“Possibly; if we can find any hint of the bugler’s identity. Mr. Keefe says, find the bugler and you’ve found the murderer.”
“I know he does, but Keefe is—as I am—very anxious to direct suspicion away from the Wheeler family. You see, Mr. Keefe is in love with my daughter——”
“As who isn’t? All the young men fall down before her charms!”
“It is so. Although she is engaged to Mr. Allen, both Mr. Keefe and Mr. Sam Appleby are hopeful of yet winning her regard. To me it is not surprising, for I think Maida the very flower of lovely girlhood, but I also think those men should recognize Jeffrey Allen’s rights and cease paying Maida such definite attentions.”
“It is hard to repress an ardent admirer,” Stone admitted, “and as you say, that is probably Keefe’s intent in insisting on the finding of the bugler. You do not, then, believe in your old legend?”
“I do and I don’t. My mind has a tendency to revere and love the old traditions of my family, but when it comes to real belief I can’t say I am willing to stand by them. Yet where else can we look for a criminal—other than my own people?”
“Please tell me just what you saw when you looked into the den immediately after you heard the shot. You must realize how important this testimony is.”
“I do,” was the solemn reply. “I saw, as I told you, both my husband and my daughter looking at Mr. Appleby as he sat in his chair. I did not know then that he was dead, but he must have been dead or dying. The doctors said the death was practically instantaneous.”
“And from their attitude or their facial expression could you assume either your husband or daughter to have been the guilty one?”
“I can only say they both looked stunned and horrified. Just as one would expect them to look on the occasion of witnessing a horrible tragedy.”