“Don’t talk about incapable of anything!” said Burdon. “Most murderers are people whom their friends consider ‘incapable of such a deed.’ A man who is generally adjudged ‘capable’ of it is not found in polite society.” “Where’s the weapon,” asked Keefe, abruptly, “if Mr. Wheeler did it?” “Where’s the weapon, whoever did it?” countered Burdon. “The weapon hasn’t been found, though I’ve hunted hard. But that helps to prove it one of the family, for they would know where to hide a revolver securely.” “If it was Mr. Wheeler, he’d have to hide it in the den,” said Allen. “He never goes over to the other side of the house, you know.” “It isn’t in the den,” Hallen spoke positively; “I hunted that myself.” “You seem sure of your statement,” said Keefe. “Couldn’t you have overlooked it?” “Positively not.” “No, he couldn’t,” concurred Burdon. “Hallen’s a wonderful hunter. If that revolver had been hidden in the den, he’d have found it. That’s why I think it was Mrs. Wheeler, and she took it back to her own rooms.” “Oh, not Mrs. Wheeler!” groaned Jeff Allen. “That dear, sweet woman couldn’t——” “Incapable of murder, I s’pose!” ironically said Burdon. “Let me tell you, sir, many a time a dear, sweet woman has done extraordinary things for the sake of her husband or children.” “But what motive would Mrs. Wheeler have?” “The same as the others. Appleby was a thorn in their flesh, an enemy of many years’ standing. And I’ve heard hints of another reason for the family’s hating him, besides that conditional pardon business. But no matter about that now. What I want is evidence against somebody—against one of three suspects. Until I get some definite evidence I can’t tell which of the three is most likely the one.” “Seems to me the fact that Mrs. Wheeler ran downstairs and back again is enough to indicate some pretty close questioning of her,” suggested Hallen. “Oh, please,” begged Allen, “she’s _so_ upset and distracted——” “Of course she is. But that’s the reason we must ask her about it now. When she gets calmed down, and gets a fine yarn concocted, there’ll be small use asking her anything!” “I’d tackle the old man first,” said Hallen; “I think, on general principles, he’s the one to make inquiries of before you go to the ladies. Let’s go to him now.” “No;” proposed Burdon, “let’s send for him to come here. This is away from the house, and we can talk more freely.” “I’ll go for him,” offered Allen, seeing they were determined to carry out their plan. “Not much!” said Burdon. “You’re just aching to put a flea in his ear! You go for him, Hallen.” The detective went to the house, and returned with Daniel Wheeler at his side. The suspected man stood straight and held himself fearlessly. Not an old man, he was grayed with care and trouble, but this morning he seemed strong and alert as any of them. “Put your questions,” he said, briefly, as he seated himself on one of the many seats beneath the old sycamore.