“I’d like to see the exact place it was found,” Keefe said. “Come on, I’ll show you,” offered Fibsy and the two started away together. “Here you are,” and Fibsy showed the bed of ferns, which, growing closely together, made a dense hiding place. “A wonder you ever found it,” said Keefe. “How’d you happen to?” “Oh, I just snooped around till I came to it. I says to myself, ‘Either the murderer flung it away or he didn’t. If he did, why it must be somewheres,’ and it was.” “I see; and does Mr. Stone think the finding of it here points to either of the Wheelers?” “Not necess’rily. You see, if the man we’re looking for did the shooting, he’s the one who threw the pistol in this here fern bed. And, you know yourself, it’s more likely a man threw this farther than a woman.” “Miss Wheeler is athletic.” “I know, but I’m convinced that Miss Wheeler didn’t do the deed. Ain’t you?” “Oh, I can’t think she did it, of course. But it’s all very mysterious.” “Not mysterious a bit. It’s hard sleddin’, but there ain’t much mystery about it. Why, look a-here. If either the father or daughter did it, they both know which one it was. Therefore, one is telling the truth and one isn’t. It won’t be hard to find out which is which, but F. Stone, he’s trying to find some one that’ll let the Wheelers both out.” “Oh, that’s his idea? And a mighty good one. I’ll help all I can. Of course, the thing to do is to trace the pistol.” “Oh, it was Mr. Wheeler’s pistol, all right.” “It was!” Keefe looked dismayed. “Then how can we suspect an outsider?” “Well, he could have stolen Mr. Wheeler’s pistol for the purpose of casting suspicion on him.” “Yes; that’s so. Now to find that Rachel.” “Oh, do find her,” Maida cried, overhearing the remark as she and Genevieve crossed the lawn toward Keefe and Fibsy. The lad had not yet seen Miss Lane and he frankly admired her at once. Perhaps a sympathetic chord was struck by the similarity of their natures. Perhaps they intuitively recognized each other’s gay impudence, for they engaged in a clash of words that immediately made them friends. “Maybe Rachel’d come back if she knew you were here,” he said. “I’m sure she’d admire to wait on such a pretty lady.” “Just tell her that you saw me,” Genevieve said, “and I’ll be glad to have her back. She’s a first-class ladies’ maid.” “Oh, then she only waits on first-class ladies?” “Yes; that’s why she’s so fond of me. Do hunt her up.” “Well, cutie, just for you, I’ll do that same. Where shall I go to look for her?” “How should I know? But you keep watch of Fulton, and I’ll bet he gets some word from her.” “Yes, they’re sweethearts. Now, how do sweethearts get word to each other? You ought to know all about sweethearting.” “I don’t,” said Genevieve, demurely. “Pshaw, now, that’s too bad. Want me to teach you?” “Yes—if you don’t mind.” “Saunter away with me, then,” and the saucy boy led Miss Lane off for a stroll round the grounds.