“I will tell you, for I can’t bear this burden alone any longer! I did go downstairs because of the alarm of fire, Mr. Stone. Just before I came to the open door of the den, I heard a shot, and as I passed the door of the den, I saw Mr. Appleby, fallen slightly forward in his chair, my husband standing at a little distance looking at him, and Maida in the bay window, also staring at them both.” “What did you do? Go in?” “No; I was so bewildered, I scarcely knew which way to turn, and in my fear and horror I ran into my own sitting-room and fell on the couch there in sheer collapse.” “You stayed there?” “Until I heard voices in the den—the men came back from the fire and discovered the—the tragedy. At least, I think that’s the way it was. It’s all mixed up in my mind. Usually I’m very clear-headed and strong nerved, but that scene seemed to take away all my will-power—all my vitality.” “I don’t wonder. What did you do or say?” “I had a vague fear that my husband or daughter would be accused of the crime, and so, at once, I declared it was the work of the phantom bugler. You’ve heard about him?” “Yes. You didn’t think it was he, though, did you?” “I wanted to—yes, I think I did. You see, I don’t think the bugler was a phantom, but I do think he was a criminal. I mean, I think it was somebody who meant harm to my husband. I—well—I think maybe the shot was meant for Mr. Wheeler.” Stone looked at her sharply, and said: “Please, Mrs. Wheeler, be honest with me, whatever you may pretend to others. Are you not springing that theory in a further attempt to direct suspicion away from Mr. Wheeler?” She gave a gesture of helplessness. “I see I can hide nothing from you, Mr. Stone! You are right—but may there not be a chance that it is a true theory after all?” “Possibly; if we can find any hint of the bugler’s identity. Mr. Keefe says, find the bugler and you’ve found the murderer.” “I know he does, but Keefe is—as I am—very anxious to direct suspicion away from the Wheeler family. You see, Mr. Keefe is in love with my daughter——” “As who isn’t? All the young men fall down before her charms!” “It is so. Although she is engaged to Mr. Allen, both Mr. Keefe and Mr. Sam Appleby are hopeful of yet winning her regard. To me it is not surprising, for I think Maida the very flower of lovely girlhood, but I also think those men should recognize Jeffrey Allen’s rights and cease paying Maida such definite attentions.” “It is hard to repress an ardent admirer,” Stone admitted, “and as you say, that is probably Keefe’s intent in insisting on the finding of the bugler. You do not, then, believe in your old legend?” “I do and I don’t. My mind has a tendency to revere and love the old traditions of my family, but when it comes to real belief I can’t say I am willing to stand by them. Yet where else can we look for a criminal—other than my own people?”