COUNTER-CONFESSIONS
Before Keefe went away, young Allen had a serious talk with him.
“I want to ask your advice,” Allen said; “shall I confess to that crime?”
“Man alive, what are you talking about?” Keefe cried, astounded at the
suggestion.
“Talking sense,” Jeffrey stoutly asserted. “I don’t believe any one of
those three did it—they’re saying they did to shield one another—and
so——”
“And so, you want to get into the game!” Keefe smiled at him. “You’re
very young, my boy, to think such crude methods would get over, even with
such muffs as those two booby sleuths! No, Allen, don’t add another
perjury that can be of no possible use. You didn’t do the killing, did
you?”
“Of course not! But neither did the Wheelers!”
“No one of them?”
“Certainly not.”
“Who did, then?”
“I don’t know; but you yourself insisted on some marauder.”
“Only to get suspicion away from the family. But there’s no hope of
finding any evidence of an outside job. You see, I’ve made some inquiries
myself, and the servants’ tales make it pretty sure that no intruder
could have been here. So, the Wheelers are the only suspects left.”
“And am I not as good for a suspect as they are—if I make due
confession?”
“No, Allen, you’re not. You’re in love with Miss Maida——”
“I’m engaged to her!”
“All right; don’t you see, then, the absurdity of expecting any one to
believe that you, a decent, law-abiding young citizen, would commit a
murder which would positively render impossible a marriage with the girl
you love?”
“I didn’t think of that!”
“Of course you didn’t. But that would make it unlikely that those
detectives would believe your tale for a moment. No, it’s ridiculous for
any more people to confess to this murder. Three avowed criminals are
quite enough for the crime!”
“But none of them really did it.”
“How you harp on that string! Now, look here, Allen, I’m as loath to
believe it as you are, but we must face facts. Those three people had
motive and opportunity. Moreover, they’re a most united family, and if
any one thought either of the other two guilty, that one is quite capable
of falsely avowing the crime.”
“Yes—I see that”—Allen spoke impatiently. “What I want to know is, what
we’re going to do about it?”
“There I can’t advise you. I have to get away now, but, as I said, I’ll
return. I’ve more than a little taste for investigation myself, and when
I come back, I’ve no doubt I can hel——”
“But—Keefe—I don’t want you to help—to investigate—if it’s going to prove
anything on any of the Wheelers.”
“But you believe them innocent!”
“Yes; but crime has been fastened on the innocent.”
“Look here, Allen, you do believe them innocent—but you fear your belief
is a mistaken one!”
“God help me, I do fear that, Keefe! Oh, what can we do?”
“It’s a bad lookout! All I can say now, is, to preserve a non-committal
demeanor, and keep things stationary as much as you can. Maybe when I
come back, we can—well, at least muddle things so——”
“Complicate the evidence! So that it won’t indicate——”
“Be careful now! You know what compounding a felony means, don’t you? Oh,
Allen, you’re so young and impulsive, and the Wheelers are so emotional
and indiscreet, I wonder what will happen before I get back!”
“Somebody ought to be in charge here.”
“Yes, some good lawyer, or some level-headed person who would hold back
those fool detectives, and look out for the interests of the Wheelers.”
“I wish you could stay.”
“I wish so, too, but I’ll do all I can to return quickly. And Mr. Wheeler
ought to be able to look after his own affairs!”
“I know he ought to—but he isn’t. Also, I ought to, but I’m not!”
“Yes you are, Jeffrey,” cried Maida, who had happened along in time to
hear the young man’s depreciation of himself.
“Hello, Maida,” he turned to her. “What did you mean by making up that
string of falsehoods?”
“Don’t talk about it, Jeff,” and the girl’s face went white. “If you do,
I shall go mad!”
“I don’t wonder, Miss Wheeler,” said Keefe, sympathetically. “Now, as
I’ve just told Allen, I’m coming back as soon as I can make it, and until
I do, won’t you try to hold off those men? Don’t let them pound you and
your parents into admissions better left unmade. I’m not asking you any
questions, I’ve no right to, but I beg of you to keep your own counsel.
If you are shielding someone, say as little as possible. If you are
guilty yourself, say nothing.”
“‘Guilty herself!’ You’ve no right to say such a thing!” Allen cried out.
