The Mystery of the Sycamore
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“As she sees it, yes! But she sees wrong, I know she does! The child has always been overconscientious – and I’m positive that whatever she is up to, it’s something to save her father!”
“Oh, Jeff – then you believe he is – ”
“Why, Mrs. Wheeler, don’t you know whether your husband killed Mr. Appleby or not?”
“I don’t know! Heaven help me – how can I know? The two of them, shielding each other – ”
“Wait a minute, if they are shielding each other – they’re both innocent!”
“But it isn’t that way. Mr. Wheeler said to me, at first: ‘Of course, either Maida or I did it. We both know which one did it, but if we don’t tell, no one else can know.’”
“I see that point; but I should think, knowing both so closely as you do, you could discern the truth – and” – he gazed at her steadily – “you have.”
“Yes – I have. Of course, as you say, in such intimacy as we three are, it would be impossible for me not to know.”
“And – it was Maida?”
“Yes, Jeffrey.”
“How are you certain?”
“Her father saw her.”
“Saw her shoot?”
“Yes.”
“Then, I’m glad you told me. I’m going to marry her at once, and have all rights of her protection through the trial – if it comes to that. Nothing else could have convinced me of her act! Poor, dear little Maida. I’ve known her capability for sudden, impulsive action but – oh, well, if Mr. Wheeler saw her – that’s all there is to be said. Now, dear Mrs. Wheeler, you must let me go to my Maida!”
“But, Jeffrey, I only told you that to persuade you to let her alone. Let her have her own way. She says that to marry Curtis Keefe will save her from prosecution – even from suspicion. She says he can free her from all implication in the matter.”
“By a fraud?”
“I don’t know – ”
“I won’t have it! If Maida did that shooting she had ample excuse – motive, rather. Not a man on a jury would convict her. And I’d rather she’d stand trial and – ”
“Oh, no, Jeffrey, don’t talk like that! I’d consent to anything to save that girl from a trial – oh, you can’t mean you want her tried!”
“Rather than to see her married to any man but me, I’d – ”
“Wait, Jeff. We mustn’t be selfish. I’m her mother, and much as I’d hate to see her marry Keefe, I’d far prefer it – for her sake, than – ”
“No! a thousand times, no! Why, I won’t give her up! Keefe is a fine man – I’ve nothing against him – but she’s my Maida – my own little sweetheart – ”
“And for that reason – for your own sake – you’re going to claim her?”
“It isn’t only for my own sake” – Jeff spoke more humbly; “but I know – I know how she loves me. To let her marry another would be to do her a grievous wrong – ”
“Not if she wants to – look there!”
Mrs. Wheeler pointed from the window, and they saw Maida walking across the lawn in deep and earnest conversation with Curtis Keefe. He was tall and handsome and the deferential air and courteous attitude all spoke in his favor. Maida was apparently listening with interest to his talk, and they went on slowly toward the old sycamore and sat down on the bench beneath it.
“Our trysting-place!” Jeffrey murmured, his eyes fastened on the pair.
It did not require over-close observation to see that Maida was listening willingly to Keefe. Nor was there room for doubt that he was saying something that pleased her. She was brighter and more cheerful than she had been for days.
“You see,” said Sara Wheeler, sadly. “And he is a worth-while man. Mr. Appleby thought very highly of him.”
“I don’t!” said Allen, briefly, and unable to stand any more, he left the room.
He went straight to the two who were sitting under the big tree, and spoke directly:
“What does this mean, Maida? Your mother tells me you – ”
“Let me answer,” spoke up Keefe, gaily; “it means that Miss Wheeler has promised to marry me. And we ask your congratulations.”
“Are you not aware,” Jeff’s face was white but his voice was controlled and steady, “that Miss Wheeler is my fiancée?”
“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?”
“Of course; but he doesn’t know I know it. Now, see here, Mr. Allen, get this. Mr. Appleby knew it when he came down here. He – this is only my own theory, but I’ll bet it’s the right one – he had discovered it lately; Keefe didn’t know it. My theory is, that he came down here to hold that knowledge as a club over the head of Mr. Wheeler to force him to do his, Appleby’s, bidding in the campaign matters. Well, then – he was killed to prevent the information going any farther.”
“Killed by whom?”
Genevieve shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t say. Any one of the three Wheelers might have done it for that reason.”
“No; you’re wrong. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Wheeler would have. They’d give up the place at once.”
