Meantime Curtis Keefe was having a serious talk with Maida.
His attitude was kindly and deferential, but he spoke with a determined air as he said:
“Miss Wheeler, you know, I am sure, how much I want to help you, and how glad I will be if I can do so. But, first of all I must ask you a question. What did Mr. Appleby mean when he said to you something about Keefe and the airship?”
Maida looked at him with a troubled glance. For a minute she did not speak, then she said, calmly: “I am not at liberty to tell you what we were talking about then, Mr. Keefe, but don’t you remember Mr. Appleby said that you were not the Keefe referred to?”
“I know he said that, but—I don’t believe it.”
“I am not responsible for your disbelief,” she drew herself up with a dignified air. “And I must ask you not to refer to that matter again.”
“Don’t take that attitude,” he begged. “At least tell me what Keefe he did mean. There can be no breach of confidence in that.”
“Why do you want to know?”
“Because I know Mr. Appleby had a big airship project under consideration. Because I know he contemplated letting me in on the deal, and it was a most profitable deal. Had he lived, I should have asked him about it, but since he is dead, I admit I want to know anything you can tell me of the matter.”
Involuntarily Maida smiled a little, and the lovely face, usually so sad, seemed more beautiful than ever to the man who looked at her.