The Mystery of the Sycamore

by Carolyn Wells

  CHAPTER VI THE OTHER HEIR

  A general air of vague foreboding hung over the Wheeler household. Mrs.Wheeler tried to rally from the shock of the inexplicable bugle call, butthough she was bright and cheerful, it was fully evident that her mannerwas forced and her gayety assumed.

  Maida, solicitous for her mother, was more than ever resolved not todisclose the news of another possible heir to the estate, though the moreshe thought about it, the more she felt sure Samuel Appleby had spokenthe truth.

  She decided that he had learned of the other heir, and that he was nonetoo honest to be willing to keep the fact a secret, if, in turn, he couldserve his own ends. She did not need to be told that if she would look onyoung Sam with favor, her father would perforce lend his aid to thecampaign. And, in that case, she knew that the other heir would never bementioned again.

  And yet, the price—the acceptance of young Sam, was more than she couldpay. To give up Jeff Allen, her own true love, and marry a man of such adifferent type and calibre as Sam Appleby was—it was too much! And Jeffwould have something to say about that! Yet, she must decide for herself.If she made the supreme sacrifice, it must be done as if of her ownvolition. If her parents or her lover guessed that she was acting undercompulsion, they would put an end to the project.

  But could she, even if willing to sacrifice herself, could she ask SamAppleby to take her? Yet she knew this would be the easiest thing in theworld. A mere hint to Mr. Appleby that she approved of his son wouldbring the younger man down to the house at once and matters would thentake care of themselves.

  But could she do it? She looked at Jeff, as he sat talking to her father,his strong, fine face alight with the earnestness of their discussion. Hewas a man of a thousand—her own Jeffrey. No, she could not break hisheart—she had no right to do that. It would be a crime to blot out thejoy and happiness from the eager young face.

  And then she looked at the other dear face. Her father, worn and aging,but still in rugged health. Could she let the inevitable happen, and seehim turned out of the home that he loved—the home that had so long beenhis sanctuary, his refuge from the cold injustice of his fellow-men?

  And her mother, almost ill from her fright and foreboding. To add thedisaster of poverty and homelessness—no, she couldn’t do that!

  And so poor Maida wondered and worried; her thoughts going round in acircle, and coming back to the two men she loved, and knew she must breakone heart or the other.

  At one moment her duty to her parents seemed preëminent. Then, again, sherealized a duty to herself and to the man who loved her.

  “I don’t know _what_ to do,” she thought, piteously; “I’ll wait till Mr.Appleby comes back here, and then I’ll tell him just how I’m placed.Perhaps I can appeal to his better nature.”

  But Maida Wheeler well knew that however she might appeal to SamuelAppleby, it would be in vain. She knew from the very fact that he came toher home, and made the offers and threats that he did make, that his mindwas made up, and no power on earth could move him from his decision. Hehad a strong case, he probably thought; the offer of full pardon to DanWheeler, and the offer to Maida to keep quiet about another heir, would,he doubtless thought, be sufficient to win his cause.

  “What an awful man he is,” she thought. “I wish he were dead! I know Ioughtn’t to wish that, but I do. I’d kill him myself if it would helpfather. I oughtn’t to say that—and I don’t suppose I really would do it,but it would simplify matters a lot! And somebody said, ‘We are allcapable of crime—even the best of us.’ Well, of course I wouldn’t killthe old man, but he’d better not give me a real good chance!”

  “What are you thinking about, little girl?” asked Allen, turning to her.

  Maida looked at him and then at her father, and said, deliberately:

  “I was just thinking how I’d like to kill Samuel Appleby.”

  “Senior, junior, or both?” laughed Allen, who thought little of herwords, save as a jest.

  “Senior, I meant, but we may as well make it a wholesale slaughter.”

  “Don’t, Maida,” her father looked grieved. “Don’t speak flippantly ofsuch subjects.”

  “Well, father, why not be honest? Wouldn’t you like to kill him?”

  “No, child—not that.”

  “But you’d be glad if he were dead! There, you needn’t answer. But if youwere absolutely honest, you’d have to admit it.”

  “I’ll admit it,” said her mother, wearily. “Samuel Appleby has spoiledall our lives—is still spoiling them. He does it for his own selfishinterests. He has ruined the happiness of my husband, myself, mydaughter, and my prospective son-in-law. Is it any wonder that we shouldhonestly wish he were dead? It may not sound Christian—but it is anhonest expression of human nature.”

  “It is, Mrs. Wheeler,” and Allen’s face looked more pained than shocked.“But, all the same, we oughtn’t to talk like that.”

  “No, indeed,” agreed Wheeler. “Please, Maida, darling, don’t say suchthings. And, Sara, if you must say them, say them to me when we arealone. It’s no sort of talk for these young people’s ears.”

