“Oh, that’s his idea? And a mighty good one. I’ll help all I can. Of course, the thing to do is to trace the pistol.”
“Oh, it was Mr. Wheeler’s pistol, all right.”
“It was!” Keefe looked dismayed. “Then how can we suspect an outsider?”
“Well, he could have stolen Mr. Wheeler’s pistol for the purpose of casting suspicion on him.”
“Yes; that’s so. Now to find that Rachel.”
“Oh, do find her,” Maida cried, overhearing the remark as she and Genevieve crossed the lawn toward Keefe and Fibsy.
The lad had not yet seen Miss Lane and he frankly admired her at once. Perhaps a sympathetic chord was struck by the similarity of their natures. Perhaps they intuitively recognized each other’s gay impudence, for they engaged in a clash of words that immediately made them friends.
“Maybe Rachel’d come back if she knew you were here,” he said. “I’m sure she’d admire to wait on such a pretty lady.”
“Just tell her that you saw me,” Genevieve said, “and I’ll be glad to have her back. She’s a first-class ladies’ maid.”
“Oh, then she only waits on first-class ladies?”