None of her family was allowed to be present, and the four men filed into the room with various expressions of face. The two detectives were stolid-looking, but eagerly determined to do their work, while Allen and Keefe were alertly interested in finding out some way to be of help to Mrs. Wheeler. She received the men quietly, even graciously, sensing what they had come for. “To start with, Mrs. Wheeler,” said Burdon, frankly but not unkindly, “who do you think killed Mr. Appleby?” “Oh—I don’t know—I don’t know,” she wailed, losing her calm and becoming greatly agitated. “Where were you when the shot was fired?” asked Hallen. “I don’t know—I didn’t hear it——” “Then you were up in your own room?” “I suppose so—I don’t know.” “You were up there when the fire broke out?” “Yes—I think I was——” “But you must know, Mrs. Wheeler—that is, you must know where you were when you first heard of the fire——” “Yes, yes; I was up in my bedroom.” “And who told you of the fire?” “My maid—Rachel.” “And then what did you do?” “I—I—I don’t remember.” “You ran downstairs, didn’t you?” “I don’t remember——” “Yes, you did!” Burdon took up the reins. “You ran downstairs, and just as you got down to the den you saw—you saw your husband shoot Mr. Appleby!” His harsh manner, as he intended, frightened the nervous woman, and reduced her to the verge of collapse. But after a gasping moment, she recovered herself, and cried out: “I did not! I shot Mr. Appleby myself. That’s why I’m so agitated.” “I knew it!” exclaimed Burdon. “Mr. Wheeler’s confession was merely to save his wife. Now, Mrs. Wheeler, I believe your story, and I want all the particulars. First, why did you kill him?” “Be—because he was my husband’s enemy—and I had stood it as long as I could.” “H’m. And what did you do with the weapon you used?” “I threw it out of the window.” “And it dropped on the lawn?” “Not dropped; I threw it far out—as far as I could.” “Oh, I see. Out of which window?” “Why—why, the one in the den—the bay window.” “But your daughter—Miss Maida—was sitting in the bay window.” “No, she was not,” Mrs. Wheeler spoke emphatically now. “She was not in the room at all. She had gone to the fire.” “Oh, is that so? And then—what happened next?” “Why—nothing. I—I ran upstairs again.” “Appalled at what you had done?” “Not appalled—so much as—as——” “Unnerved?” “Yes; unnerved. I fell on my bed, and Rachel looked after me.” “Ah, yes; we will interview Rachel, and so save you further harrowing details. Come on, men, let’s strike while these irons are hot.” The four filed from the room, and Burdon spoke in a low tone, but excitedly: “Come quickly! There goes Miss Maida across the lawn. We will take her next. The maid, Rachel, can wait.”