“Of course I have,” Keefe returned, “when I heard Miss Wheeler avow the
crime! But I must go now. Here’s the car. Good-bye, both of you, and—Miss
Wheeler, if I may advise, don’t confide too much—in anybody.”
The last words were spoken in an aside, and if Allen heard them he gave
no sign. He bade Keefe good-bye with a preoccupied air, and as others
joined them then, he waited till the car started, and then took Maida’s
arm and led her away, toward the garden.
Miss Lane, of course, went with Keefe, and as the girls parted Maida had
suddenly felt a sense of loneliness.
“I liked Genevieve a lot,” she said to Allen, as they walked away.
“I didn’t,” he returned.
“Oh, Jeff, you are so quick to take prejudices against people. I don’t
mean I’m specially fond of Genevieve, but she was kind to me, and now I
do seem so alone.”
“Alone, Maida? When you have your parents and me? What do you mean?”
“I can’t tell you, exactly, but I seem to want someone—someone with wide
experience and educated judgment—to whom I can go for advice.”
“Won’t I do, dear?”
“You’re kind enough and loving enough—but, Jeff, you don’t know things! I
mean, you haven’t had experience in—in criminal cases——”
“Come on, Maida, let’s have it out. What about this criminal case of
ours? For it’s mine as much as it’s yours.”
“Oh, no, it isn’t, Jeff. You’ve nothing to do with it. I must bear my
burden alone—and—I must ask you to release me from our engagement——”
“Which I will never do! How absurd! Now, Maida mine, if you won’t speak
out, I must. I know perfectly well you never killed Mr. Appleby. I know,
too, that you saw either your father or mother kill him and you’re trying
to shield the criminal. Very right, too, except that you mustn’t keep the
truth from me. How can I help you, dear, unless I know what you’re
doing—or trying to do? So, tell me the truth—now.”
“I can’t tell you more than I have, Jeff,” Maida spoke with a long-drawn
sigh. “You must believe me. And as a—a murderer, I never, of course,
shall marry.”
“Maida, you’re a transparent little prevaricator! Don’t think I don’t
realize the awful situation, for I do, but I can’t—I won’t let you
sacrifice yourself for either of your parents. I don’t ask you which one
it was—in fact, I’d rather you wouldn’t tell me—but I do ask you to
believe that I know it wasn’t you. Now, drop that foolishness.”
“Jeffrey,” and Maida spoke very solemnly, “don’t you believe that I could
kill a man? If he was so cruel, so dangerous to my father—my dear father,
that I couldn’t stand it another minute, don’t you believe I’d be capable
of killing him?”
“We’ve spoken of that before, Maida, and I think I said I believed you
would be capable, in a moment of sudden, intense anger and excitement——”
“Well, then, why do you doubt my word? I told the detectives—I tell you,
that the moment came—I saw my father, under stress of terrible anger—in
immediate, desperate danger from Samuel Appleby. I—I shot—to kill——” the
girl broke down and Jeffrey took the slender, quivering form in his arms.
“All right, sweetheart,” he whispered, “don’t say another word—I
understand. I don’t blame you—how could you think I would! I just want to
help you. How can I best do that?”
But Maida could not tell him. Her tears, once started, came in torrents.
Her whole frame shook with the intensity of her sobs, and, unable to
control herself at all, she ran from him into the house and up to her own
room.
“What did you find out?” Burdon asked, coming out from behind a nearby
clump of shrubbery.
“You sneak, you cad!” Allen cried, but the detective stopped him.
“Now, look here, Mr. Allen,” he said, “we’re here to do our duty, said
duty being to discover the perpetrator of a pretty awful crime. You may
be so minded as to let the murderer go scot-free, even help him or her to
make a getaway, but I can’t indulge in any such philanthropic scheme. Mr.
Appleby’s been foully murdered, and it’s up to the law to find out the
killer and see justice done. My job is not a pleasant one, but I’ve got
to see it through, and that’s all there is about that! Now, this case is
what we call open-and-shut. The murderer is sure and positively one of
three people—said three people being known to us. So, I’ve just got to
use all my powers to discover which of the three I’m really after, and
when I find that out, then make my arrest. But I’ve no desire to nab the
wrong one.”
“Which one do you think it is?” demanded Allen, angrily.
“I’ve got no right nor reason to _think_ it’s either one. I’ve got to
find out for sure, not just think it. So, I ask you what you learned just
now from Miss Wheeler, and why did she run to the house, weeping like a
willow tree?”