  “Why, I said it before mother did!” Maida broke out. “And I mean it! I’mat the end of my rope. If that man is to hound us and torture us all ourlives, I can’t help wishing him dead.”

  “There, there, daughter, please don’t.”

  “I won’t, dad. I’ll never say it again. But I put myself on record, andif the rest of you were honest, you’d do the same thing!”

  “That we’d like to kill him?” asked Allen, smiling at the idea.

  “I didn’t say that—I said we wish him dead. If a nice, convenient strokeof lightning came his way, or——”

  “Maida, hush!” her father spoke sternly; “I won’t allow such talk! Itisn’t like you, my child, and it isn’t——”

  “Isn’t good form, I s’pose!” she interrupted. “Well, I’ll let up, dads,and I am a little ashamed of myself. Mother, maybe the phantom bugler wasannouncing the death of old Appleby!”

  “Hush, Maida! What has got into you?”

  “I’m incorrigible, I guess——”

  “You are!” and Allen smiled fondly at her. “Come out for a walk in thesunshine with me, and get these awful thoughts out of your brain.”

  “I know I’m a criminal,” said Maida, as they walked down a garden path;“but I can’t help it. I’ve more to bear than you know of, Jeff, and youmust make allowance.”

  “I do, sweetheart. And I know how you’re troubled, and all that, butdon’t say such dreadful things. I know you don’t mean them.”

  “No, I don’t—at least, I don’t think I do. But I won’t say them any more.I think I lost my head——”

  “Forget it. You’re upset and nervous and your mother’s worry reflectsitself on you. Is there really a bugler tradition?”

  “Not over here. There was one connected with mother’s family long ago, inEngland, I believe. Of course, it was just one of those old spook yarnsthat most old houses have over there. But mother always remembered it.She has told everybody who ever visited here about it, and I think shealways expected to hear the thing. Queer, though, wasn’t it?”

  “Not very. It’s explainable by natural means, of course. Probably we’llnever know who it was, but it was no phantom, be sure of that.”

  “Oh, well, it doesn’t matter, except that it has upset mother sodreadfully. But she’ll get over it—if nothing happens.”

  “Nothing will happen—if by that you mean a death in the family. Morelikely a marriage will take place!”

  “Not ours, Jeff. I think that bugler sounded the death-knell of ourhopes.”

  “Maida! What is the matter with you? Why are you talking like that? Iknow you’ve something on your mind that you haven’t told me yet.Something pretty serious, for it makes you say the strangest things! Tellme, darling, won’t you?”

  “I can’t, Jeff. I mean, there isn’t
anything. Wait till those people comeback again. You’ll be here, won’t you? They’re coming to-morrow.”

  “You bet I will! I’ll see what I can do with old curmudgeon. You know I’margumentative.”

  “That won’t do any good with Appleby. What he wants is help from dad. Ifhe doesn’t get that, he’ll punish us all.”

  “And he can’t get that, for your dad won’t give it. So it looks as if wemust all take our punishment. Well, we’re prepared.”

  “You wouldn’t speak so lightly if you knew everything!”

  “That’s why I ask you to tell me everything. Do, Maida, I’m sure I canhelp you.”

  “Wait till they come,” was all Maida would say in response to hisrepeated requests.

  And at last they came.

  Smiling and hearty, Samuel Appleby reëntered the Wheeler home, apparentlyas self-assured and hopeful as when he left it.

  Keefe was courteous and polite as always and Genevieve Lane was prettierthan ever by reason of some new Boston-bought clothes.

  Allen was introduced to the newcomers and sized up by one glance ofSamuel Appleby’s keen eyes. Privately he decided that this young man wasa very formidable rival of his son. But he greeted Allen with greatcordiality, which Jeff thought it best to return, although he felt aninstinctive dislike for the man’s personality.

  “Come along with me, Maida,” and with daring familiarity, Genevieve puther hand through Maida’s arm and drew her toward the stairs. “I have thesame room, I s’pose,” she babbled on; “I’ve lots of new things I want toshow you. And,” she added as they entered the room, and she closed thedoor, “I want a talkfest with you before the others begin.”

  “What about?” asked Maida, feeling the subject would be one ofimportance.

  “Well, it’s just this. And don’t be too shocked if I speak right out inmeetin’. I’ve determined to marry into this bunch that I’m working for.”

  “Have you?” laughed Maida. “Are they equally determined?”

  “I’m not joking—I’m in dead earnest. A poor girl has got to do the bestshe can for herself in this cold world. Well, I’m going to corral one ofthe three: old man Appleby, young man Appleby, or Curt Keefe.”

