“You know, F. Stone, how I hate to doubt a lady’s word, but—not to put too fine a point upon it, the fair Rachel lied.” “You think so, too, eh? And just why?” “Under orders. She was coached in her part. Told exactly what to say——” “By whom?” “Oh, you know as well as I do. You’re just leading me on! Well, he coached her, all right, and she got scared before the performance came off and that’s why she ran away.” “Yes, I agree to all that. Keefe, of course, being the coach.” “Yessir. He doing it, to save the Wheelers. You see, he’s so desperately in love with Miss Maida, that it sort of blinds his judgment and cleverness.” “Just how?” “Well, you know his is love at first sight—practically.” “Look here, Terence, you know a great deal about love.” “Yessir, it—it comes natural to me. I’m a born lover, I am.” “Had much experience?” “Not yet. But my day’s coming. Well, never mind me—to get back to Friend Keefe. Here’s the way it is. Miss Wheeler is sort of engaged to Mr. Allen, and yet the matter isn’t quite settled, either. I get that from the servants—mean to gossip, but all’s fair in love and sleuthing. Now, Mr. Keefe comes along, sees the lovely Maida, and, zip! his heart is cracked! All might yet be well, but for the wily Genevieve. She has her cap set for Keefe, and he knows it, and was satisfied it should be so, till he saw Miss Wheeler. Now, the fat’s in the fire, and no pitch hot.” “You do pick up a lot of general information.” “It’s necess’ry, sir.” The red-head nodded emphatically. “These sidelights often point the way to the great and shinin’ truth! For, don’t you see, Mr. Keefe, being so gone on Miss Maida, naturally doesn’t want her or her people suspected of this crime—even if one of them is guilty. So he fixes up a cock-and-bull story about a bugler man—on the south veranda. This man, he argues, did the shooting. He gets Rachel—he must have some hold on her, bribery wouldn’t be enough—and he fair crams the bugler yarn down her throat, and orders her to recite it as Gospel truth.” “Then she gets scared and runs away.” “Exactly. You see it that way, don’t you, Mr. Stone?” The earnest little face looked up to the master. Terence McGuire was developing a wonderful gift for psychological detective work, and sometimes he let his imagination run away with him. In such cases Stone tripped him up and turned him back to the right track. Both had an inkling that the day might eventually come when Stone would retire and McGuire would reign in his stead. But this was, as yet, merely a dream, and at present they worked together in unison and harmony. “Yes, Fibsy—at least, I see it may have been that way. But it’s a big order to put on—to Mr. Keefe.” “I know, but he’s a big man. I mean a man of big notions and projects. Anybody can see that. Now, he’s awful anxious Miss Wheeler and Mr. Wheeler shall be cleared of all s’picion—even if he thinks one of ’em is guilty. He doesn’t consider Mrs. Wheeler—I guess nobody does now.”