And so, beneath the historic tree, the three men sat down for a serious talk. Hallen soon joined them, but he said little.
“I’m leaving myself, soon after noon,” said Keefe. “I’ll be back in a day or two, but there are matters of importance connected with Mr. Appleby’s estate that must be looked after.”
“I should think there must be!” exclaimed Burdon. “I don’t see how you can leave to come back very soon.”
Keefe reddened slightly, for the real reason for his intended return was centred in Maida Wheeler’s charm, to which he had incontinently succumbed. He knew Allen was her suitor, but his nature was such that he believed in his own powers of persuasion to induce the girl to transfer her affections to his more desirable self.
But he only looked thoughtfully at Burdon and said: “There are matters here, also, that require attention in Mr. Appleby’s interests.”
“Well,” Burdon went on, “as to the murder, there’s no doubt that it was the work of one of the three Wheelers. Nobody else had any reason to wish old Appleby out of the world.”
“You forget me,” said Allen, in a tense voice. “My interests are one with the Wheelers. If they had such a motive as you ascribe to them—I had the same.”
“Don’t waste time in such talk,” said Curt Keefe. “I saw you, Allen, at the fire during the whole time that covered the opportunity for the murder.”
“Of course,” agreed Burdon, “I’ve looked into all that. And so, as I say, it must have been one member of the Wheeler family, for there’s no one else to suspect.”
“Including Mrs. Wheeler,” quietly put in Hallen.