The Mystery of the Sycamore

“Did you keep her in sight?”

“No; I was so excited myself, I ran past her and out to the garage.”

“Who was there?”

“Mr. Allen and Mr. Keefe and the two chauffeurs and the head gardener and well, most all the servants. The men were fighting the fire, and the women were standing back, looking on.”

“Yelling, I suppose.”

“No; they were mostly quiet. Cook was screaming, but nobody paid any attention to her.”

“The fire was soon over?”

“Yes, it was a little one. I suppose that chauffeur of Mr. Appleby’s dropped a match or something – for our servants are too well trained to do anything of the sort. We’re all afraid of fire.”

“Well, the fire amounted to little, as you say. Curious it should occur at the time of the murder.”

“Curious, indeed, sir. Do you make anything out of that?”

“Can’t see anything in it. Unless the murderer started the fire to distract attention from himself. In that case, it couldn’t have been any of the Wheelers.”

“That it couldn’t. They were all in the house.”

“Miss Maida – did you see her at the time?”

“I caught a glimpse of her as I ran through the hall.”

“Where was she?”

“In the den; standing near the bay window.”

“Well, we’ve pretty well planted the three. Mrs. Wheeler on the stairs, Mr. Wheeler, you say, in the living-room, where he had no right to be, and Miss Maida – ”

“Oh, Miss Maida didn’t do it! She couldn’t! That lovely young lady!”

“There, Rachel, that will do. You’ve given your testimony, now it’s not for you to pass judgment. Go about your business, and keep a quiet tongue. No babbling – you understand?”

“Yes, sir,” and the maid went away, her attitude still one of importance, and her face wearing a vague smile.

Meantime Curtis Keefe was having a serious talk with Maida.

His attitude was kindly and deferential, but he spoke with a determined air as he said:

“Miss Wheeler, you know, I am sure, how much I want to help you, and how glad I will be if I can do so. But, first of all I must ask you a question. What did Mr. Appleby mean when he said to you something about Keefe and the airship?”

Maida looked at him with a troubled glance. For a minute she did not speak, then she said, calmly: “I am not at liberty to tell you what we were talking about then, Mr. Keefe, but don’t you remember Mr. Appleby said that you were not the Keefe referred to?”

“I know he said that, but – I don’t believe it.”

“I am not responsible for your disbelief,” she drew herself up with a dignified air. “And I must ask you not to refer to that matter again.”

“Don’t take that attitude,” he begged. “At least tell me what Keefe he did mean. There can be no breach of confidence in that.”

“Why do you want to know?”

“Because I know Mr. Appleby had a big airship project under consideration. Because I know he contemplated letting me in on the deal, and it was a most profitable deal. Had he lived, I should have asked him about it, but since he is dead, I admit I want to know anything you can tell me of the matter.”

Involuntarily Maida smiled a little, and the lovely face, usually so sad, seemed more beautiful than ever to the man who looked at her.

“Why do you smile?” he cried, “but whatever the reason, keep on doing so! Oh, Maida, how wonderful you are!”

A glance of astonishment made him quickly apologize for his speech.

“But,” he said, “I couldn’t help it. Forgive me, Miss Wheeler, and, since you can smile over it, I’m more than ever anxious to know about the airship deal.”

“And I can tell you nothing,” she declared, “because I know nothing of any such matter. If Mr. Appleby was interested in an airship project, I know nothing of it. The matter he mentioned to me was, I am positively certain, not the deal you speak of.”

“I believe that. Your face is too honest for you to speak an untruth so convincingly. And now assure me that I am not the Keefe he referred to, and I will never open the subject again.”

But this Maida could not say truthfully, and though she tried, her assertion was belied by drooping eyes and quivering lips.

“You were not,” she uttered, but she did not look at him, and this time Curtis Keefe did not believe her.

“I was,” he said calmly, but he made no further effort to get the whole truth from her. “I’m sorry you can’t confide fully in me, but I shall doubtless learn all I want to know from Mr. Appleby’s papers.”

“You – you have them in charge?” Maida asked, quite evidently agitated at the thought.

“Yes, of course, I’m his confidential secretary. That’s why, Miss Wheeler, it’s better for you to be frank with me – in all things. Has it never occurred to you that I’m the man who can best help you in this whole moil of troubles?”

“Why, no,” she said, slowly, “I don’t believe it ever has.”

“Then realize it now. Truly, dear Miss Wheeler, I am not only the one who can best help you, but I am the only one who can help you at all – please try to see that.”

“Why should I want help?”

“For half a dozen very good reasons. First, I suppose you know that you are in no enviable position regarding the death of Mr. Appleby. Oh, I know you didn’t kill him – ”

“But I did!”

“If you did, you couldn’t take it so calmly – ”

“How dare you say I take it calmly? What do you know about it? Just because I don’t go about in hysterics – that’s not my nature – is no sign that I’m not suffering tortures – ”

“You poor, sweet child – I know you are! Oh, little girl, dear little girl – can’t you – won’t you let me look out for you – ”

The words were right enough, but the tone in which they were uttered, the look that accompanied them, frightened Maida. She knew at once how this man regarded her.

Intuition told her it was better not to resent his speech or meaning, so she only said, quietly: