“Well, no, they don’t mark firearms in real life, as they do in story-books. But to find the weapon gives a lot of evidence as to where it was fired from, and what was done with it afterward, and to whom it belongs. Not that the owner is always the murderer. More often the reverse is true. But the weapon we want and want pretty badly. By the way, I’m told that young Appleby is out of the running for governor now that his father isn’t here to help him through.” “More, I take it, because of his grief for his father’s untimely end.” “Be that as it may, he’ll withdraw his name from the candidates.” “Who told you?” “I heard Mr. Keefe telling Miss Lane.” “You hear a lot, Burdon.” “I do, Mr. Allen. It’s my business to do so. Now, here’s another thing. About that garage fire.” “Well, what about it?” “It was a mighty mysterious fire, that’s all. Nobody knows how it started, or where.” “They must know where!” “Not exactly. It seemed to start in the vicinity of Mr. Appleby’s own car. But there was nothing inflammable around that part of the garage.” “Well, what does that prove or indicate? Anything prejudicial to the Wheelers?” “Not so far as I can see. Only it’s queer, that’s all.” “Perhaps Mr. Appleby kept tobacco and matches in his car.” “Perhaps so. Anyway, that’s where the fire originated, and also about where it stopped. They soon put it out.” “Glad they did. I can’t see that the fire has any bearing whatever on the murder.” “Neither can I, Mr. Allen. But Hallen, now, he thinks it has.” “Just how?” “I can’t say. Hallen doesn’t know himself. But he says there’s a connection.” “There may be. But unless it’s a connection that will free the Wheelers from suspicion, it doesn’t interest me.” Allen left the detective, who made no effort to detain him, and went to the den for a talk with Mr. Wheeler. But that gentleman, locked in the room, declared through the closed door that he would see nobody. “Sorry, Jeff,” he said, in a kindly tone, “but you must excuse me at present. Give me the day to myself. I’ll see you late this afternoon.” As it was already noon, Allen made no further attempt at an interview and went in search of Mrs. Wheeler. It seemed to him he must talk to some of the family, and he hadn’t the heart to disturb Maida, who might be resting. Mrs. Wheeler’s maid said that her mistress would see him in a few minutes. And it was only a few minutes later that the lady came downstairs and greeted Allen, who awaited her in the living-room. “What are we going to do?” she exclaimed to him. “Do help us, Jeff. Did I do right?” “In lying to save some one you love? Yes, I suppose so.” But Sara Wheeler had very acute hearing. Even as they spoke, she heard a slight movement on the porch outside, and realized at once that a detective was listening to her every word. Allen couldn’t be sure whether this changed her mental attitude or whether she continued as she had meant to when she began.