“Probably not. Go on.” “Well, so Keefie, he thinks if he can get this bugler person guaranteed, by a reliable and responsible witness—which, of course, Rachel would seem to be—then, Mr. Keefe thinks, he’s got the Wheelers cleared. Now, Rachel, getting cold feet about it all, goes back on Keefe—oh, I could see it in his face!” “Yes, he looked decidedly annoyed at Rachel’s failure of a convincing performance.” “He did so! Now, Mr. Stone, even if he bolsters up Rachel’s story or gets her to tell it more convincingly—we know, you and I, that it isn’t true. There wasn’t any man on the south veranda.” “Sure, Terence?” “Yessir, I’m pretty sure. For, what became of him? Where did he vanish to? Who was he? There never was any bugler—I mean as a murderer. The piper who piped some nights previous had nothing to do with the case!” “Sure, Terence?” “Oh, come now, Mr. Stone—I was sure, till you say that at me, so dubious like—and then I’m not so sure.” “Well, go on with your theory, and let’s see where you come out. You may be on the right track, after all. I’m not sure of many points myself yet.” “All right. To my mind, it comes back to a toss-up between Miss Maida and her father, with the odds in favor of the old gentleman. Agree?” “I might, if I understood your English. The odds in favor of Mr. Wheeler indicating his guilt or innocence?” “His guilt, I meant, F. Stone. I can’t think that sweet young lady would do it, and this isn’t because she is a sweet young lady, but because it isn’t hardly plausible that she’s put the thing over, even though she was willing enough to do so.” “It seems so to me, too, but we can’t bank on that. Maida Wheeler is a very impulsive girl, very vigorous and athletic, and very devoted to her father. She worships him, and she has been known to say she would willingly kill old Mr. Appleby. These things must be remembered, Fibsy.” “That’s so. But I’ve noticed that when folks threaten to kill people they most generally don’t do it.” “I’ve also noticed that. But, striking out Maida’s name, leaves us only Mr. Wheeler.” “Well, ain’t he the one? Ain’t he the down-trodden, oppressed victim, who, at last, has opportunity, and who is goaded to the point of desperation by the arguments of his enemy?” “You grow oratorical! But, I admit, you have an argument.” “’Course I have. Now, say we’ve got to choose between Miss Wheeler and Mr. Wheeler, how do we go about it?” “How?” “Why, we find out how Mr. Appleby was sitting, how Mr. Wheeler was facing at the moment, and also Miss Maida’s position. Then, we find out the direction from which the bullet entered the body, and then we can tell who fired the shot.”