The Mystery of the Sycamore

The two men smiled as the girl, with a pleasant good-night, went away to her own room.

“She’s true blue,” said Keefe.

“Yes, she is,” Appleby nodded. “All her frivolity is on the surface, like her powder and paint. At heart, that child has only my interests. I quite appreciate it.”

“I hope you think the same of me, Mr. Appleby.”

“I do, Keefe. More, I trust you with my most confidential matters. I’ll own I want this business here to come out in my favor. I can’t push Wheeler too hard – so I ask your help. But, as I hinted, I’ve one rod yet in pickle. If necessary, I’ll use it, but I’d rather not.”

“Of course I hope you won’t have to, but, I’ll admit I don’t see much chance of succeeding with the present outlook.”

“To-morrow morning will tell. If we can’t work the thing through by noon, say – I’ll spring my last trap. Good-night, Keefe.”

“Good-night, Mr. Appleby.”

Without apparent coercion the morning hours brought about a cozy session on the south veranda with Miss Lane and Daniel Wheeler in attendance, while at the same time, Keefe and Maida wandered over the beautiful park of the estate.

Keefe had gently guided the conversation into confidential channels, and when he ventured to sympathize with the girl in regard to her father’s deprivation he was surprised at her ready acceptance of it.

“Oh, you know, don’t you, Mr. Keefe!” she exclaimed. “But you don’t know all it means to me. You see” – she blushed but went steadily on – “you see, I’m engaged to – to a man I adore. And – ”

“Don’t tell me if you’d rather not,” he murmured.

“No, it’s a relief to tell – and, somehow – you seem so wise and strong – ”

“Go on then – please.”

The kind voice helped her and Maida resumed: “Well, Jeff – Mr. Allen, lives in Boston, and so – ”

“So it would be very awkward if your father couldn’t go there.”

“Not only that – but I’ve made a vow never to step foot into Massachusetts until my father can do so, too. Nothing would induce me to break that vow!”

“Not even your lover?” said Keefe, astonished.

“No; my father is more to me than any lover.”

“Then you don’t truly love Mr. Allen.”

“Oh, yes, I do – I do! But father is my idol. I don’t believe any girl ever adored her father as I do. All my life I’ve had only the one object – to make him forget – as far as possible, his trouble. Now, if I were to marry and leave him – why, I simply couldn’t do it!”

“Can’t Mr. Allen live in Connecticut?”

“No; his business interests are all in Boston, and he can’t be transplanted. Oh, if father could only do what Mr. Appleby wants him to, then we could all be happy.”

“Can’t you persuade him?”

“I’ve tried my best. Mother has tried, too. But, you see, it’s a matter of principle, and when principle is involved, we are all in the same boat. Mother and I would scorn any wrongdoing quite as much as father does.”

“And you’ll give up your life happiness for a principle?”

“Of course. Wouldn’t you? Wouldn’t every decent person? I couldn’t live at all, if I were knowingly doing wrong.”

“But your – ” Keefe stopped abruptly.

“I know what you were going to say,” Maida spoke sadly; “you were going to say my father did wrong. I don’t believe he did.”

“Don’t you know?”

“I know in my own heart. I know he is incapable of the crime he was charged with. I’m sure he is shielding some one else, or else some one did it of whom he has no knowledge. But my father commit a crime? Never!”

“Do you care to tell me the details?”

“I don’t know why I shouldn’t. It was long ago, you know, and dad was accused of forgery. It was proved on him – or the jury thought it was – and he was convicted – ”

“And sentenced?”

“Yes; to a long prison term. But Governor Appleby pardoned him with that mean old proviso, that he never should step into Massachusetts!”

“Was your mother then the heir to the Massachusetts property?”

“No; but Mr. Appleby knew she would be. So, when she did inherit, and had to live in Massachusetts to hold the estate, Mr. Appleby thought he had dad where he wanted him.”

“Were they foes?”

“Politically, yes. Because dad did all he could to keep Mr. Appleby from being governor.”

“But didn’t succeed?”

“No; but almost. So, then, Mr. Appleby did this pardon trick to get even with father, and I think it turned out more serious than he anticipated. For mother took up the feud, and she got lawyers and all that and arranged to have the house built on the line between the states!”

“Was the estate she inherited on both sides of the line?”

“Oh, no; but it was near the southern border of Massachusetts, and she bought enough adjoining land to make the arrangement possible.”

“Then the house isn’t on the ground she inherited?”

“Not quite, but the lawyers decided it so that she really complies with the terms of the will, so it’s all right.”

“Was your mother the only heir?”

“So far as we can find out. I believe there was another branch of the family, but we haven’t been able to trace it, so as the years go by, we feel more and more confident there’s no other heir. Of course, should one turn up, his claim would be recognized.”

Further talk quickly convinced Keefe that there was no hope of persuading Maida Wheeler to influence or advise her father in any direction other than his idea of right. No amount of urging or arguing would make Wheeler see his duty other than he now saw it, or make Maida endeavor to change his views. With a sigh over his failure, Keefe deftly turned the talk in other channels, and then they strolled back to the house.

As was to be expected, Genevieve had made no progress with her part of the plan. Her talk with Mr. Wheeler had availed nothing. He was courteous and kind; he was amused at her gay, merry little ways; he politely answered her questions, both serious and flippant, but absolutely nothing came of it all.

Samuel Appleby had a short but straightforward conversation with Mrs. Wheeler.