“You poor, sweet child—I know you are! Oh, little girl, dear little girl—can’t you—won’t you let me look out for you——” The words were right enough, but the tone in which they were uttered, the look that accompanied them, frightened Maida. She knew at once how this man regarded her. Intuition told her it was better not to resent his speech or meaning, so she only said, quietly: “Look out for me—how?” “Every way. Give yourself to me—be my own, own little Maida——” “Mr. Keefe, stop! You forget you are talking to an engaged girl——” “I did forget—please forgive me.” In a moment he was humble and penitent. “I lost my head. No, Miss Wheeler, I ask no reward, I want to help you in any and every way—remembering you are to be the bride of Mr. Allen.” “Only after I’m acquitted of this crime. They never convict a woman, do they, Mr. Keefe?” “So that’s what you’re banking on! And safely, too. No, Miss Wheeler, no judge or jury would ever convict you of murder. But, all the same, it’s a mighty unpleasant process that brings about your acquittal, and I advise you not to go through with it.” “But I’ve got to. I’ve confessed my crime; now they have to try me—don’t they?” “You innocent baby. Unless—look here, you’re not—er—stringing me, are you?” “What does that mean?” “I mean, you didn’t really do the job, did you?” “I did.” The calm glance of despair might have carried conviction to a less skeptical hearer, but Keefe only looked puzzled. “I can’t quite make you out,” he declared; “either you’re a very brave heroine—or——” “Or?” queried Maida. “Or you’re nutty!” Maida laughed outright. “That’s it,” she said, and her laughter became a little hysterical. “I _am_ nutty, and I own up to it. Do you think we can enter a plea of insanity?” Keefe looked at her, a new thought dawning in his mind. “That might not be at all a bad plan,” he said, slowly; “are you in earnest?” “I don’t know. Honestly, I think of so many plans, and discard them one after the other. But I don’t want to be convicted!” “And you shan’t! There are more persons in this world than the three Wheelers! And one of them may easily be the murderer we’re seeking.” “Which one?” asked Maida. “The Phantom Bugler,” returned Keefe. CHAPTER XI FLEMING STONE Next day brought the advent of two men and a boy to Sycamore Ridge. Samuel Appleby, determined to discover the murderer of his father and convinced that it was none of the Wheeler family, had brought Fleming Stone, the detective, to investigate the case. Stone had a young assistant who always accompanied him, and this lad, Terence McGuire by name, was a lively, irrepressible chap, with red hair and freckles. But his quick thinking and native wit rendered him invaluable to Stone, who had already hinted that McGuire might some day become his successor.