“I know all that—but then—he might have slipped away, and in the excitement you didn’t notice——” “Not a chance! No, take my word for it, the three Wheelers are the exclusive suspects—unless we can work in that bugler individual.” “It’s too many for me,” Burdon sighed. “And Hallen, he’s at his wit’s end. But you’re clever at such things, sir, and Mr. Appleby, he’s going to get a big detective from the city.” “You don’t seem to mind being discarded!” “No, sir. If anybody’s to fasten a crime on one of those Wheelers, I don’t want to be the one to do it.” “Look here, Burdon, how about Wheeler’s doing it in self-defence? I know a lot about those two men, and Appleby was just as much interested in getting Wheeler out of his way as _vice versa_. If Appleby attacked and Wheeler defended, we can get him off easy.” “Maybe so, but it’s all speculation, Mr. Keefe. What we ought to get is evidence—testimony—and that’s hard, for the only people to ask about it are——” “Are the criminals themselves.” “The suspected criminals—yes, sir.” “There are others. Have you quizzed all the servants?” “I don’t take much stock in servants’ stories.” “You’re wrong there, my man. That principle is a good one in ordinary matters, but when it comes to a murder case, a servant’s testimony is as good as his master’s.” Burdon made no direct response to Keefe’s suggestion, but he mulled it over in his slow-going mind, and as a result, he had a talk with Rachel, who was ladies’ maid to both Maida and her mother. The girl bridled a little when Burdon began to question her. “Nobody seemed to think it worth while to ask me anything,” she said, “so I held my tongue. But if so be you want information, you ask and I’ll answer.” “I doubt if she really knows anything,” Burdon thought to himself, judging from her air of self-importance, but he said: “Tell me anything you know of the circumstances at the time of the murder.” “Circumstances?” repeated Rachel, wrinkling her brow. “Yes; for instance, where was Mrs. Wheeler when you heard the shot?” “I didn’t say I heard the shot.” “Didn’t you?” “Yes.” “Go on, then; don’t be foolish, or you’ll be sorry for it!” “Well, then, Mrs. Wheeler was downstairs—she had just left her room——” “Here, let me get this story straight. How long had she been in her room? Were you there with her?” “Yes; we had been there half an hour or so. Then, we heard noise and excitement and a cry of fire. Mrs. Wheeler rushed out of her room and ran downstairs—and I followed, naturally.” “Yes; and what did you see?” “Nothing special—I saw a blaze of light, through the front door——” “The north door?” “Of course—the one toward the garage—and I saw the garage was on fire, so I thought of nothing else—then.” “Then? What did you think of later?” “I remembered that I saw Mr. Wheeler in the living-room—in the north end of it—where he never goes——” “You know about his restrictions?”