CHAPTER XV THE AWFUL TRUTH
“Well, Fibs,” said Stone, as the two sat alone in conclave, “what aboutRachel’s story?”
“You know, F. Stone, how I hate to doubt a lady’s word, but—not to puttoo fine a point upon it, the fair Rachel lied.”
“You think so, too, eh? And just why?”
“Under orders. She was coached in her part. Told exactly what to say——”
“By whom?”
“Oh, you know as well as I do. You’re just leading me on! Well, hecoached her, all right, and she got scared before the performance cameoff and that’s why she ran away.”
“Yes, I agree to all that. Keefe, of course, being the coach.”
“Yessir. He doing it, to save the Wheelers. You see, he’s so desperatelyin love with Miss Maida, that it sort of blinds his judgment andcleverness.”
“Just how?”
“Well, you know his is love at first sight—practically.”
“Look here, Terence, you know a great deal about love.”
“Yessir, it—it comes natural to me. I’m a born lover, I am.”
“Had much experience?”
“Not yet. But my day’s coming. Well, never mind me—to get back to FriendKeefe. Here’s the way it is. Miss Wheeler is sort of engaged to Mr.Allen, and yet the matter isn’t quite settled, either. I get that fromthe servants—mean to gossip, but all’s fair in love and sleuthing. Now,Mr. Keefe comes along, sees the lovely Maida, and, zip! his heart iscracked! All might yet be well, but for the wily Genevieve. She has hercap set for Keefe, and he knows it, and was satisfied it should be so,till he saw Miss Wheeler. Now, the fat’s in the fire, and no pitch hot.”
“You do pick up a lot of general information.”
“It’s necess’ry, sir.” The red-head nodded emphatically. “Thesesidelights often point the way to the great and shinin’ truth! For, don’tyou see, Mr. Keefe, being so gone on Miss Maida, naturally doesn’t wanther or her people suspected of this crime—even if one of them is guilty.So he fixes up a cock-and-bull story about a bugler man—on the southveranda. This man, he argues, did the shooting. He gets Rachel—he musthave some hold on her, bribery wouldn’t be enough—and he fair crams thebugler yarn down her throat, and orders her to recite it as Gospeltruth.”
“Then she gets scared and runs away.”
“Exactly. You see it that way, don’t you, Mr. Stone?”
The earnest little face looked up to the master. Terence McGuire wasdeveloping a wonderful gift for psychological detective work, andsometimes he let his imagination run away with him. In such cases Stonetripped him up and turned him back to the right track. Both had aninkling that the day might eventually come when Stone would retire andMcGuire would reign in his stead. But this was, as yet, merely a dream,and at present they worked together in unison and harmony.
“Yes, Fibsy—at least, I see it may have been that way. But it’s a bigorder to put on—to Mr. Keefe.”
“I know, but he’s a big man. I mean a man of big notions and projects.Anybody can see that. Now, he’s awful anxious Miss Wheeler and Mr.Wheeler shall be cleared of all s’picion—even if he thinks one of ’em isguilty. He doesn’t consider Mrs. Wheeler—I guess nobody does now.”
“Probably not. Go on.”
“Well, so Keefie, he thinks if he can get this bugler person guaranteed,by a reliable and responsible witness—which, of course, Rachel would seemto be—then, Mr. Keefe thinks, he’s got the Wheelers cleared. Now, Rachel,getting cold feet about it all, goes back on Keefe—oh, I could see it inhis face!”
“Yes, he looked decidedly annoyed at Rachel’s failure of a convincingperformance.”
“He did so! Now, Mr. Stone, even if he bolsters up Rachel’s story or getsher to tell it more convincingly—we know, you and I, that it isn’t true.There wasn’t any man on the south veranda.”
“Sure, Terence?”
“Yessir, I’m pretty sure. For, what became of him? Where did he vanishto? Who was he? There never was any bugler—I mean as a murderer. Thepiper who piped some nights previous had nothing to do with the case!”
“Sure, Terence?”
“Oh, come now, Mr. Stone—I was sure, till you say that at me, so dubiouslike—and then I’m not so sure.”
“Well, go on with your theory, and let’s see where you come out. You maybe on the right track, after all. I’m not sure of many points myselfyet.”
“All right. To my mind, it comes back to a toss-up between Miss Maida andher father, with the odds in favor of the old gentleman. Agree?”
“I might, if I understood your English. The odds in favor of Mr. Wheelerindicating his guilt or innocence?”
“His guilt, I meant, F. Stone. I can’t think that sweet young lady woulddo it, and this isn’t because she is a sweet young lady, but because itisn’t hardly plausible that she’s put the thing over, even though she waswilling enough to do so.”