“Your mental reservation speaks for itself! That leaves Maida! Suppose she knew it and the rest didn’t. Suppose, in order to keep the knowledge from her parents – ”
“Don’t go on!” he begged. “I see it – maybe it was so. But – what next?”
“Next – alas, Curt Keefe has fallen a victim to Maida’s smiles. That’s what’s making more trouble than anything else. I’m positive he is arguing that if she will marry him he will keep quiet about his being the heir. Then, her parents can live here in peace for the rest of their lives.”
“I begin to see.”
“I knew you would. Now, knowing this, and being bound to secrecy concerning it, except, as you agreed, if it can serve our ends, where do we go from here?”
Allen looked at her steadily. “Do you expect, Miss Lane, that I will consent to keep this secret from the Wheelers?”
“You’ll have to,” she returned, simply. “Maida knows it, therefore it’s her secret now. If she doesn’t want her parents told – you can’t presume to tell them!”
Allen looked blank. “And you mean, she’d marry Keefe, to keep the secret from her parents?”
“Exactly that; and there’d be no harm in keeping the secret that way, for if Curt Keefe were her husband, it wouldn’t matter whether he was the rightful heir or not, if he didn’t choose to exercise or even make known his rights.”
“I see. And – as to the – ”
“The murder?” Genevieve helped him. “Well, I don’t know. If Maida did it – and I can’t see any way out of that conclusion, Curt will do whatever he can to get her off easily. Perhaps he can divert suspicion elsewhere – you know he made up that bugler man, and has stuck to him – maybe he can get a persons unknown verdict – or maybe, with money and influence, he can hush the whole thing up – and, anyway – Maida would never be convicted. Why, possibly, the threat of Mr. Appleby – if he did threaten – could be called blackmail. Anyhow, if there’s a loophole, Curtis Keefe will find it! He’s as smart as they make ’em. Now, you know the probabilities – almost the inevitabilities, I might say, what are we going to do about it?”
“Something pretty desperate, I can tell you!”
“Fine talk, but what’s the first step?”
“Do you want to know what I think?”
“I sure do.”
“Then, I say, let’s take the whole story to Fleming Stone – and at once.”
CHAPTER XVII
MAIDA AND HER FATHER
Genevieve hesitated. Although she had thought of doing this herself, yet she was not quite sure she wanted to.
But Allen insisted.
“Come with me or not, as you choose,” he said; “but I’m going to tell Stone. A secret like that must be divulged – in the interests of law and justice and – ”
“Justice to whom?” asked Genevieve.
“Why, to all concerned.” Allen stopped to think. “To – to Keefe, for one,” he concluded, a little lamely.
“Yes, and to yourself for two!” Genevieve exclaimed. “You want the secret to come out so Maida won’t marry Curt to keep it quiet! Own up, now.”
Allen couldn’t deny this, but back of it was his instinctive desire for justice all round, and he doggedly stuck to his determination of laying the matter before Fleming Stone.
Genevieve accompanied him, and together they sought Stone in his sitting-room.
Fibsy was there and the two were in deep consultation.
“Come in,” Stone said, as his visitors appeared. “You have something to tell me, I gather from your eager faces.”
“We have,” Allen returned, and he began to tell his story.
“Let me tell it,” Miss Lane interrupted him, impatiently. “You see, Mr. Stone, Mr. Allen is in love with Miss Wheeler, and he can’t help coloring things in her favor.”
“And you’re in love with Mr. Keefe,” Stone said, but without a smile, “and you can’t help coloring things in his favor.”
The girl bridled a little, but was in no way embarrassed at the assertion.
“Take your choice, then,” she said, flippantly. “Who do you want to tell you the secret we’re ready to give away?”
“Both,” Fibsy spoke up. “I’ll bet it’s a worth-while yarn, and we’ll hear both sides – if you please. Ladies first; pipe up, Miss Lane.”
“The actual secret can be quickly told,” the girl said, speaking a little shortly. “The truth is, that Mrs. Wheeler is not the legal heir to this estate of Sycamore Ridge – but, Mr. Keefe is.”
“Curtis Keefe!” Stone exclaimed, and Fibsy gave a sharp, explosive whistle.
“Yes,” said Genevieve, well pleased at the sensation her words had produced.
Not that her hearers made any further demonstration of surprise. Stone fell into a brown study, and Fibsy got up and walked up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, and whistling softly under his breath.
