“No longer that,” said Keefe, solemnly, “he died this afternoon.” “And signed this just before he died?” “Yes, Mr. Wheeler. In the hospital. The witnesses, as you see, are the nurses there.” The paper merely stated that the undersigned was the slayer of Samuel Appleby. That the deed was committed in order to free Daniel Wheeler from wicked and unjust molestation and tyranny. The signature, though faintly scrawled, was perfectly legible and duly witnessed. “He was an old servant of mine,” Wheeler said, thoughtfully, “and very devoted to us all. He always resented Appleby’s attitude toward me—for Mills was my butler when the trouble occurred, and knew all about it. He has been an invalid for a year, but has been very ill only recently.” “Since the shooting, in fact,” said Keefe, significantly. “It must have been a hard task for one so weak,” Wheeler said, “but the old fellow was a true friend to me all his life. Tell us more of the circumstances, Mr. Keefe.” “I did it all by thinking,” said Keefe, his manner not at all superior, nor did he look toward Fleming Stone, who was listening attentively. “I felt sure there was some man from outside. And I thought first of some enemy of Mr. Appleby’s. But later, I thought it might have been some enemy of Mr. Wheeler’s and the shot was possibly meant for him.” Wheeler nodded at this. “I thought that, too,” he observed. “Well, then later, I began to think maybe it was some friend—not an enemy. A friend, of course, of Mr. Wheeler’s. On this principle I searched for a suspect. I inquired among the servants, being careful to arouse no suspicion of my real intent. At last, I found this old Mills had always been devoted to the whole family here. More than devoted, indeed. He revered Mr. Wheeler and he fairly worshipped the ladies. He has been ill a long time of a slow and incurable malady, and quite lately was taken to the hospital. When I reached him I saw the poor chap had but a very short time to live.” “And you suspected him of crime with no more evidence than that?” Fleming Stone asked. “I daresay it was a sort of intuition, Mr. Stone,” Keefe returned, smiling a little at the detective. “Oh, I don’t wonder you feel rather miffed to have your thunder stolen by a mere business man—and I fear it’s unprofessional for me to put the thing through without consulting you, but I felt the case required careful handling—somewhat psychological handling, indeed——” “Very much so,” Stone nodded. “And so,” Keefe was a little disconcerted by the detective’s demeanor, but others set it down to a very natural chagrin on Stone’s part. Fibsy sat back in his chair, his bright eyes narrowed to mere slits and darting from the face of Keefe to that of Stone continually. “And so,” Keefe went on, “I inquired from the servants and also, cautiously from the members of the family, and I learned that this Mills was of a fiery, even revengeful, nature——” “He was,” Mr. Wheeler nodded, emphatically.