The Mystery of the Sycamore

by Carolyn Wells

  CHAPTER VII INQUIRIES

  Late the same evening the Wheeler family and their guests were gatheredin the living-room. Much had been done in the past few hours. The familydoctor had been there, the medical examiner had been called and had givenhis report, and the police had come and were still present.

  Samuel Appleby, junior—though no longer to be called by thatdesignation—was expected at any moment.

  Two detectives were there, but one, Hallen by name, said almost nothing,seeming content to listen, while his colleague conducted the questioningof the household.

  Burdon, the talkative one, was a quick-thinking, clear-headed chap,decided of manner and short of speech.

  “Now, look here,” he was saying, “this was an inside job, of course.Might have been one of the servants, or might have been any of you folks.How many of you are ready to help me in my investigations by telling allyou know?”

  “I thought we had to do that, whether we’re ready to or not,” spoke upGenevieve, who was not at all abashed by the presence of the authorities.“Of course, we’ll all tell all we know—we want to find the murderer justas much as you do.”

  Keefe looked at her with a slight frown of reproof, but said nothing. Theothers paid no attention to the girl’s rather forward speech.

  In fact, everybody seemed dazed and dumb. The thing was so sudden and soawful—the possibilities so many and so terrible—that each was aghast atthe situation.

  The three Wheelers said nothing. Now and then they looked at one another,but quickly looked away, and preserved their unbroken silence.

  Jeffrey Allen became the spokesman for them. It seemed inevitable—forsome one must answer the first leading questions; and though Curtis Keefeand Miss Lane were in Appleby’s employ, the detective seemed moreconcerned with the Wheeler family.

  “Bad blood, wasn’t there, between Mr. Appleby and Mr. Wheeler?” Burdoninquired.

  “They had not been friends for years,” Allen replied, straightforwardly,for he felt sure there was nothing to be gained by misrepresentation.

  “Huh! What was the trouble, Mr. Wheeler?”

  Daniel Wheeler gave a start. Then, pulling himself together, he answeredslowly: “The trouble was that Mr. Appleby and myself belonged todifferent political parties, and when I opposed his election as governor,he resented it, and a mutual enmity followed which lasted ever since.”

  “Did you kill Mr. Appleby?”

  Wheeler looked at his questioner steadily, and replied: “I have nothingto say.”

  “That’s all right, you don’t have to incriminate yourself.”

  “He didn’t kill him!” cried Maida, unable to keep still. “I was there, inthe room—I could see that he didn’t kill him!”

  “Who did then?” and the detective turned to her.

  “I—I don’t know. I didn’t see who did it.”

  “Are you sure, Miss? Better tell the truth.”

  “I tell you I didn’t see—I didn’t see anything! I had heard an alarm offire, and I was wondering where it was.”

  “You didn’t get up and go to find out?”

  “No—no, I stayed where I was.”

  “Where were you?”

  “In the window-seat—in the den.”

  “Meaning the room where the shooting occurred?”

  “Yes. My father’s study.”

  “And from where you sat, you could see the whole affair?”

  “I might have—if I had looked—but I didn’t. I was reading.”

  “Thought you were wondering about the fire?”

  “Yes,” Maida was quite composed now. “I raised my eyes from my book whenI heard the fire excitement.”

  “What sort of excitement?”

  “I heard people shouting, and I heard men running. I was just about to goout toward the north veranda, where the sounds came from, when I—— Ican’t go on!” and Maida broke down and wept.

  “You must tell your story—maybe it’d be easier now than later. Can’t yougo on, Miss Wheeler?”

  “There’s little to tell. I saw Mr. Appleby fall over sideways——”

  “Didn’t you hear the shot?”

  “No—yes—I don’t know.” Maida looked at her father, as if to gain helpfrom his expression, but his face showed only agonized concern for her.

  “Dear child,” he said, “tell the truth. Tell just what you saw—or heard.”

  “I didn’t hear anything—I mean the noise from the people running to thefire so distracted my attention, I heard no shot or any sound in theroom. I just saw Mr. Appleby fall over——”

  “You’re not giving us a straight story, Miss Wheeler,” said thedetective, bluntly. “Seems to me you’d better begin all over.”

  “Seems to me you’d better cease questioning Miss Wheeler,” said CurtisKeefe, looking sympathetically at Maida; “she’s just about all in, and Ithink she’s entitled to some consideration.”

  “H’m. Pretty hard to find the right one to question. Mrs. Wheeler,now—I’d rather not trouble her too much.”

  “Talk to me,” said Allen. “I can tell you the facts, and you can drawyour deductions afterward.”

