubby paw touched Iris' soft hand. But some subtle spark passed between them, that made each feel the other a friend, and a tacit compact was sealed without a word. "Lemme see the room?" whispered Fibsy, with a pleading look at Fleming Stone. "Yes," and the detective rose at once, and accompanied the lad to the room of the tragedy. The details of the death of Mrs. Pell were quickly rehearsed, and Fibsy's eyes darted round the room, taking in every detail of walls and furniture. Hughes was astounded. Who was this insignificant boy that he should be consulted, and referred to? Why was an experienced detective, like himself, set aside, as of no consequence, while Fleming Stone watched absorbedly the face of the urchin? "How did the murderer get out?" Hughes could not help saying, with a view to confusing the boy. "Gee! If all you local police has concentrated your thinkers on that all this time, and hasn't doped it out yet, I can't put it over all at once! But Mr. Stone, he'll yank the heart out o' the mystery, you can just bet. Of course, 'How'd the murderer get out?' is easy enough to sit around an' say--like a flock of parrots! The thing to do is to find out how he _did_ get out!" Fibsy stood, hands in pockets, in front of the mantel, looking down at the floor. "Here's where she was lyin'?" he asked gravely, and Iris nodded her head. Leaning down, Fibsy looked up the chimney, and Hughes laughed out. "Back number!" he said, looking bored, "Don't you s'pose we've investigated that chimney business? A monkey couldn't get up that little flue, let alone an able-bodied man!" "That's so, my bucko!" and Fibsy beamed on Hughes, without a trace of rancor at the elder man's scorn. "Now about the evidence against Mr. Bannard," Stone said to the local detective, "do I understand it's only the newspaper and cigarette that he was supposed to have left in this room----" "Well," Hughes defended himself, "he had motive, he was seen around these parts, and he denies he was up here----" "Never mind, I'll talk with him, please. I'll learn more from his own story." "He isn't guilty, oh, Mr. Stone, he _isn't_ guilty!" Iris exclaimed, her beautiful eyes filling with tears. "Please get him out of that awful jail, can't you?" "Let us hope so, Miss Clyde." Stone spoke abstractedly. "Where is the newspaper in question?" "Here it is," and Iris took it from a drawer and handed it to him. "Why, this has never been opened," exclaimed Stone.