“You know no one believes that statement?” “I can’t help that, Mr. Stone,” she said, with a listless manner. “That is, no one but one person—your father. He believes it.” “Father!” exclaimed the girl in evident amazement. “Yes; he believes you for the best of all possible reasons: He saw you shoot.” “What, Mr. Stone? My father! Saw me shoot Mr. Appleby!” “Yes; he says so. That is not strange, when, as you say, you fired the pistol from where you stood in the bay window, and Mr. Wheeler stood by or near the victim.” “But—I don’t understand. You say, father says he _saw_ me?” “Yes, he told me that.” Maida was silent, but she was evidently thinking deeply and rapidly. “This is a trap of some sort, Mr. Stone,” she said at last. “My father didn’t see me shoot—he couldn’t have seen me, and consequently he couldn’t say he did! He wouldn’t lie about it!” “But he said, at one time, that he did the shooting himself. Was not that an untruth?” “Of a quite different sort. He said that in a justifiable effort to save me. But this other matter—for him to say he saw me shoot—when he didn’t—he couldn’t——” “Why couldn’t he, Miss Wheeler? Why was it so impossible for your father to see you commit that crime, when he was right there?” “Because—because—oh, Mr. Stone, I don’t know what to say! I feel sure I mustn’t say anything, or I shall regret it.” “Would you like your father to come here and tell us about it?” “No;—or, yes. Oh, I don’t know. Jeffrey, help me!” Allen had sat silently brooding all through this conversation. He had not looked at Maida, keeping his gaze turned out of the window. He was sorely hurt at her attitude in the Keefe matter; he was puzzled at her speech regarding her father; and he was utterly uncertain as to his own duty or privilege in the whole affair. But at her appeal, he turned joyfully toward her. “Oh, Maida,” he cried, “let me help you. Do get your father here, now, and settle this question. Then, we’ll see what next.” “Call him, then,” said Maida, but she turned very white, and paid no further attention to Allen. She was still lost in thought, when her father arrived and joined the group. “You said, Mr. Wheeler,” Stone began at once, “that you saw your daughter fire the shot that killed Mr. Appleby?” “I did say that,” Daniel Wheeler replied, “because it is true. And because I am convinced that the truth will help us all better than any further endeavor to prove a falsehood. I did see you, Maida darling, and I tried very hard to take the blame myself. But it has been proved to me by Mr. Stone that my pretence is useless, and so I’ve concluded that the fact must come out, in hope of a better result than from concealment. Do not fear, my darling, no harm shall come to you.” “And you said you did it, father, and mother said she did it.” “Yes, of course, I told your mother the truth, and we plotted—yes, plotted for each of us to confess to the deed, in a wild hope of somehow saving our little girl.”