“You’re two loyal friends of the Wheeler family,” said Hallen in his quiet way, “but you can’t put anything over. There’s no way out. I know all about the governor’s pardon and all that. I know the feud between the two men was beyond all hope of patching up. And I know that to-night had brought about a climax that had to result in tragedy. If Wheeler hadn’t killed Appleby—Appleby would have killed Wheeler.”
“Self-defence?” asked Allen.
“No, sir, not that. But one or the other had to be out of the running. I know the whole story, and I know what men will do in a political crisis that they wouldn’t dream of at any other time. Wheeler’s the guilty party—unless—well, unless that daughter of his——”
“Hush!” cried Allen. “I won’t stand for it!”
“I only meant that the girl’s great love and loyalty to her father might have made her lose her head——”
“No; she didn’t do it,” said Allen, more quietly. “Oh, I say, man, let’s try to find this intruder that Mr. Keefe has——”
“Has invented!” put in Burdon. “No, gentlemen, they ain’t no such animile! Now, you tell me over again, while I take it down, just what you two saw when you came to the door of that den, as they call it.”
And so Allen and Keefe reluctantly, but truthfully, again detailed the scene that met their eyes as they returned from the fire they had put out.
“The case is only too plain,” declared Burdon, as he snapped a rubber band over his notebook. “Sorry, gentlemen, but your story leaves no loophole for any other suspect than one of the three Wheelers. Good-night.”