The Mystery of the Sycamore

“Hush!” cried Allen. “I won’t stand for it!”

“I only meant that the girl’s great love and loyalty to her father might have made her lose her head – ”

“No; she didn’t do it,” said Allen, more quietly. “Oh, I say, man, let’s try to find this intruder that Mr. Keefe has – ”

“Has invented!” put in Burdon. “No, gentlemen, they ain’t no such animile! Now, you tell me over again, while I take it down, just what you two saw when you came to the door of that den, as they call it.”

And so Allen and Keefe reluctantly, but truthfully, again detailed the scene that met their eyes as they returned from the fire they had put out.

“The case is only too plain,” declared Burdon, as he snapped a rubber band over his notebook. “Sorry, gentlemen, but your story leaves no loophole for any other suspect than one of the three Wheelers. Good-night.”

CHAPTER VIII

CONFESSION

Before Sam Appleby left the next morning, he confided to Keefe that he had little if any faith in the detective prowess of the two men investigating the case.

“When I come back,” he said, “I may bring a real detective, and – I may not. I want to think this thing over first – and, though I may be a queer Dick, I’m not sure I want the slayer of my father found.”

“I see,” and Keefe nodded his head understandingly.

But Jeffrey Allen demurred. “You say that, Mr. Appleby, because you think one of the Wheeler family is the guilty party. But I know better. I know them so well – ”

“Not as well as I do,” interrupted Appleby, “and neither do you know all the points of the feud that has festered for so many years. If you’ll take my advice, Mr. Allen, you’ll delay action until my return, at least.”

“The detectives won’t do that,” objected Jeffrey.

“The detectives will run round in circles and get nowhere,” scoffed Appleby. “I shall be back as soon as possible, and I don’t mind telling you now that there will be no election campaign for me.”

“What!” exclaimed Curtis Keefe. “You’re out of the running?”

“Positively! I may take it up again some other year, but this campaign will not include my name.”

“My gracious!” exclaimed Genevieve, who knew a great deal about current politics. “Who’ll take your place?”

“A dark horse, likely,” returned Appleby, speaking in an absorbed, preoccupied manner, as if caring little who fell heir to his candidacy.

“I don’t agree with you, Mr. Appleby,” spoke up Jeff Allen, “as to the inefficiency of the two men on this case. Seems to me they’re doing all they can, and I can’t help thinking they may get at the truth.”

“All right, if they get at the truth, but it’s my opinion that the truth of this matter is not going to be so easily discovered, and those two bunglers may do a great deal of harm. Good-bye, Maida, keep up a good heart, my girl.”

The group on the veranda said good-bye to Sam Appleby, and he turned back as he stepped into the car to say:

“I’ll be back as soon as the funeral is over, and until then, be careful what you say – all of you.”

He looked seriously at Maida, but his glance turned toward the den where Mr. Wheeler sat in solitude.

“I heard him,” stormed Burdon, as the car drove away, and the detective came around the corner of the veranda. “I heard what he said about me and Hallen. Well, we’ll show him! Of course, the reason he talks like that – ”

“Don’t tell us the reason just now,” interrupted Keefe. “We men will have a little session of our own, without the ladies present. There’s no call for their participation in our talk.”

“That’s right,” said Allen. “Maida, you and Miss Lane run away, and we’ll go to the den for a chat.”

“No, not there,” objected Burdon. “Come over and sit under the big sycamore.”

And so, beneath the historic tree, the three men sat down for a serious talk. Hallen soon joined them, but he said little.

“I’m leaving myself, soon after noon,” said Keefe. “I’ll be back in a day or two, but there are matters of importance connected with Mr. Appleby’s estate that must be looked after.”

“I should think there must be!” exclaimed Burdon. “I don’t see how you can leave to come back very soon.”

Keefe reddened slightly, for the real reason for his intended return was centred in Maida Wheeler’s charm, to which he had incontinently succumbed. He knew Allen was her suitor, but his nature was such that he believed in his own powers of persuasion to induce the girl to transfer her affections to his more desirable self.

But he only looked thoughtfully at Burdon and said: “There are matters here, also, that require attention in Mr. Appleby’s interests.”

“Well,” Burdon went on, “as to the murder, there’s no doubt that it was the work of one of the three Wheelers. Nobody else had any reason to wish old Appleby out of the world.”

“You forget me,” said Allen, in a tense voice. “My interests are one with the Wheelers. If they had such a motive as you ascribe to them – I had the same.”

“Don’t waste time in such talk,” said Curt Keefe. “I saw you, Allen, at the fire during the whole time that covered the opportunity for the murder.”

“Of course,” agreed Burdon, “I’ve looked into all that. And so, as I say, it must have been one member of the Wheeler family, for there’s no one else to suspect.”

“Including Mrs. Wheeler,” quietly put in Hallen.

“How absurd!” flared out Allen. “It’s bad enough to suspect the other two, but to think of Mrs. Wheeler is ridiculous!”

“Not at all,” said Burdon, “she had the same motive – she had opportunity – ”

“How do you know?” asked Keefe.

“She ran down from her room at that very moment,” stated Burdon. “I have the testimony of one of the upstairs maids, and, also, I believe Miss Wheeler saw her mother in the den.”

“Look here,” said Hallen, in his slow, drawling tones, “let’s reconstruct the situation. You two men were at the fire – that much is certain – so you can’t be suspected. But all three of the Wheelers had absolute opportunity, and they had motive. Now, as I look at it – one of those three was the criminal, and the other two saw the deed. Wherefore, the two onlookers will do all they can to shield the murderer.”

Keefe stared at him. “You really believe that!” he said.

“Sure I do! Nobody else had either motive or opportunity. I don’t for one minute believe in an outsider. Who could happen along at that particular moment, get away with the shooting, and then get away himself?”

“Why, it could have been done,” mused Keefe, and Allen broke in eagerly:

“Of course it could! There’s nothing to prove it impossible.”

“You two say that, because you want it to be that way,” said Burdon, smiling at the two young men. “That’s all right – you’re both friends of the family, and can’t bear to suspect any one of them. But facts remain. Now, let’s see which of the three it most likely was.”

“The old man,” declared Hallen, promptly.

“Nonsense!” cried Allen. “Mr. Wheeler is incapable of a deed like that! Why, I’ve known him for years – ”