“It seems so to me, too, but we can’t bank on that. Maida Wheeler is avery impulsive girl, very vigorous and athletic, and very devoted to herfather. She worships him, and she has been known to say she wouldwillingly kill old Mr. Appleby. These things must be remembered, Fibsy.”
“That’s so. But I’ve noticed that when folks threaten to kill people theymost generally don’t do it.”
“I’ve also noticed that. But, striking out Maida’s name, leaves us onlyMr. Wheeler.”
“Well, ain’t he the one? Ain’t he the down-trodden, oppressed victim,who, at last, has opportunity, and who is goaded to the point ofdesperation by the arguments of his enemy?”
“You grow oratorical! But, I admit, you have an argument.”
“’Course I have. Now, say we’ve got to choose between Miss Wheeler andMr. Wheeler, how do we go about it?”
“How?”
“Why, we find out how Mr. Appleby was sitting, how Mr. Wheeler was facingat the moment, and also Miss Maida’s position. Then, we find out thedirection from which the bullet entered the body, and then we can tellwho fired the shot.”
“I’ve done all that, Fibs,” Stone returned, with no note of superiorityin his voice. “I found out all those things, and the result proves thatthe bullet entered Mr. Appleby’s body from the direction of Miss Maida,in the bay window, and directly opposite from what would have been itsdirection if fired by Mr. Wheeler, from where he stood, when seendirectly after the shot.”
Fibsy looked dejected. He made no response to this disclosure for amoment, then he said:
“All right, F. Stone. In that case I’m going over to Mr. Keefe’s side,and I’m going to hunt up the bugler.”
“A fictitious person?”
“Maybe he ain’t so fictitious after all,” and the red-head shookdoggedly.
A tap at the door of Stone’s sitting-room was followed by a “May I comein?” and the entrance of Daniel Wheeler.
“The time has come, Mr. Wheeler,” Stone began a little abruptly, “to putall our cards on the table. I’ve investigated things pretty thoroughly,and, though I’m not all through with my quest, I feel as if I must knowthe truth as to what you know about the murder.”
“I have confessed,” Wheeler began, but Stone stopped him.
“That won’t do,” he said, very seriously. “I’ve proved positively thatfrom where you stood, you could not have fired the shot. It came from theopposite direction. Now it’s useless for you to keep up that pretence ofbeing the criminal, which, I’ve no doubt, you’re doing to shield yourdaughter. Confide in me, Mr. Wheeler, it will not harm the case.”
“God help me, I must confide in somebody,” cried the desperate man. “Shedid do it! I saw Maida fire the shot! Oh, can you save her? I wouldn’ttell you this, but I think—I hope you can help better if you know. You’dfind it out anyway——”
“Of course I should. Now, let us be strictly truthful. You saw Miss Maidafire the pistol?”
“Yes; I was sitting almost beside Appleby; he was ne
arer Maida than Iwas, and she sat in the bay window, reading. She sits there much of thetime, and I’m so accustomed to her presence that I don’t even think aboutit. We were talking pretty angrily, Appleby and I, really renewing theold feud, and adding fuel to its flame with every word. I suppose Maida,listening, grew more and more indignant at his injustice and cruelty tome—those terms are not too strong!—and she being of an impulsive nature,even revengeful when her love for me is touched, and I suppose she,somehow, possessed herself of my pistol and fired it.”
“You were not looking at her before the shot?”
“Oh, no; the shot rang out, Appleby fell forward, and even as I rose togo to his aid, I instinctively turned toward the direction from which thesound of the shot had come. There I saw Maida, standing white-faced andfrightened, but with a look of satisfied revenge on her dear face. I feltno resentment at her act, then—indeed, I was incapable of coherentthought of any sort. I stepped to Appleby’s side, and I saw at once thathe was dead—had died instantly. I cannot tell you just what happenednext. It seemed ages before anybody came, and then, suddenly the room wasfull of people. Allen and Keefe came, running—the servants gatheredabout, my wife appeared, and Maida was there. I had a strangeundercurrent of thought that kept hammering at my brain to the effectthat I must convince everybody that I did it, to save my girl. I wasclear-headed to the extent of planning my words in an effort to carryconviction of my guilt, but that effort so absorbed my attention that Igave no heed to what happened otherwise.”
“Thank you, Mr. Wheeler, for your kindness. I assure you you will notregret it.”
