“Not much!” said Burdon. “You’re just aching to put a flea in his ear! You go for him, Hallen.”
The detective went to the house, and returned with Daniel Wheeler at his side.
The suspected man stood straight and held himself fearlessly. Not an old man, he was grayed with care and trouble, but this morning he seemed strong and alert as any of them.
“Put your questions,” he said, briefly, as he seated himself on one of the many seats beneath the old sycamore.
“First of all, who do you think killed Samuel Appleby?”
This question was shot at him by Burdon, and all waited in silence for the answer.
“I killed him myself,” was the straightforward reply.
“That settles it,” said Hallen, “it was one of the women.”
“What do you mean by that?” cried Wheeler, turning quickly toward the speaker.
“I mean, that either your wife or daughter did the deed, and you are taking the crime on yourself to save her.”