“Please do; your attitude proves you are concealing important information. I am more than ever sure you are not the guilty one—and I am not at all sure that it was either of the other two.”
“Then who could it have been?” and Sara Wheeler looked amazed.
“That we don’t know. If I had a hint of any direction to look I’d be glad. But if you will shed what light you can, it may be of great help.”
“Even if it seems to incriminate my——”
“What can incriminate them more than their own confessions?”
“Their confessions contradict each other. They can’t both be guilty.”
“And you don’t know which one is?”
“N—no,” came the faltering reply.
“But that admission contradicts your own confession. Come now, Mrs. Wheeler, own up to me that you didn’t do it, and I’ll not tell any one else, unless it becomes necessary.”
“I will tell you, for I can’t bear this burden alone any longer! I did go downstairs because of the alarm of fire, Mr. Stone. Just before I came to the open door of the den, I heard a shot, and as I passed the door of the den, I saw Mr. Appleby, fallen slightly forward in his chair, my husband standing at a little distance looking at him, and Maida in the bay window, also staring at them both.”