The Mystery of the Sycamore

“Hardly that,” demurred Keefe. “I believe there was what is called an understanding, but I’m assured it has never been announced. However, the lady will speak for herself.”

“Go away, Jeff,” Maida pleaded; “please, go away.”

“Not until you tell me yourself, Maida, what you are doing. Why does Mr. Keefe say these things?”

“It is true.” Maida’s face was as white as Allen’s. “I am going to marry Mr. Keefe. If you considered me bound to you, I – hereby break it off. Please go away!” the last words were wrung from her in a choked, agonized voice, as if she were at the end of her composure.

“I’m going,” Allen said, and went off in a daze.

He was convinced of one thing only. That Maida was in the power of something or some person – some combination of circumstances that forced her to this. He had no doubt she meant what she said; had no doubt she would really marry Keefe – but he couldn’t think she had ceased to love him – her own Jeffrey! If he thought that, he was ready to die!

He walked along half blindly, thinking round in circles, always coming back to the possibility – now practically a certainty – of Maida being the murderer, and wondering how Keefe meant to save her from the clutches of the law. He was perturbed – almost dazed, and as he went along unseeingly, Genevieve Lane met him, turned and walked by his side.

“What’s Curtie Keefe doing with your girl?” she asked, for the rolling lawn was so free of trees, the pair beneath the sycamore could be plainly seen.

“I don’t know!” said Allen, honestly enough, as he looked in the good-humored face of the stenographer.

“I don’t want him making love to her,” Miss Lane went on, pouting a little, “first, because she’s altogether too much of a belle anyway; and second – because – ”

She paused, almost scared at the desperate gaze Allen gave her.

“I hope you mean because you look upon him as your property,” he said, but without smiling.

“Now, just why do you hope that?”

“Because in that case, surely you can get him back – ”

“Oh, what an aspersion on Miss Wheeler’s fascinations!”

“Hush; I’m in no mood for chaffing. Are you and Keefe special friends?”

Genevieve looked at him a moment, and then said, very frankly: “If we’re not, it isn’t my fault. And – to tell you the bald truth, we would have been, had not Miss Wheeler come between us.”

“Are you sure of that?”

“How rude you are! But, yes – I’m practically sure. Nobody can be sure till they’re certain, you know.”

“Don’t try to joke with me. Look here, Miss Lane, suppose you and I try to work together for our respective ends.”

“Meaning just what, Mr. Allen?”

“Meaning that we try to separate Keefe and Maida – not just at this moment – but seriously and permanently. You, because you want him, and I, because I want her. Isn’t it logical?”

“Yes; but if I could get him back, don’t you suppose I would?”

“You don’t get the idea. You’re to work for me, and I for you.”

“Oh – I try to make Maida give him up – and you – ”

“Yes; but we must have some pretty strong arguments. Now, have you any idea why Maida has – ”

“Has picked him up with the tongs? I have a very decided idea! In fact, I know.”

“You do! Is it a secret?”

“It is. Such a big secret, that if it leaked out, the whole universe, so far as it affects the Wheeler family, would be turned topsy-turvy!”

“Connected with the – the death of Mr. Appleby?”

“Not with the murder – if that’s what you mean. But it was because of the death of Mr. Appleby that the secret came to light.”

“Can you tell me?”

“I can – but do I want to?”

“What would make you want to?”

“Why – only if you could do what you sort of suggested – make Mr. Keefe resume his attentions to poor little Genevieve and leave the lovely Maida to you.”

“But how can I do that?”

“Dunno, I’m sure! Do you want me to tell you the secret, and then try to get my own reward by my own efforts?”

“Oh, I don’t know what I want! I’m nearly distracted. But” – he pulled himself together – “I’m on the job! And I’m going to accomplish something – a lot! Now, I’m not going to dicker with you. Size it up for yourself. Don’t you believe that if you told me that secret – confidentially – except as it can be used in the furtherance of right and happiness for all concerned – don’t you believe that I might use it in a way that would incidentally result in a better adjustment of the present Keefe-Wheeler combination?” He nodded toward the two under the sycamore.

“Maybe,” Genevieve said, slowly and thoughtfully, “I thought of telling Mr. Stone – but – ”

“Tell me first, and let me advise you.”

“I will; I have confidence in you, Mr. Allen, and, too, it may be a good thing to keep the secret in the family. The truth is, then, that Mrs. Wheeler is not legally the heir to this estate.”

“She is, if she lives in Massachusetts, and the house is so built – ”

“Oh, fiddlesticks! I don’t mean that part of it. The estate is left with the proviso that the inheritor shall live in Massachusetts – but, what I mean is, that it isn’t left to Mrs. Wheeler at all. She thought it was, of course – but there is another heir.”

“Is there? I’ve often heard them speak of such a possibility but they never could find a trace of one.”

“I know it, and they’re so honest that if they knew of one they’d put up no fight. I mean if they knew there is a real heir, and that Sara Wheeler is not the right inheritor.”

“Who is?”

“Curtis Keefe!”

“Oh, no! Miss Lane, are you sure?”

“I am. I discovered it from Mr. Appleby’s private papers, since his death.”

“Does Keefe know it?”