  “Me, too,” said Keefe. “Ask us the hard questions, and then when you needto, inquire of the Wheelers. Remember, they’re under great nervousstrain.”

  “Well, then,” Burdon seemed willing to take the advice, “you start in,Mr. Keefe. You’re Mr. Appleby’s secretary, I believe?”

  “Yes; we were on our way back to his home in Stockfield—we expected to gothere to-morrow.”

  “You got any theory of the shooting?”

  “I’ve nothing to found a theory on. I was out at the garage helping toput out a small fire that had started there.”

  “How’d it start?”

  “I don’t know. In the excitement that followed, I never thought toinquire.”

  “Tell your story of the excitement.”

  “I was at the garage with Mr. Allen, and two chauffeurs—the Wheelers’ manand Mr. Appleby’s man. Together, and with the help of a gardener or two,we put the fire out. Then Mr. Allen said: ‘Let’s go to the house and tellthem there’s no danger. They may be worried.’ Mr. Allen started off and Ifollowed. He preceded me into the den——”

  “Then you tell what you saw there, Mr. Allen.”

  “I saw, first of all,” began Jeffrey, “the figure of Mr. Appleby sittingin a chair, near the middle of the room. His head hung forward limply,and his whole attitude was unnatural. The thought flashed through my mindthat he had had a stroke of some sort, and I went to him—and I saw he wasdead.”

  “You knew that at once?”

  “I judged so, from the look on his face and the helpless attitude. Then Ifelt for his heart and found it was still.”

  “You a doctor?”

  “No; but I’ve had enough experience to know when a man is dead.”

  “All right. What was Mr. Wheeler doing?”

  “Nothing. He stood on the other side of the room, gazing at his oldfriend.”

  “And Miss Wheeler?”

  “She, too, was looking at the scene. She stood in the bay window.”

  “I see. Now, Mr. Keefe, I believe you followed close on Mr. Allen’sheels. Did you see the place—much as he has described it?”

  “Yes;” Keefe looked thoughtful. “Yes, I think I can corroborate everyword of his description.”

  “All right. Now, Miss Lane, where were you?”

  “I was at the fire. I followed the two men in, and I saw the samesituation they have told you of.”

  Genevieve’s quiet, composed air was a relief after the somewhat excitedutterances of the others.

  “What did you do?”

  “I am accustomed to wait on Mr. Appleby, and it seemed quite within myprovince that I should telephone for help for him. I called thedoctor—and then I called the police station.”

  “You don’t think you took a great deal on yourself?”
>
  Genevieve stared at him. “I do not think so. I only think that I did myduty as I saw it, and in similar circumstances I should do the sameagain.”

  At this point the other detective was heard from.

  “I would like to ask,” Hallen said, “what Mrs. Wheeler meant by cryingout that it was the work of a ‘phantom burglar’?”

  “Not burglar—bugler,” said Mrs. Wheeler, suddenly alert.

  “Bugler!” Hallen stared. “Please explain, ma’am.”

  “There is a tradition in my family,” Mrs. Wheeler said, in a slow, sadvoice, “that when a member of the family is about to die, a phantombugler makes an appearance and sounds ‘taps’ on his bugle. Thisphenomenon occurred last night.”

  “Oh, no! Spooks! But Mr. Appleby is not a member of your family.”

  “No; but he was under our roof. And so I know the warning was meant forhim.”

  “Well, well, we can’t waste time on such rubbish,” interposed Burdon,“the bugle call had nothing to do with the case.”

  “How do you explain it, then?” asked Mrs. Wheeler. “We all heard it, andthere’s no bugler about here.”

  “Cut it out,” ordered Burdon. “Take up the bugler business some othertime, if you like—but we must get down to brass tacks now.”

  His proceedings were interrupted, however, by the arrival of young SamuelAppleby.

  The big man came in and a sudden hush fell upon the group.

  Daniel Wheeler rose—and put out a tentative hand, then half withdrew itas if he feared it would not be accepted.

  Hallen watched this closely. He strongly suspected Wheeler was themurderer, but he had no intention of getting himself in bad by jumping atthe conclusion.

  However, Appleby grasped the hand of his host as if he had no reason fornot doing so.

  “I’m sorry, sir, you should have had this tragedy beneath your roof,” hesaid.

  Hallen listened curiously. It was strange he should adopt an apologetictone, as if Wheeler had been imposed upon.

  “Our sorrow is all for you, Sam,” Dan Wheeler returned, and then asAppleby passed on to greet Maida and her mother, Wheeler sank back in hischair and was again lost in thought.

  The whole scene was one of constraint. Appleby merely nodded toGenevieve, and spoke a few words to Keefe, and then asked to see hisfather.