“Well!” the boy said, finally, returning to his chair. “Well, F. Stone, things is changed since gran’ma died! Hey?”
“In many ways!” Stone assented. “You’re sure of this, of course?” he asked Genevieve. “How do you know?”
“Well, I learned it from Mr. Appleby’s papers – ”
“Private papers?”
“Yes, of course. He didn’t have ’em framed and hanging on his wall. You see, Mr. Keefe, being Mr. Appleby’s confidential secretary, had access to all his papers after the old gentleman died.”
“His son?”
“Of course, young Sam is the heir, and owns everything, but he kept Curt on, in the same position, and so, Curt – Mr. Keefe went over all the papers. As stenographer and general assistant, I couldn’t very well help knowing the contents of the papers and so I learned the truth, that Mr. Keefe, who is of another branch of the family, is really the principal heir to the estate that is now in Mrs. Wheeler’s possession. I can’t give you all the actual details, but you can, of course, verify my statements.”
“Of course,” mused Stone. “And Mr. Keefe hasn’t announced this himself – because – ”
“That’s it,” Genevieve nodded assent to his meaning glance. “Because he wants to marry Maida, and if she’ll marry him, he’ll keep quiet about the heirship. Or, rather, in that case, it won’t matter, as the elder Wheelers can live here if it’s the property of their son-in-law. But, if not, then when Mr. Keefe walks in – the Wheeler family must walk out. And where would they go?”
“I can take care of them,” declared Allen. “Maida is my promised wife; if she consents to marry Keefe, it will be under compulsion. For she knew this secret, and she dared not tell her people because it meant poverty and homelessness for them. You know, Mr. Wheeler is incapable of lucrative work, and Mrs. Wheeler, brought up to affluence and comfort, can’t be expected to live in want. But I can take care of them – that is, I could – if they could only live in Boston. My business is there, and we could all live on my earnings if we could live together.”
The boy – for young Allen seemed scarcely more than a boy – was really thinking aloud as he voiced these plans and suggestions. But he shook his head sadly as he realized that Daniel Wheeler couldn’t go to Boston, and that a marriage between Keefe and Maida was the only way to preserve to them their present home.
“Some situation!” remarked Fibsy. “And the secret is no secret really, for if Miss Wheeler doesn’t marry Mr. Keefe, he’ll tell it at once. And if she does, the whole matter doesn’t matter at all! But I think she will, for what else can she do?”
Jeffrey Allen looked angrily at the boy, but Fibsy’s funny little face showed such a serious interest that it was impossible to chide him.
“I think she won’t!” Allen said, “but I’m not sure just yet how I’m going to prevent it.”
“You won’t have to,” said Stone; “Miss Wheeler will prevent it herself – or I miss my guess!” He looked kindly at the young man, but received only a half smile in return.
“If we all do our share in the matter, perhaps we can arrange things,” Genevieve said, speaking very seriously. “I’ve something to say, for I am engaged to Curtis Keefe myself.”
“Does he think you are?” Stone said, rather casually.
Miss Lane had the grace to blush, through her rouge, but she declared: “He doesn’t want to,” and added, “but he ought to. He has made love to me, and he once asked me to marry him. But since then he has said he didn’t mean it. I don’t suppose I’ve enough evidence for a breach of promise suit, but – oh, well,” and she tossed her pretty head, “I’ve not the least doubt that if Miss Wheeler were out of the question – say, safely married to Mr. Allen, I’d have no trouble in whistling my Curtie back.”
“I’ll bet you wouldn’t!” Fibsy looked at her admiringly. “If I were only a few years older – ”
“Hush, Terence,” said Fleming Stone, “don’t talk nonsense.”
Immediately Fibsy’s face became serious and he turned his attention away from the fascinating Genevieve.
“But all this is aside the question of the murderer, Mr. Stone,” said Allen. “How are you progressing with that investigation?”
“Better than I’ve disclosed as yet,” Stone returned, speaking slowly; “recent developments have been helpful, and I hope to be ready soon to give a report.”
“You expect Mr. Appleby down?”
“Yes; to-night or to-morrow. By that time I hope to be ready to make an arrest.”
“Maida!” cried Jeffrey, the word seeming wrung from him against his will.
“Forgive me, if I do not reply,” said Stone, with an earnest glance at the questioner. “But I’d like to talk to Miss Wheeler. Will you go for her, Mr. Allen?”
“I’d – I’d rather not – you see – ”
“Yes, I see,” said Stone, kindly. “You go, Fibs.”
