“Of course; but he doesn’t know I know it. Now, see here, Mr. Allen, get this. Mr. Appleby knew it when he came down here. He—this is only my own theory, but I’ll bet it’s the right one—he had discovered it lately; Keefe didn’t know it. My theory is, that he came down here to hold that knowledge as a club over the head of Mr. Wheeler to force him to do his, Appleby’s, bidding in the campaign matters. Well, then—he was killed to prevent the information going any farther.” “Killed by whom?” Genevieve shrugged her shoulders. “I can’t say. Any one of the three Wheelers might have done it for that reason.” “No; you’re wrong. Neither Mr. nor Mrs. Wheeler would have. They’d give up the place at once.” “Your mental reservation speaks for itself! That leaves Maida! Suppose she knew it and the rest didn’t. Suppose, in order to keep the knowledge from her parents——” “Don’t go on!” he begged. “I see it—maybe it was so. But—what next?” “Next—alas, Curt Keefe has fallen a victim to Maida’s smiles. That’s what’s making more trouble than anything else. I’m positive he is arguing that if she will marry him he will keep quiet about his being the heir. Then, her parents can live here in peace for the rest of their lives.” “I begin to see.” “I knew you would. Now, knowing this, and being bound to secrecy concerning it, except, as you agreed, if it can serve our ends, where do we go from here?” Allen looked at her steadily. “Do you expect, Miss Lane, that I will consent to keep this secret from the Wheelers?” “You’ll have to,” she returned, simply. “Maida knows it, therefore it’s her secret now. If she doesn’t want her parents told—you can’t presume to tell them!” Allen looked blank. “And you mean, she’d marry Keefe, to keep the secret from her parents?” “Exactly that; and there’d be no harm in keeping the secret that way, for if Curt Keefe were her husband, it wouldn’t matter whether he was the rightful heir or not, if he didn’t choose to exercise or even make known his rights.” “I see. And—as to the——” “The murder?” Genevieve helped him. “Well, I don’t know. If Maida did it—and I can’t see any way out of that conclusion, Curt will do whatever he can to get her off easily. Perhaps he can divert suspicion elsewhere—you know he made up that bugler man, and has stuck to him—maybe he can get a persons unknown verdict—or maybe, with money and influence, he can hush the whole thing up—and, anyway—Maida would never be convicted. Why, possibly, the threat of Mr. Appleby—if he did threaten—could be called blackmail. Anyhow, if there’s a loophole, Curtis Keefe will find it! He’s as smart as they make ’em. Now, you know the probabilities—almost the inevitabilities, I might say, what are we going to do about it?” “Something pretty desperate, I can tell you!” “Fine talk, but what’s the first step?” “Do you want to know what I think?” “I sure do.” “Then, I say, let’s take the whole story to Fleming Stone—and at once.”