  “Which one, for choice?” Maida still spoke lightly.

  “You don’t think I’m in earnest, but I am. Well, I’d rather have youngSam. Next, I’d choose his father; and, lastly, I’m pretty sure I couldnail Curtie Keefe.”

  Maida couldn’t help her disapproval showing in her face, but she said:“It isn’t just the way I’d go about selecting a husband, but if it’s yourway, all right. Can I help you?”

  “Do you mean that?”

  “Why, yes, if I can do anything practical.”

  “Oh, you can! It’s only to keep off the grass, regarding young Sam.”

  “You mean not to try to charm him myself?”

  “Just about that. And I’ll tell you why I say this. It seems old Applebyhas about made up his mind that you’re the right and proper mate foryoung Appleby. Oh, you needn’t draw yourself up in that haughtyfashion—he’s good enough for you, Miss!”

  “I didn’t say he wasn’t,” and Maida laughed in spite of herself atGenevieve’s manner. “But, truly, I don’t want him. You see I’m engaged toMr. Allen.”

  “I know it, but that cuts no ice with Pa Appleby. He plans to oust Mr.Allen and put his son in his place.”

  “Oh, he does, does he?” Maida’s heart sank, for she had anticipatedsomething like this. “Am I to be consulted?”

  “Now, look here, Maida Wheeler. You needn’t take that attitude, for itwon’t get you anywhere. You don’t know Mr. Appleby as I do. What he saysgoes—_goes_, understand?”

  Maida went white. “But such a thing as you speak of won’t go!” sheexclaimed.

  “I’m not sure it won’t, if he so ordains it,” Miss Lane said, gravely.“But I just wanted your assurance that you don’t hanker after Sammy-boy,so I can go ahead and annex him myself.”

  “In defiance of Mr. Appleby’s intents?”

  “I may be able to circumvent him. I’m some little schemer myself. And hemay die.”

  “What?”

  “Yep. He has an unsatisfactory heart, and it may go back on him at anyminute.”

  “What a thing to bank on!”

  “It may happen all the same. But I’ve other irons in the fire. Run along,now; I’ve work to do. You’re a dear girl, Maida, and the time may comewhen I can help you.”

  The round, rosy-cheeked face looked very serious, and Maida said,gratefully: “I may be very glad of such help, Genevieve.”

  Then she went away.

  Samuel Appleby was lying in wait for her.

  “Here you are, my girl,” he said, as she came downstairs. “Come for aramble with me, won’t you?”

  And, knowing that the encounter was inevitable, Maida went.

  Appleby wasted no time in preliminaries.

  “I’ve got to go home to-morrow morning,” he said. “I’ve got to have thismatter of your father’s help in the campaign settled before I go.”

  “I thought it was settled,” returned Maida, calmly. “You know he willnever give you the help you ask. And oh, please, Mr. Appleby, won’t yougive up the question? You have ruined my father’s life—all our lives;won’t you cease bothering him, and, whether you let him get his fullpardon or not, won’t you stop trying to coerce his will?”

  “No; I will not. You are very pleading and persuasive, my girl, but Ihave my own ax to grind. Now, here’s a proposition. If you—I’ll speakplainly—if you will consent to marry my son, I’ll get your father’s fullpardon, and I’ll not ask for his campaign support.”

  Maida gasped. All her troubles removed at once—but at such a price! Shethought of Allen, and a great wave of love surged over her.

  “Oh, I can’t—I can’t,” she moaned. “What _are_ you, Mr. Appleby? I lovemy chosen mate, my _fiancé_, Jeffrey Allen. Would you ask me to give himup and marry your son, whom I esteem highly, but do not love?”

  “Certainly; I ask just that. You are free to say yes or no!”

  “Then, I say no. There _must_ be some other way! Give me some otherchance, even though it be a harder one!”

  “All right, I will.” Mr. Appleby’s face was hard now, his lips set in astraight line; he was about to play his last card. “All right, I will.Here it is. The other heir, of whom I spoke to you the other day, isCurtis Keefe.”

  “Mr. Keefe!”

  “Yes—but wait—he doesn’t know it. I hit upon a clue in his chancereference to his mother’s family, and unknown to him I investigatedgenealogies and all that, and it is positive, he is the heir to all thisestate, and not your mother.”

  “You’re sure?”

  “Yes, absolutely certain. But, remember, he doesn’t know it. He has noidea of such a thing. Now, if you’ll marry Sam, Keefe shall _never_ know.I’ll burn all the papers that I have in evidence. You and I will forgetthe secret, and your father and mother can rest in undisturbed possessionhere for the rest of their lives.”

  “And you wouldn’t insist on father’s campaign work?”