“I’ll go,” offered Genevieve, with the result that she and McGuire flew out of the room at the same time.
“All right, Beauteous One, we’ll both go,” Fibsy said, as they went along the hall side by side. “Where is the lady?”
“Donno; but we’ll find her. I say, Terence, come down on the veranda just a minute, first.”
Leading him to a far corner, where there was no danger of eavesdroppers, Genevieve made another attempt to gain an ally for her own cause.
“I say,” she began, “you have a lot of influence with your Mr. Stone, don’t you?”
“Oh, heaps!” and Fibsy’s sweeping gesture indicated a wide expanse of imagination, at least.
“No fooling; I know you have. Now, you use that influence for me and I’ll do something for you.”
“What’ll you do?”
“I don’t know; nothing particular. But, I mean if, at any time I can help you in any way – I’ve influence, too, with big men in the financial and business world. I haven’t always worked for the Applebys, and wherever I’ve been I’ve made friends that I can count on.”
“Oh, you mean a tip on the stock market or something of that sort?”
“Yes, or a position in a big, worth-while office. You’re not always going to be a detective’s apprentice, are you?”
“You bet I am! Watcha talking about? Me leave F. Stone! Not on your fleeting existence! But, never mind that part of the argument, I’ll remember your offer, and some day, when I have a million dollars to invest, I’ll ask your advice where to lose it. But, now, you tell me what you want.”
“Only for you to hint to Mr. Stone that he’d better advise Miss Wheeler not to marry Mr. Keefe.”
“So’s you can have him.”
“Never mind that. There are other reasons – truly there are.”
“Well, then, my orders are to advise F. Stone to advise M. Wheeler not to wed one C. Keefe.”
“That’s just it. But don’t say it right out to him. Use tact, which I know you have – though nobody’d guess it to look at you – and sort of argue around, so he’ll see it’s wiser for her not to marry him – ”
“Why?”
Miss Lane stamped her foot impatiently. “I’m not saying why. That’s enough for me to know. You’ll get along better not knowing.”
“Does he know she’s the – the – ”
“I don’t wonder you can’t say it! I can’t, either. Yes, he knows she’s – it – but he’s so crazy about her, he doesn’t care. What is there in that girl that gets all the men!”
“It’s her sweetness,” said Fibsy, with a positive nod of his head, as if he were simply stating an axiom. “Yep, Keefe is clean gone daffy over her. I don’t blame him – though, of course my taste runs more to – ”
“Don’t you dare!” cried Genevieve, coquettishly.
“To the rouged type,” Fibsy went on, placidly. “To my mind a complexion dabbed on is far more attractive than nature’s tints.”
Miss Lane burst into laughter and, far from offended, she said:
“You’re a darling boy, and I’ll never forget you – even in my will; now, to come back to our dear old brass tacks. Will you tip a gentle hint to the great Stone?”
“Oh, lord, yes – I’ll tip him a dozen – tactfully, too. Don’t worry as to my discretion. But I don’t mind telling you I might as well tip the Washington monument. You see, F. S. has made up his mind.”
“As to the murderer?”
“Yep.”
“Who is it?”
“Haven’t an idea – and if I had, I’d say I hadn’t. You see, I’m his trusty.”
“Oh, well, in any case, you can put in a word against Mr. Keefe, can’t you?”
But Genevieve had lost interest in her project. She realized if Mr. Stone had accomplished his purpose and had solved the murder mystery he would be apt to take small interest in the love affairs of herself or Maida Wheeler, either.
“He won’t think much of his cherished trusty, if you don’t do the errand he sent you on,” she said, rather crossly.
Fibsy gave her a reproachful glance. “This, from you!” he said, dramatically. “Farewell, fair but false! I go to seek a fairer maiden, and I know where to find her!”
He went flying across the lawn, for he had caught a glimpse of Maida in the garden.
“Miss Wheeler,” he said, as he reached her, “will you please come now to see Mr. Stone? He wants you.”
“Certainly,” she replied, and turning, followed him.
Genevieve joined them, and the three went to Stone’s rooms.
“Miss Wheeler,” the detective said, without preamble, “I want you to tell me a few things, please. You’ll excuse me if my questions seem rather pointed, also, if they seem to be queries already answered. Did you kill Mr. Appleby?”
“Yes,” said Maida, speaking wearily, as if tired of making the assertion.
“You know no one believes that statement?”