CHAPTER XVII MAIDA AND HER FATHER Genevieve hesitated. Although she had thought of doing this herself, yet she was not quite sure she wanted to. But Allen insisted. “Come with me or not, as you choose,” he said; “but I’m going to tell Stone. A secret like that must be divulged—in the interests of law and justice and——” “Justice to whom?” asked Genevieve. “Why, to all concerned.” Allen stopped to think. “To—to Keefe, for one,” he concluded, a little lamely. “Yes, and to yourself for two!” Genevieve exclaimed. “You want the secret to come out so Maida won’t marry Curt to keep it quiet! Own up, now.” Allen couldn’t deny this, but back of it was his instinctive desire for justice all round, and he doggedly stuck to his determination of laying the matter before Fleming Stone. Genevieve accompanied him, and together they sought Stone in his sitting-room. Fibsy was there and the two were in deep consultation. “Come in,” Stone said, as his visitors appeared. “You have something to tell me, I gather from your eager faces.” “We have,” Allen returned, and he began to tell his story. “Let me tell it,” Miss Lane interrupted him, impatiently. “You see, Mr. Stone, Mr. Allen is in love with Miss Wheeler, and he can’t help coloring things in her favor.” “And you’re in love with Mr. Keefe,” Stone said, but without a smile, “and you can’t help coloring things in his favor.” The girl bridled a little, but was in no way embarrassed at the assertion. “Take your choice, then,” she said, flippantly. “Who do you want to tell you the secret we’re ready to give away?” “Both,” Fibsy spoke up. “I’ll bet it’s a worth-while yarn, and we’ll hear both sides—if you please. Ladies first; pipe up, Miss Lane.” “The actual secret can be quickly told,” the girl said, speaking a little shortly. “The truth is, that Mrs. Wheeler is not the legal heir to this estate of Sycamore Ridge—but, Mr. Keefe is.” “Curtis Keefe!” Stone exclaimed, and Fibsy gave a sharp, explosive whistle. “Yes,” said Genevieve, well pleased at the sensation her words had produced. Not that her hearers made any further demonstration of surprise. Stone fell into a brown study, and Fibsy got up and walked up and down the room, his hands in his pockets, and whistling softly under his breath. “Well!” the boy said, finally, returning to his chair. “Well, F. Stone, things is changed since gran’ma died! Hey?” “In many ways!” Stone assented. “You’re sure of this, of course?” he asked Genevieve. “How do you know?” “Well, I learned it from Mr. Appleby’s papers——” “Private papers?” “Yes, of course. He didn’t have ’em framed and hanging on his wall. You see, Mr. Keefe, being Mr. Appleby’s confidential secretary, had access to all his papers after the old gentleman died.” “His son?”