  “If you marry my son, I rather think your father will lend his aid—atleast in some few matters, without urging. But he shall not be urgedbeyond his wishes, rest assured of that. In a word, Maida, all that youwant or desire shall be yours except your choice of a husband. And I’llwager that inside of a year, you’ll be wondering what you ever saw inyoung Allen, and rejoicing that you are the wife of the governorinstead!”

  “I can’t do it—oh, _I can’t!_ And, then, too, there’s Mr. Keefe—and theheirship!”

  “Mr. Keefe and the airship!” exclaimed Curtis Keefe himself, as he cameround the corner and met them face to face. “Am I to go up in an airship?And when?”

  Appleby flashed a quick glance at Maida, which she rightly interpreted tomean to let Keefe rest unenlightened as to his error.

  “You’re not the Mr. Keefe we meant,” said Appleby, smiling at hissecre
tary. “There are others.”

  And then Appleby walked away, feeling his best plan was to let Maidathink things over.

  “What Keefe is going up in an airship?” Curt insisted, his curiosityaroused.

  “I don’t know,” said Maida, listlessly. “Mr. Appleby was telling me someairship yarn. I didn’t half listen. I—I can’t bear that man!”

  “I can’t blame you for that, Miss Wheeler. But we’re going awayto-morrow, and he’ll be out of your way.”

  “No; he has me in a trap. He has arranged it so—oh, what am I saying!”

  “Don’t go on, if you feel you might regret it. Of course, as Mr.Appleby’s confidential secretary, I know most of his affairs. May I saythat I’m very sorry for you, and may I offer my help, if you can use mein any way?”

  “How kind you are, Mr. Keefe. But if you know the details of the matter,you know that I am in a fearful dilemma. Oh, if only that man were out ofexistence!”

  “Oh, Miss Wheeler,” and Keefe looked undisguisedly shocked.

  “I don’t mean anything wrong,” Maida’s eyes were piteous, “but I don’tknow what to do! I’ve no one to confide in—no way to turn for help—foradvice——”

  “Why, Miss Wheeler, you have parents, friends——”

  “No one that I can speak to! Forgive me, Mr. Keefe, but I am nearly outof my mind. Forgive me, if I ask you to leave me—will you?”

  “Of course, you poor child! I ought to have sensed that I was intruding!”

  With a courteous bow, he walked away, leaving Maida alone on the seatbeneath the old sycamore.

  She thought long and deeply. She seemed to grow older and more matured ofjudgment as she dealt with the big questions in her mind.

  After a long time she came to her decision. Torn and wracked withemotions, she bravely faced the many-sided situation, and made up hermind. Then she got up and walked into the house.

  That afternoon, about five o’clock, Appleby and Wheeler sat in thelatter’s den, talking over the same old subject. Maida, hidden in thewindow-seat, was listening. They did not know she was there, but theywould not have cared. They talked of nothing she did not already know.

  Appleby grew angry and Wheeler grew angry. The talk was coming to aclimax, both men were holding on to their tempers, but it was clear oneor the other must give way soon.

  Jeffrey Allen, about to go in search of Maida, saw a wisp of smokecurling from the garage, which from his seat on the north veranda was inplain view.

  He ran toward the smoke, shouting “Fire!” as he ran, and in a few minutesthe garage was ablaze. The servants gathered about, Mrs. Wheeler lookedfrom her bedroom window, and Keefe joined Allen in attempts to subdue theflames.

  And with the efficient help of two chauffeurs and other willing workersthe fire was soon reduced to a smouldering heap of ashes.

  Allen ran, then, to the den, to tell them there that the danger was past.

  He entered to see Samuel Appleby dead in his chair, with a bullet throughhis heart. Daniel Wheeler stood beside him, gazing distractedly at thedead man. Maida, white and trembling, was half hidden as she stood justinside the curtains of the window.

  Not realizing that there was no hope of life, Allen shouted for help, andtore open Appleby’s coat to feel his heart.

  “He’s quite dead,” he said, in an awe-stricken tone. “But, we must get adoctor at once!”

  “I’ll telephone,” spoke up Genevieve’s quiet voice, and with her usualefficiency, she found the number and called the doctor.

  “Now the police?” she went on, as if such matters belonged to herprovince.

  “Certainly,” said Curtis Keefe, who stood by his late employer, takingcharge, by common consent.

  “Who killed him?” said Genevieve, in a hushed tone, as she left thetelephone.

  All looked from one to another, but nobody replied.

  Mrs. Wheeler came to the doorway.

  “I knew it!” she cried; “the phantom bugler!”

  “But the phantom bugler didn’t kill him,” said Genevieve, “and we mustfind out who did!”