“What sort of excitement?”
“I heard people shouting, and I heard men running. I was just about to go out toward the north veranda, where the sounds came from, when I—— I can’t go on!” and Maida broke down and wept.
“You must tell your story—maybe it’d be easier now than later. Can’t you go on, Miss Wheeler?”
“There’s little to tell. I saw Mr. Appleby fall over sideways——”
“Didn’t you hear the shot?”
“No—yes—I don’t know.” Maida looked at her father, as if to gain help from his expression, but his face showed only agonized concern for her.
“Dear child,” he said, “tell the truth. Tell just what you saw—or heard.”
“I didn’t hear anything—I mean the noise from the people running to the fire so distracted my attention, I heard no shot or any sound in the room. I just saw Mr. Appleby fall over——”
“You’re not giving us a straight story, Miss Wheeler,” said the detective, bluntly. “Seems to me you’d better begin all over.”
“Seems to me you’d better cease questioning Miss Wheeler,” said Curtis Keefe, looking sympathetically at Maida; “she’s just about all in, and I think she’s entitled to some consideration.”