The three Wheelers went to their room, and Genevieve Lane went off with them, leaving Allen and Keefe, with Sam Appleby, to face the two detectives’ fire of questions. “You vamoose, too, Sam,” Keefe advised. “There’s no use in your staying here and listening to harrowing details. Mr. Allen and I will have a talk with the detectives, and you can talk to-morrow morning, if you wish.” “All right,” and Appleby rose. “But, look here, Keefe. I loved and respected my father, and I revere his memory—and, yes, I want justice done—of course, but, all the same, if Wheeler shot dad, I don’t want that poor old chap prosecuted. You know, I never fully sympathized with father’s treatment of him, and I’d like to make amends to Wheeler by giving him the benefit of the doubt—if it can be done.” “It can’t be done!” declared Burdon, unwilling to agree to this heresy. “The law can’t be set aside by personal sympathy, Mr. Appleby!” “Well, I only said, if it can be,” and the man wearily turned and left the room. “Now, then,” said Keefe, “let’s talk this thing out. I know your position, Allen, and I’m sorry for you. And I want to say, right now, if I can help in any way, I will. I like the Wheelers, and I must say I subscribe to the ideas of Sam Appleby. But all that’s up to the detectives. I’ve got to go away to-morrow, so I’m going to ask you, Mr. Burdon, to get through with me to-night. I’ve lots to do at the other end of the route, and I must get busy. But I do want to help here, too. So, at any rate, fire your questions at me—that is, if you know what you want to ask.” “I’ll ask one, right off, Mr. Keefe,” and Hallen spoke mildly but straightforwardly. “Can you give me any fact or suggest to me any theory that points toward any one but Mr. Daniel Wheeler as the murderer of Samuel Appleby?” Curtis Keefe was dismayed. What could he reply to this very definite question? A negative answer implicated Wheeler at once—while a “yes,” would necessitate the disclosure of another suspect. And Keefe was not blind to the fact that Hallen’s eyes had strayed more than once toward Maida Wheeler with a curious glance. Quickly making up his mind, Keefe returned: “No fact, but a theory based on my disbelief in Mr. Wheeler’s guilt, and implying the intrusion of some murderous-minded person.” “Meaning some marauder?” Hallen looked disdainful. “Some intruder,” Keefe said. “I don’t know who, or for what reason, but I don’t think it fair to accuse Mr. Wheeler without investigating every possible alternative.” “There are several alternatives,” Burdon declared; “I may as well say right out, that I’ve no more definite suspicion of Mr. Wheeler than I have of Mrs. Wheeler or Miss Wheeler.” “What!” and Jeffrey Allen looked almost murderous himself.