“Oh, yes, sir. The servants all know—we have to. Well, it was natural, poor man, that he should go to look at the fire!” “You’re sure of this, Rachel?” “Sure, yes; but don’t let’s tell, for it might get the master in trouble.” “On the contrary it may get him out of trouble. To break his parole is not as serious a crime as murder. And if he was in the north end of the living-room he couldn’t have been in the den shooting Mr. Appleby.” “That’s true enough. And neither could Mrs. Wheeler have done it.” “Why not?” “Well—that is—she was right ahead of me——” “Did you keep her in sight?” “No; I was so excited myself, I ran past her and out to the garage.” “Who was there?” “Mr. Allen and Mr. Keefe and the two chauffeurs and the head gardener and well, most all the servants. The men were fighting the fire, and the women were standing back, looking on.” “Yelling, I suppose.” “No; they were mostly quiet. Cook was screaming, but nobody paid any attention to her.” “The fire was soon over?” “Yes, it was a little one. I suppose that chauffeur of Mr. Appleby’s dropped a match or something—for our servants are too well trained to do anything of the sort. We’re all afraid of fire.” “Well, the fire amounted to little, as you say. Curious it should occur at the time of the murder.” “Curious, indeed, sir. Do you make anything out of that?” “Can’t see anything in it. Unless the murderer started the fire to distract attention from himself. In that case, it couldn’t have been any of the Wheelers.” “That it couldn’t. They were all in the house.” “Miss Maida—did you see her at the time?” “I caught a glimpse of her as I ran through the hall.” “Where was she?” “In the den; standing near the bay window.” “Well, we’ve pretty well planted the three. Mrs. Wheeler on the stairs, Mr. Wheeler, you say, in the living-room, where he had no right to be, and Miss Maida——” “Oh, Miss Maida didn’t do it! She couldn’t! That lovely young lady!” “There, Rachel, that will do. You’ve given your testimony, now it’s not for you to pass judgment. Go about your business, and keep a quiet tongue. No babbling—you understand?” “Yes, sir,” and the maid went away, her attitude still one of importance, and her face wearing a vague smile. Meantime Curtis Keefe was having a serious talk with Maida. His attitude was kindly and deferential, but he spoke with a determined air as he said: “Miss Wheeler, you know, I am sure, how much I want to help you, and how glad I will be if I can do so. But, first of all I must ask you a question. What did Mr. Appleby mean when he said to you something about Keefe and the airship?” Maida looked at him with a troubled glance. For a minute she did not speak, then she said, calmly: “I am not at liberty to tell you what we were talking about then, Mr. Keefe, but don’t you remember Mr. Appleby said that you were not the Keefe referred to?” “I know he said that, but—I don’t believe it.”