The Mystery of the Sycamore

“Look out for me – how?”

“Every way. Give yourself to me – be my own, own little Maida – ”

“Mr. Keefe, stop! You forget you are talking to an engaged girl – ”

“I did forget – please forgive me.” In a moment he was humble and penitent. “I lost my head. No, Miss Wheeler, I ask no reward, I want to help you in any and every way – remembering you are to be the bride of Mr. Allen.”

“Only after I’m acquitted of this crime. They never convict a woman, do they, Mr. Keefe?”

“So that’s what you’re banking on! And safely, too. No, Miss Wheeler, no judge or jury would ever convict you of murder. But, all the same, it’s a mighty unpleasant process that brings about your acquittal, and I advise you not to go through with it.”

“But I’ve got to. I’ve confessed my crime; now they have to try me – don’t they?”

“You innocent baby. Unless – look here, you’re not – er – stringing me, are you?”

“What does that mean?”

“I mean, you didn’t really do the job, did you?”

“I did.” The calm glance of despair might have carried conviction to a less skeptical hearer, but Keefe only looked puzzled.

“I can’t quite make you out,” he declared; “either you’re a very brave heroine – or – ”

“Or?” queried Maida.

“Or you’re nutty!”

Maida laughed outright. “That’s it,” she said, and her laughter became a little hysterical. “I am nutty, and I own up to it. Do you think we can enter a plea of insanity?”

Keefe looked at her, a new thought dawning in his mind.

“That might not be at all a bad plan,” he said, slowly; “are you in earnest?”

“I don’t know. Honestly, I think of so many plans, and discard them one after the other. But I don’t want to be convicted!”

“And you shan’t! There are more persons in this world than the three Wheelers! And one of them may easily be the murderer we’re seeking.”

“Which one?” asked Maida.

“The Phantom Bugler,” returned Keefe.

CHAPTER XI

FLEMING STONE

Next day brought the advent of two men and a boy to Sycamore Ridge.

Samuel Appleby, determined to discover the murderer of his father and convinced that it was none of the Wheeler family, had brought Fleming Stone, the detective, to investigate the case. Stone had a young assistant who always accompanied him, and this lad, Terence McGuire by name, was a lively, irrepressible chap, with red hair and freckles.

But his quick thinking and native wit rendered him invaluable to Stone, who had already hinted that McGuire might some day become his successor.

The Wheeler family, Jeffrey Allen, Curtis Keefe, and Burdon, the local detective, were all gathered in Mr. Wheeler’s den to recount the whole story to Fleming Stone.

With grave attention, Stone listened, and young McGuire eagerly drank in each word, as if committing a lesson to memory. Which, indeed, he was, for Stone depended on his helper to remember all facts, theories and suggestions put forward by the speakers.

Long experience had made Fleming Stone a connoisseur in “cases,” and, by a classification of his own, he divided them into “express” and “local.” By this distinction he meant that in the former cases, he arrived quickly at the solution, without stop or hindrance. The latter kind involved necessary stops, even side issues, and a generally impeded course, by reason of conflicting motives and tangled clues.

As he listened to the story unfolded by the members of the party, he sighed, for he knew this was no lightning express affair. He foresaw much investigation ahead of him, and he already suspected false evidence and perhaps bribed witnesses.

Yet these conclusions of his were based quite as much on intuition as on evidence, and Stone did not wholly trust intuition.

Samuel Appleby was the principal spokesman, as he was the one chiefly concerned in the discovery of the criminal and the avenging of his father’s death. Moreover, he was positive the deed had not been done by any one of the Wheeler family, and he greatly desired to prove himself right in this.

“But you were not here at the time, Mr. Appleby,” Stone said, “and I must get the story from those who were. Mr. Keefe, you came with Mr. Appleby, senior, and, also, as his confidential secretary you are in a position to know of his mental attitudes. Had he, to your knowledge, any fear, any premonition of evil befalling him?”

“Not at all,” answered Keefe, promptly. “If he had, I do not know of it, but I think I can affirm that he had not. For, when Mr. Appleby was anxious, he always showed it. In many ways it was noticeable, if he had a perplexity on his mind. In such a case he was irritable, quick-tempered, and often absent-minded. The day we came down here, Mr. Appleby was genial, affable and in a kindly mood. This, to my mind, quite precludes the idea that he looked for anything untoward.”

“How did he impress you, Mr. Wheeler?” Stone went on. “You had not seen him for some time, I believe.”

“Not for fifteen years,” Dan Wheeler spoke calmly, and with an air of determined reserve. “Our meeting was such as might be expected between two long-time enemies, but Appleby was polite and so was I.”

“He came to ask a favor of you?”

“Rather to drive a bargain. He offered me a full pardon in return for my assistance in his son’s political campaign. You, I am sure, know all this from Mr. Appleby, the son.”

“Yes, I do; I’m asking you if Mr. Appleby, the father, showed in his conversation with you, any apprehension or gave any intimation of a fear of disaster?”

“Mr. Stone,” returned Wheeler, “I have confessed that I killed Mr. Appleby; I hold, therefore, that I need say nothing that will influence my own case.”

“Well, you see, Mr. Wheeler, this case is unusual – perhaps unique, in that three people have confessed to the crime. So far, I am preserving an open mind. Though it is possible you and your wife and daughter acted in collusion, only one of you could have fired the fatal shot; yet you all three claim to have done so. There is no conclusion to be drawn from this but that one is guilty and the other two are shielding that one.”

“Draw any conclusion you wish,” said Wheeler, still imperturbably. “But I’ve no objection to replying to the question you asked me. Sam Appleby said no word to me that hinted at a fear for his personal safety. If he had any such fear, he kept it to himself.”

“He knew of your enmity toward him?”

“Of course. He did me an unforgivable injustice and I never pretended that I did not resent it.”

“And you refused to meet his wishes regarding his son’s campaign?”

“I most certainly did, for the same reasons I opposed his own election many years ago.”

“Yes; all those details I have from Mr. Appleby, junior. Now, Mr. Appleby does not believe that his father was killed by any member of your family, Mr. Wheeler.”

“Can he, then, produce the man whom he does suspect?”

“No; he suspects no one definitely, but he thinks that by investigation, I can find out the real criminal.”

“You may as well save your time and trouble, Mr. Stone. I am the man you seek, I freely confess my crime, and I accept my fate, whatever it be. Can I do more?”