“I found out nothing that would throw any light on your quest, and she
wept because her nerves are strained to the breaking point with worry and
exhaustion.”
“And I don’t wonder!” the detective spoke sympathetically. “But all the
same, I’m obliged to keep on investigating, and I must ask you what she
said to you just now.”
Allen thought over the conversation he had had with Maida. Then he said:
“I am telling the truth when I say there was no word said between us that
would be of any real use to you. Miss Wheeler is my _fiancée_, and I
tried to comfort her, and also to assure her anew of my faithfulness and
devotion in her trouble.”
“And what did she say?”
“Without remembering her words exactly, I think I can state that she said
nothing more than to reiterate that she had killed Mr. Appleby. But I
want to state also, that I believe she said it, as she said it to you, to
shield some one else.”
“Her parents—or, one of them?”
“That is the reasonable supposition. But I do not accuse either of the
elder Wheelers. I still suspect an intruder from outside.”
“Of course you do. . . . Anybody in your position would. But there was
none such. It was one of the three Wheelers, and I’ll proceed to find out
which one.”
“Just how do you propose to find out?”
“Well, the one that did it is very likely to give it away. It’s mighty
difficult to be on your guard every minute, and with one guilty, and two
shielding, and all three knowing, which is which, as I’ve no doubt they
do, why, it’s a cinch that one of the three breaks down through sheer
overcarefulness pretty soon.”
“That’s true enough,” Allen agreed, ruefully. “Is that your only plan?”
“Yes, except to look up the weapon. It’s a great help, always, to find
the revolver.”
“Hoping to find the criminal’s initials on it?”
“Well, no, they don’t mark firearms in real life, as they do in
story-books. But to find the weapon gives a lot of evidence as to where
it was fired from, and what was done with it afterward, and to whom it
belongs. Not that the owner is always the murderer. More often the
reverse is true. But the weapon we want and want pretty badly. By the
way, I’m told that young Appleby is out of the running for governor now
that his father isn’t here to help him through.”
“More, I take it, because of his grief for his father’s untimely end.”
“Be that as it may, he’ll withdraw his name from the candidates.”
“Who told you?”
“I heard Mr. Keefe telling Miss Lane.”
“You hear a lot, Burdon.”
“I do, Mr. Allen. It’s my business to do so. Now, here’s another thing.
About that garage fire.”
“Well, what about it?”
“It was a mighty mysterious fire, that’s all. Nobody knows how it
started, or where.”
“They must know where!”
“Not exactly. It seemed to start in the vicinity of Mr. Appleby’s own
car. But there was nothing inflammable around that part of the garage.”
“Well, what does that prove or indicate? Anything prejudicial to the
Wheelers?”
“Not so far as I can see. Only it’s queer, that’s all.”
“Perhaps Mr. Appleby kept tobacco and matches in his car.”
“Perhaps so. Anyway, that’s where the fire originated, and also about
where it stopped. They soon put it out.”
“Glad they did. I can’t see that the fire has any bearing whatever on the
murder.”
“Neither can I, Mr. Allen. But Hallen, now, he thinks it has.”
“Just how?”
“I can’t say. Hallen doesn’t know himself. But he says there’s a
connection.”
“There may be. But unless it’s a connection that will free the Wheelers
from suspicion, it doesn’t interest me.”
Allen left the detective, who made no effort to detain him, and went to
the den for a talk with Mr. Wheeler.
But that gentleman, locked in the room, declared through the closed door
that he would see nobody.
“Sorry, Jeff,” he said, in a kindly tone, “but you must excuse me at
present. Give me the day to myself. I’ll see you late this afternoon.”
As it was already noon, Allen made no further attempt at an interview and
went in search of Mrs. Wheeler. It seemed to him he must talk to some of
the family, and he hadn’t the heart to disturb Maida, who might be
resting.
Mrs. Wheeler’s maid said that her mistress would see him in a few
minutes. And it was only a few minutes later that the lady came
downstairs and greeted Allen, who awaited her in the living-room.
“What are we going to do?” she exclaimed to him. “Do help us, Jeff. Did I
do right?”
“In lying to save some one you love? Yes, I suppose so.”
But Sara Wheeler had very acute hearing. Even as they spoke, she heard a
slight movement on the porch outside, and realized at once that a
detective was listening to her every word.