“You’re going to save her? You can save my little girl? Oh, Mr. Stone, Ibeg of you——”
The agonized father broke down completely, and Stone said, kindly:
“Keep up a good heart, Mr. Wheeler. That will help your daughter morethan anything else you can do. I assumed that if one of you were guiltythe other was shielding the criminal, but your story has straightened outthe tangle considerably.”
“Lemme ask something, please,” broke in Fibsy. “Say, Mr. Wheeler, did yousee the pistol in Miss Maida’s hands?”
“I can’t say I did or didn’t,” Wheeler replied, listlessly. “I lookedonly at her face. I know my daughter’s mind so well, that I at oncerecognized her expression of horror mingled with relief. She had reallydesired the death of her father’s enemy, and she was glad it had beenaccomplished! It’s a terrible thing to say of one’s own child, but I’vemade up my mind to be honest with you, Mr. Stone, in the hope of yourhelp. I should have persisted in my own story of guilt, had I notperceived it was futile in the face of your clear-sighted logic andknowledge of the exact circumstances.”
“You did wisely. But say nothing to any one else, for the present. Do noteven talk to Miss Maida about it, until I have time to plan our nextstep. It is still a difficult and a very delicate case. A single falsemove may queer the whole game.”
“You think, then, you can save Maida—oh, do give a tortured father agleam of hope!”
“I shall do my best. You know they rarely, if ever, convict a woman—and,too, Miss Wheeler had great provocation. Then—what about self-defence?”
“Appleby threatened neither of us,” Wheeler said. “That can’t be used.”
“Well, we’ll do everything we can, you may depend on that,” Stone assuredhim. And Wheeler went away, relieved at the new turn things had taken,though also newly concerned for Maida’s safety.
“Nice old chap,” said Fibsy to Stone. “He stuck to his faked yarn as longas the sticking was good, and then he caved in.”
“Open and shut case, Terence?”
“Open—but not yet shut, F. Stone. Now, where do we go from here?”
“You go where you like, boy. Leave me to grub at this alone.”
Without another word Fibsy left the room. He well knew when Stone spokein that serious tone that great thoughts were forming in that fertilebrain and sooner or later he would know of them. But at present hiscompany was not desired.
The boy drifted out on the terraced lawn and wandered about among thegardens. He, too, thought, but he could see no light ahead.
“S’long as the old man saw her,” he observed to himself, “there’s no moreto be said. He never’d say he saw her shoot, if he hadn’t seen her. He’sat the end of his rope, and even if they acquit the lady I don’t want tosee her dragged through a trial. But where’s any way of escape? What canturn up to contradict a straight story like that? Who else can testifyexcept the eye-witness who has just spoken? I wonder if he realizedhimself how conclusive his statement was? But he trusted in F. Stone toget Maida off, somehow. Queer, how most folks think a detective is amagician, and can do the impossible trick!”
In a brown study he walked slowly along the garden paths, and was seen byKeefe and Maida, who sat under the big sycamore tree.
“Crazy idea, Stone bringing that kid,” Keefe said, with a laugh.
“Yes, but he’s a very bright boy,” Maida returned. “I’ve been surprisedat his wise observations.”
“Poppycock! He gets off his speeches with that funny mixture of newsboyslang and detective jargon, and you think they’re cleverer than theyare.”
“Perhaps,” agreed Maida, not greatly interested. “But what a strangestory Rachel told. Do you believe it, Mr. Keefe?”
“Yes, I do. The girl was frightened, I think; first, at the informationshe tried to divulge, and second, by finding herself in the limelight.She seems to be shy, and I daresay the sudden publicity shook her nerves.But why shouldn’t her story be true? Why should she invent all that?”
“I don’t know, I’m sure. But it didn’t sound like Rachel—the whole thing,I mean. She seemed acting a part.”
“Nonsense! You imagine that. But never mind her, I’ve something to tellyou. I know—Maida, mind you, I know what Mr. Appleby meant by the speechwhich I took to be ‘Mr. Keefe and the airship.’”
Maida’s face went white.
“Oh, no!” she cried, involuntarily. “Oh, no!”
“Yes,” Keefe went on, “and I know now he said heirship. Not strange Imisunderstood, for the words are of the same sound—and, then I had noreason to think of myself in connection with an heirship!”
“And—and have you now?”
“Yes, I have. I’ve been over Mr. Appleby’s papers—as I had a right to do.You know I was his confidential secretary, and he kept no secrets fromme—except those he wanted to keep!”
“Go on,” said Maida, calm now, and her eyes glistening with an expressionof despair.
“Need I go on? You know the truth. You know that I am the rightful heirof this whole place. Sycamore Ridge is mine, and not your mother’s.”