  On his return to the living-room, he had a slightly different air. He wasa little more dictatorial, more ready to advise what to do.

  “The circumstances are distressing,” he said, “and I know, Mr. Wheeler,you will agree with me that we should take my father back to his home assoon as possible.

  “That will be done to-morrow morning—as soon as the necessary formalitiescan be attended to. Now, anything I can do for you people, must be doneto-night.”

  “You can do a lot,” said Burdon. “You can help us pick out themurderer—for, I take it, you want justice done?”

  “Yes—yes, of course.” Appleby looked surprised. “Of course I want thisdeed avenged. But I can’t help in the matter. I understand you suspectsome one of the—the household. Now, I shall never be willing to accuseany one of this deed. If it can be proved the work of an outsider—aburglar or highwayman—or intruder of any sort, I am ready toprosecute—but if suspicion rests on—on anyone I know—I shall keep out ofit.”

  “You can’t do that, Mr. Appleby,” said Hallen; “you’ve got to tell allyou know.”

  “But I don’t know anything! I wasn’t here!”

  “You know about motives,” Hallen said, doggedly. “Tell us now, who boreyour father any ill-will, and also had opportunity to do the shooting?”

  “I shan’t pretend I don’t know what you’re driving at,” and Appleby spokesternly, “but I’ve no idea that Mr. Daniel Wheeler did this deed. I knowhe and my father were not on friendly terms, but you need more evidencethan that to accuse a man of murder.”

  “We’ll look after the evidence,” Hallen assured him. “All you need tellabout is the enmity between the two men.”

  “An enmity of fifteen years’ standing,” Appleby said, slowly, “is not aptto break out in sudden flame of crime. I am not a judge nor am I adetective, but until Mr. Wheeler himself confesses to the deed, I shallnever believe he shot my father.”

  Wheeler looked at the speaker in a sort of dumb wonder.

  Maida gazed at him with eyes full of thankfulness, and the others weredeeply impressed by the just, even noble, attitude of the son of thevictim of the tragedy.

  But Hallen mused over this thing. He wondered why Appleby took such anunusual stand, and decided there was something back of it about which heknew nothing as yet. And he determined to find out.

  “We can get in touch with you at any time, Mr. Appleby?” he asked.

  “Oh, yes, of course. After a few days—after my father’s funeral, I willbe at your disposal. But as I’ve said, I know nothing that would be ofany use as evidence. Do you need to keep Mr. Keefe and Miss Lane for anyreason?”

  “Why, I don’t think so,” the detective said. “Not longer than to-morrow,anyhow. I’ll take their depositions, but they have little testimony togive. However, you’re none of you very far away.”

  “No; you can always get us at Stockfield. Mr. Keefe will probably bewilling to stay on and settle up my father’s affairs, and I know we shallbe glad of Miss Lane’s services for a time.” Appleby glanced at the twoas he spoke, and they nodded.

  “Well, we’re going to stay right here,” and Burdon spoke decidedly.“Whatever the truth of the matter may be, it’s clear to be seen thatsuspicion must naturally point toward the Wheeler family, or someintruder. Though how an intruder could get in the room, unseen by eitherMr. Wheeler or his daughter, is pretty inexplicable. But those thingswe’re here to find out. And we’ll do it, Mr. Appleby. I’m taking it forgranted you want the criminal found?”

  “Oh—I say, Mr.—er—Burdon, have a little common decency! Don’t come at mewith questions of that sort, when I’m just about knocked out with thiswhole fearful occurrence! Have a heart, man, give me time to realize myloss, before you talk to me of avenging it!”

  “That’s right,” said Curt Keefe. “I think Mr. Appleby deserves moreconsideration. Suppose we excuse him for the night.”

  Somewhat reluctantly the detective was brought to consent, and thenDaniel Wheeler asked that he and his wife and daughter also be excusedfrom further grilling that night.

  “We’re not going to run away,” he said, pathetically. “We’ll meet you inthe morning, Mr. Burdon, but please realize our stunned condition atpresent.”

  “My mother must be excused,” Maida put in. “I am sure she can stand nomore,” and with a solicitous care, she assisted Mrs. Wheeler to rise fromher chair.

  “Yes, I am ill,” the elder woman said, and so white and weak did she lookthat no one could doubt her word.

  The three Wheelers went to their room, and Genevieve Lane went off withthem, leaving Allen and Keefe, with Sam Appleby, to face the twodetectives’ fire of questions.

  “You vamoose, too, Sam,” Keefe advised. “There’s no use in your stayinghere and listening to harrowing details. Mr. Allen and I will have a talkwith the detectives, and you can talk to-morrow morning, if you wish.”