Allen couldn’t be sure whether this changed her mental attitude or
whether she continued as she had meant to when she began.
But she said: “Oh, I don’t mean that! I mean, did I do right to confess
my crime at once? You know they would discover it sooner or later, and I
thought it would save time and trouble for me to own up immediately.”
“Dear Mrs. Wheeler, don’t quibble with me. I know you didn’t do it——”
“Oh, yes, I did, Jeff. Who else could it have been? And, too, you know
about the bugler, don’t you?”
“Yes.”
“Well, that’s what made me do it. You see, I thought if a death occurred,
that would be the death the bugler was heralding, and if it wasn’t Mr.
Appleby it might have been Dan himself.”
She leaned forward as she spoke, her voice dropped to a mere whisper, and
her large eyes took on a glassy stare, while her white face was drawn and
set with an agonized expression as of a dreadful memory.
“And you killed Appleby for that reason?” cried Allen.
“Oh, no—I killed him because—because”—her mind seemed to wander—“oh,
yes,” she resumed, “because he was a menace to Dan. To my husband.”
For the first time Allen began to doubt her sanity. Her eyes were wild,
her fingers nervously interlaced and her speech was jerky and stammering.
“A menace, how?” he asked, softly.
“In different ways,” Mrs. Wheeler returned, in so low a voice that the
listener outside could scarcely hear. “Through me, because of something
he knew; through Maida—because of—of something he wanted; and, of course,
through Dan himself, because of that old conditional pardon.”
“What do you mean about Maida?” Allen caught at the thing that most
impressed him. “Did old Appleby want to marry Maida?”
“Yes, he did. Of course, neither her father nor I would hear of such a
thing, but Mr. Appleby was an insistent man—insistent and inexorable—and
he wanted Maida——”
“Mother dear, I want you to come away now,” and Maida came into the room.
“Come, you have talked too long. It does no good, to you or to any one
else. Did you call her down, Jeffrey?”
“Yes,” and Allen deeply regretted his act. “But I want to talk to
somebody, Maida. Will you take your mother away—and return?”
“Yes, I will,” and the girl left the room, guiding the slow footsteps of
her mother.
When she came back, Allen took her out under the old sycamore.
“Now, Maida,” he said, gently, “the truth. No matter what it is, you must
tell me. We are here alone, that eavesdropping detective can’t overhear
us, and you must tell me whom you are shielding and the full details for
the crime.”
“I can’t tell you all the details, Jeff,” the girl returned, “they
include a secret that is not mine to divulge.”
“You can divulge anything in a crisis like this, Maida.”
“No, I cannot. Before he—before he died, Mr. Appleby told me something
that I will never tell, unless my conscience makes me do so.”
“Isn’t it a matter of conscience already?”
“I don’t know, Jeff; truly, I can’t tell. But much as I am bound by my
principles of right, and you know, dear, I _am_ conscientious, I would
willingly throw them all to the winds if they interfered with my parents’
happiness, well-being or safety.”
“Let me get this straight, Maida. You would stifle your conscience, would
act directly against its dictates for the sake of your parents?”
“Yes, Jeffrey; right or wrong, that’s what I should do.”
“Who am I that I should judge you, dear? I know well your lifelong
submission to your conscience, even when your inclinations were strong
the other way. Now, if you have thrown over principle, honor, conscience
and right, for what you consider a stronger motive, I can only accept
your decision. But I wish you would confide in me more fully. Do you mean
in regard to Mr. Appleby?”
“Of course I mean in regard to Mr. Appleby. And I’m going to ask you,
Jeff, to believe what I tell you.”
“Of course I’ll do that, Maida.”
“No; you won’t want to. But I ask you to believe it implicitly and to act
accordingly. Do you promise me this?”
The girl’s face was turned to his, her great, sorrowful eyes were full of
dumb agony and showed unshed tears, but her voice was clear and strong as
of one whose purpose was unshakable.
“Yes, dear,” and Jeffrey took her hands in his and looked deep into her
eyes, whose blank despair haunted him long after, “yes, Maida, I
promise.”
“Well, then, I killed Mr. Appleby, and you must do whatever you think
best for us all. What shall we do first, Jeffrey?”
And with the clutch of an icy dread at his heart, Allen replied,
brokenly, “I don’t know, Maida, darling, but I will find out what is
best, and we will do it——”