“And then your loving perjuries will be useless. True, but I must do my duty—and that means my duty to you all. I may tell you that Mr. Appleby, who employed me, asked me to find a criminal outside of your family, whether the real one or not.” “He put it that way!” “He did; and while I do want to find the outside criminal, I can’t find him if he doesn’t exist.” “Of course not. I daresay I shall regret what I’ve told you, but——” “But you couldn’t help it, I know. Don’t worry, Mrs. Wheeler. If you’ve no great faith in me, try to have a hopeful trust, and I assure you I will not betray it.” “Well, Mr. McGuire,” Stone said to his adoring satellite, a little later, “there’s one out.” “Mother Wheeler?” “Yes, you young scamp; how did you know?” “Saw you hobnobbing with her—she being took with a sudden attack of the confidentials—and, anyhow, two of ’em—at least—has got to cave in. You can ferret out which of ’em is George Washingtons and which isn’t.” “Well, here’s the way it seems to stand now. Mind, I only say seems to stand.” “Yessir.” “The father and daughter—both of whom confess to the shooting, were seen in the room immediately after the event. Now, they were on opposite sides of the room, the victim being about midway between them. Consequently, if one shot, the other was witness thereto. And, owing to the deep devotion obtaining between them, either father or daughter would confess to the crime to save the other.” “Then,” Fibsy summed up, “Mr. Wheeler and Maida don’t suspect each other; one did it, and both know which one.” “Well put. Now, which is which?” “More likely the girl did the shooting. She’s awful impulsive, awful high strung and awful fond of her father. Say the old Appleby gentleman was beratin’ and oratin’ and iratin,’ against Friend Wheeler, and say he went a leetle too far for Miss Maida to stand, and say she had that new secret, or whatever it is that’s eatin’ her—well, it wouldn’t surprise me overly, if she up and shot the varmint.” “Having held the pistol in readiness?” “Not nec’ess’rily. She coulda sprung across the room, lifted the weapon from its customed place in the drawer, and fired, all in a fleetin’ instant o’ time. And she’s the girl to do it! That Maida, now, she could do anything! And she loves the old man enough to do anything. Touch and go—that’s what she is! Especially go!” “Well, all right. Yet, maybe it was the other way. Maybe, Wheeler, at the end of his patience, and knowing the ‘secret,’ whatever it may be, flung away discretion and grabbed up his own pistol and fired.” “Coulda been, F. Stone. Coulda been—easily. But—I lean to the Maida theory. Maida for mine, first, last, and all the time.” “For an admirer of hers, and you’re not by yourself in that, you seem cheerfully willing to subscribe to her guilt.”