“Maybe he ain’t so fictitious after all,” and the red-head shook doggedly.
A tap at the door of Stone’s sitting-room was followed by a “May I come in?” and the entrance of Daniel Wheeler.
“The time has come, Mr. Wheeler,” Stone began a little abruptly, “to put all our cards on the table. I’ve investigated things pretty thoroughly, and, though I’m not all through with my quest, I feel as if I must know the truth as to what you know about the murder.”
“I have confessed,” Wheeler began, but Stone stopped him.
“That won’t do,” he said, very seriously. “I’ve proved positively that from where you stood, you could not have fired the shot. It came from the opposite direction. Now it’s useless for you to keep up that pretence of being the criminal, which, I’ve no doubt, you’re doing to shield your daughter. Confide in me, Mr. Wheeler, it will not harm the case.”
“God help me, I must confide in somebody,” cried the desperate man. “She did do it! I saw Maida fire the shot! Oh, can you save her? I wouldn’t tell you this, but I think—I hope you can help better if you know. You’d find it out anyway——”
“Of course I should. Now, let us be strictly truthful. You saw Miss Maida fire the pistol?”
“Yes; I was sitting almost beside Appleby; he was nearer Maida than I was, and she sat in the bay window, reading. She sits there much of the time, and I’m so accustomed to her presence that I don’t even think about it. We were talking pretty angrily, Appleby and I, really renewing the old feud, and adding fuel to its flame with every word. I suppose Maida, listening, grew more and more indignant at his injustice and cruelty to me—those terms are not too strong!—and she being of an impulsive nature, even revengeful when her love for me is touched, and I suppose she, somehow, possessed herself of my pistol and fired it.”
“You were not looking at her before the shot?”
“Oh, no; the shot rang out, Appleby fell forward, and even as I rose to go to his aid, I instinctively turned toward the direction from which the sound of the shot had come. There I saw Maida, standing white-faced and frightened, but with a look of satisfied revenge on her dear face. I felt no resentment at her act, then—indeed, I was incapable of coherent thought of any sort. I stepped to Appleby’s side, and I saw at once that he was dead—had died instantly. I cannot tell you just what happened next. It seemed ages before anybody came, and then, suddenly the room was full of people. Allen and Keefe came, running—the servants gathered about, my wife appeared, and Maida was there. I had a strange undercurrent of thought that kept hammering at my brain to the effect that I must convince everybody that I did it, to save my girl. I was clear-headed to the extent of planning my words in an effort to carry conviction of my guilt, but that effort so absorbed my attention that I gave no heed to what happened otherwise.”