“Yes.” The word was scarce audible. Poor Maida felt as if the last blowhad fallen. She had seared her conscience, defied her sense of honor,crucified her very soul to keep this dreadful secret from her parents fortheir own sake, and now all her efforts were of no avail!
Curtis Keefe knew that the great estate was legally his, and now her dearparents would be turned out, homeless, penniless and broken down bysorrow and grief.
Even though he might allow them to stay there, they wouldn’t, she knew,consent to any such arrangement.
She lifted a blanched, strained face to his, as she said: “What—what areyou going to do?”
“Just what you say,” Keefe replied, drawing closer to her side. “It’s allup to you, Maida dear. Don’t look offended; surely you know I loveyou—surely you know my one great desire is to make you my wife. Give yourconsent; say you will be mine, and rest assured, dearest, there will beno trouble about the ‘heirship.’ If you will marry me, I will promisenever to divulge the secret so long as either of your parents live. Theymay keep this place, and, besides that, darling, I will guarantee to getyour father a full pardon. I—well, I’m not speaking of it yet—but I’lltell you that there is a possibility of my running for governor myself,since young Sam is voluntarily out of it. But, in any case, I
haveinfluence enough in certain quarters—influence increased by knowledgethat I have gleaned here and there among the late Mr. Appleby’s papers—tosecure a full and free pardon for your father. Now, Maida, girl, even ifyou don’t love me very much yet, can’t you say yes, in view of what Ioffer you?”
“How can you torture me so? Surely you know that I am engaged to Mr.Allen.”
“I didn’t know it was a positive engagement—but, anyway,” his voice grewhard, “it seems to me that any one so solicitous for her parents’ welfareand happiness as you have shown yourself, will not hesitate at a stepwhich means so much more than others you have taken.”
“Oh, I don’t know what to do—what to say—let me think.”
“Yes, dear, think all you like. Take it quietly now. Remember that adecision in my favor means also a calm, peaceful and happy life insuredto your parents. Refusal means a broken, shattered life, a precariousexistence, and never a happy day for them again. Can you hesitate? I’mnot so very unpresentable as a husband. You may not love me now, but youwill! I’ll be so good to you that you can’t help it. Nor do I mean to winyour heart only by what I shall do for you. For, Maida dearest, lovebegets love, and you will find yourself slowly perhaps, but surely,giving me your heart. And we will be so happy! Is it yes, my darling?”
The girl stared at him, her big brown eyes full of agony.
“You forget something,” she said, slowly. “I am a murderess!”
“Hush! Don’t say that awful word! You are not—and even if you were, I’llprove you are not! Listen, Maida, if you’ll promise to marry me, I’llfind the real murderer—not you or your father, but the real murderer.I’ll get a signed confession—I’ll acquit you and your family of anyimplication in the deed, and I’ll produce the criminal himself. Now, willyou say yes?”
“You can’t do all that,” she said, speaking in an awestruck whisper, asif he had proposed to perform a miracle.
“I can—I swear it!”
“Then, if you can do that, you ought to do it, anyway! In the interestsof right and justice, in common honesty and decency, you ought to tellwhat you know!”
“Maida, I am a man and I am in love with you. That explains much. I willdo all I have promised, to gain you as my bride—but not otherwise. As toright and justice—you’ve confessed the crime, haven’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Do you confess it to me, now? Do you say to me that you killed SamuelAppleby?”
There was but a moment’s pause, and then Maida said, in a low tone:“Yes—I confess it to you, Mr. Keefe.”
“Then, do you see what I mean when I say I will produce the—murderer? Doyou see that I mean to save you from the consequences of your own rashact—and prove you, to the world at large, innocent?”
Keefe looked straight into Maida’s eyes, and her own fell in confusion.
“Can you do it?” she asked, tremulously.
“When I say I will do a thing, I’ve already proved to my own satisfactionthat I can do it. But, I’ll do it only at my own price. The price beingyou—you dear, delicious thing! Oh, Maida, you’ve no idea what it means tobe loved as I love you! I’ll make you happy, my darling! I’ll make youforget all this horrible episode; I’ll give you a fairyland life. Youshall be happier than you ever dreamed of.”
“But—Jeffrey—oh, I can’t.”
“Then—Miss Wheeler, you must take the consequences—all the consequences.Can you do that?”
“No,” Maida said, after an interval of silence. “I can’t. I am forced toaccept your offer, Mr. Keefe——”
“You may not accept it with that address.”
“Curtis, then. Curtis, I say, yes.”
The Mystery of the Sycamore Page 15