“Dunno, I’m sure! Do you want me to tell you the secret, and then try to get my own reward by my own efforts?”
“Oh, I don’t know what I want! I’m nearly distracted. But”—he pulled himself together—“I’m on the job! And I’m going to accomplish something—a lot! Now, I’m not going to dicker with you. Size it up for yourself. Don’t you believe that if you told me that secret—confidentially—except as it can be used in the furtherance of right and happiness for all concerned—don’t you believe that I might use it in a way that would incidentally result in a better adjustment of the present Keefe-Wheeler combination?” He nodded toward the two under the sycamore.
“Maybe,” Genevieve said, slowly and thoughtfully, “I thought of telling Mr. Stone—but——”
“Tell me first, and let me advise you.”
“I will; I have confidence in you, Mr. Allen, and, too, it may be a good thing to keep the secret in the family. The truth is, then, that Mrs. Wheeler is not legally the heir to this estate.”
“She is, if she lives in Massachusetts, and the house is so built——”
“Oh, fiddlesticks! I don’t mean that part of it. The estate is left with the proviso that the inheritor shall live in Massachusetts—but, what I mean is, that it isn’t left to Mrs. Wheeler at all. She thought it was, of course—but there is another heir.”
“Is there? I’ve often heard them speak of such a possibility but they never could find a trace of one.”
“I know it, and they’re so honest that if they knew of one they’d put up no fight. I mean if they knew there is a real heir, and that Sara Wheeler is not the right inheritor.”
“Who is?”