  “All right,” and Appleby rose. “But, look here, Keefe. I loved andrespected my father, and I revere his memory—and, yes, I want justicedone—of course, but, all the same, if Wheeler shot dad, I don’t want thatpoor old chap prosecuted. You know, I never fully sympathized withfather’s treatment of him, and I’d like to make amends to Wheeler bygiving him the benefit of the doubt—if it can be done.”

  “It can’t be done!” declared Burdon, unwilling to agree to this heresy.“The law can’t be set aside by personal sympathy, Mr. Appleby!”

  “Well, I only said, if it can be,” and the man wearily turned and leftthe room.

  “Now, then,” said Keefe, “let’s talk this thing out. I know yourposition, Allen, and I’m sorry for you. And I want to say, righ
t now, ifI can help in any way, I will. I like the Wheelers, and I must say Isubscribe to the ideas of Sam Appleby. But all that’s up to thedetectives. I’ve got to go away to-morrow, so I’m going to ask you, Mr.Burdon, to get through with me to-night. I’ve lots to do at the other endof the route, and I must get busy. But I do want to help here, too. So,at any rate, fire your questions at me—that is, if you know what you wantto ask.”

  “I’ll ask one, right off, Mr. Keefe,” and Hallen spoke mildly butstraightforwardly. “Can you give me any fact or suggest to me any theorythat points toward any one but Mr. Daniel Wheeler as the murderer ofSamuel Appleby?”

  Curtis Keefe was dismayed. What could he reply to this very definitequestion? A negative answer implicated Wheeler at once—while a “yes,”would necessitate the disclosure of another suspect. And Keefe was notblind to the fact that Hallen’s eyes had strayed more than once towardMaida Wheeler with a curious glance.

  Quickly making up his mind, Keefe returned: “No fact, but a theory basedon my disbelief in Mr. Wheeler’s guilt, and implying the intrusion ofsome murderous-minded person.”

  “Meaning some marauder?” Hallen looked disdainful.

  “Some intruder,” Keefe said. “I don’t know who, or for what reason, but Idon’t think it fair to accuse Mr. Wheeler without investigating everypossible alternative.”

  “There are several alternatives,” Burdon declared; “I may as well sayright out, that I’ve no more definite suspicion of Mr. Wheeler than Ihave of Mrs. Wheeler or Miss Wheeler.”

  “What!” and Jeffrey Allen looked almost murderous himself.

  “Don’t get excited, sir. It’s my business to suspect. Suspicion is notaccusation. You must admit all three of the Wheeler family had a motive.That is, they would, one and all, have been glad to be released from thethrall in which Mr. Appleby held them. And no one else present had amotive! I might suspect you, Mr. Allen, but that you were at the fire atthe time, according to the direct testimony of Mr. Keefe.”

  “Oh, yes, we were at the fire, all right,” Allen agreed, “and I’d knockyou down for saying to me what you did, only you are justified. I wouldfar rather be suspected of the murder of Mr. Appleby than to have any ofthe Wheelers suspected. But owing to Keefe’s being an eye-witness of meat the time, I can’t falsify about it. However, you may set it right downthat none of the three Wheelers did do it, and I’ll prove it!”

  “Go to it, Allen,” Keefe cried. “I’ll help.”

  “You’re two loyal friends of the Wheeler family,” said Hallen in hisquiet way, “but you can’t put anything over. There’s no way out. I knowall about the governor’s pardon and all that. I know the feud between thetwo men was beyond all hope of patching up. And I know that to-night hadbrought about a climax that had to result in tragedy. If Wheeler hadn’tkilled Appleby—Appleby would have killed Wheeler.”

  “Self-defence?” asked Allen.

  “No, sir, not that. But one or the other had to be out of the running. Iknow the whole story, and I know what men will do in a political crisisthat they wouldn’t dream of at any other time. Wheeler’s the guiltyparty—unless—well, unless that daughter of his——”

  “Hush!” cried Allen. “I won’t stand for it!”

  “I only meant that the girl’s great love and loyalty to her father mighthave made her lose her head——”

  “No; she didn’t do it,” said Allen, more quietly. “Oh, I say, man, let’stry to find this intruder that Mr. Keefe has——”

  “Has invented!” put in Burdon. “No, gentlemen, they ain’t no suchanimile! Now, you tell me over again, while I take it down, just what youtwo saw when you came to the door of that den, as they call it.”

  And so Allen and Keefe reluctantly, but truthfully, again detailed thescene that met their eyes as they returned from the fire they had putout.

  “The case is only too plain,” declared Burdon, as he snapped a rubberband over his notebook. “Sorry, gentlemen, but your story leaves noloophole for any other suspect than one of the three Wheelers.Good-night.”