1 files changed, 8731 insertions, 0 deletions

diff --git a/2883-0.txt b/2883-0.txt
new file mode 100644
index 0000000..8924d51
--- /dev/null
+++ b/2883-0.txt
@@ -0,0 +1,8731 @@
+The Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gold Bag, by Carolyn Wells
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+
+Title: The Gold Bag
+
+Author: Carolyn Wells
+
+Posting Date: December 14, 2008 [EBook #2883]
+Release Date: October, 2001
+Last Updated: March 16, 2018
+
+Language: English
+
+Character set encoding: UTF-8
+
+*** START OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLD BAG ***
+
+
+
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLD BAG
+
+By Carolyn Wells
+
+
+
+CONTENTS
+
+
+
+CHAPTER
+
+
+I. THE CRIME IN WEST SEDGWICK
+
+II. THE CRAWFORD HOUSE
+
+III. THE CORONER'S JURY
+
+IV. THE INQUEST
+
+V. FLORENCE LLOYD
+
+VI. THE GOLD BAG
+
+VII. YELLOW ROSES
+
+VIII. FURTHER INQUIRY
+
+IX. THE TWELFTH ROSE
+
+X. THE WILL
+
+XI. LOUIS'S STORY
+
+XII. LOUIS'S CONFESSION
+
+XIII. MISS LLOYD'S CONFIDENCE
+
+XIV. MR. PORTER'S VIEWS.
+
+XV. THE PHOTOGRAPH EXPLAINED
+
+XVI. A CALL ON MRS. PURVIS
+
+XVII. THE OWNER OF THE GOLD BAG
+
+XVIII. IN MR. GOODRICH'S OFFICE
+
+XIX. THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN
+
+XX. FLEMING STONE
+
+XXI. THE DISCLOSURE
+
+
+
+
+
+THE GOLD BAG
+
+
+
+
+I. THE CRIME IN WEST SEDGWICK
+
+
+Though a young detective, I am not entirely an inexperienced one, and
+I have several fairly successful investigations to my credit on the
+records of the Central Office.
+
+The Chief said to me one day: “Burroughs, if there's a mystery to be
+unravelled; I'd rather put it in your hands than to trust it to any
+other man on the force.
+
+“Because,” he went on, “you go about it scientifically, and you
+never jump at conclusions, or accept them, until they're indubitably
+warranted.”
+
+I declared myself duly grateful for the Chief's kind words, but I was
+secretly a bit chagrined. A detective's ambition is to be, considered
+capable of jumping at conclusions, only the conclusions must always
+prove to be correct ones.
+
+But though I am an earnest and painstaking worker, though my habits are
+methodical and systematic, and though I am indefatigably patient and
+persevering, I can never make those brilliant deductions from seemingly
+unimportant clues that Fleming Stone can. He holds that it is nothing
+but observation and logical inference, but to me it is little short of
+clairvoyance.
+
+The smallest detail in the way of evidence immediately connotes in his
+mind some important fact that is indisputable, but which would never
+have occurred to me. I suppose this is largely a natural bent of his
+brain, for I have not yet been able to achieve it, either by study or
+experience.
+
+Of course I can deduce some facts, and my colleagues often say I am
+rather clever at it, but they don't know Fleming Stone as well as I
+do, and don't realize that by comparison with his talent mine is
+insignificant.
+
+And so, it is both by way of entertainment, and in hope of learning from
+him, that I am with him whenever possible, and often ask him to “deduce”
+ for me, even at risk of boring him, as, unless he is in the right mood,
+my requests sometimes do.
+
+I met him accidentally one morning when we both chanced to go into a
+basement of the Metropolis Hotel in New York to have our shoes shined.
+
+It was about half-past nine, and as I like to get to my office by ten
+o'clock, I looked forward to a pleasant half-hour's chat with him. While
+waiting our turn to get a chair, we stood talking, and, seeing a pair
+of shoes standing on a table, evidently there to be cleaned, I said
+banteringly:
+
+“Now, I suppose, Stone, from looking at those shoes, you can deduce all
+there is to know about the owner of them.”
+
+I remember that Sherlock Holmes wrote once, “From a drop of water, a
+logician could infer the possibility of an Atlantic or a Niagara without
+having seen or heard of one or the other,” but when I heard Fleming
+Stone's reply to my half-laughing challenge, I felt that he had outdone
+the mythical logician. With a mild twinkle in his eye, but with a
+perfectly grave face, he said slowly,
+
+“Those shoes belong to a young man, five feet eight inches high. He does
+not live in New York, but is here to visit his sweetheart. She lives in
+Brooklyn, is five feet nine inches tall, and is deaf in her left ear.
+They went to the theatre last night, and neither was in evening dress.”
+
+“Oh, pshaw!” said I, “as you are acquainted with this man, and know how
+he spent last evening, your relation of the story doesn't interest me.”
+
+“I don't know him,” Stone returned; “I've no idea what his name is,
+I've never seen him, and except what I can read from these shoes I know
+nothing about him.”
+
+I stared at him incredulously, as I always did when confronted by his
+astonishing “deductions,” and simply said,
+
+“Tell this little Missourian all about it.”
+
+“It did sound well, reeled off like that, didn't it?” he observed,
+chuckling more at my air of eager curiosity than at his own achievement.
+“But it's absurdly easy, after all. He is a young man because his shoes
+are in the very latest, extreme, not exclusive style. He is five feet
+eight, because the size of his foot goes with that height of man, which,
+by the way, is the height of nine out of ten men, any way. He doesn't
+live in New York or he wouldn't be stopping at a hotel. Besides, he
+would be down-town at this hour, attending to business.”
+
+“Unless he has freak business hours, as you and I do,” I put in.
+
+“Yes, that might be. But I still hold that he doesn't live in New York,
+or he couldn't be staying at this Broadway hotel overnight, and sending
+his shoes down to be shined at half-past nine in the morning. His
+sweetheart is five feet nine, for that is the height of a tall girl.
+I know she is tall, for she wears a long skirt. Short girls wear short
+skirts, which make them look shorter still, and tall girls wear very
+long skirts, which make them look taller.”
+
+“Why do they do that?” I inquired, greatly interested.
+
+“I don't know. You'll have to ask that of some one wiser than I. But I
+know it's a fact. A girl wouldn't be considered really tall if less than
+five feet nine. So I know that's her height. She is his sweetheart, for
+no man would go from New York to Brooklyn and bring a lady over here to
+the theatre, and then take her home, and return to New York in the early
+hours of the morning, if he were not in love with her. I know she lives
+in Brooklyn, for the paper says there was a heavy shower there last
+night, while I know no rain fell in New York. I know that they were out
+in that rain, for her long skirt became muddy, and in turn muddied the
+whole upper of his left shoe. The fact that only the left shoe is so
+soiled proves that he walked only at her right side, showing that she
+must be deaf in her left ear, or he would have walked part of the time
+on that side. I know that they went to the theatre in New York, because
+he is still sleeping at this hour, and has sent his boots down to be
+cleaned, instead of coming down with them on his feet to be shined here.
+If he had been merely calling on the girl in Brooklyn, he would have
+been home early, for they do not sit up late in that borough. I know
+they went to the theatre, instead of to the opera or a ball, for they
+did not go in a cab, otherwise her skirt would not have become muddied.
+This, too, shows that she wore a cloth skirt, and as his shoes are not
+patent leathers, it is clear that neither was in evening dress.”
+
+I didn't try to get a verification of Fleming Stone's assertions;
+I didn't want any. Scores of times I had known him to make similar
+deductions and in cases where we afterward learned the facts, he was
+invariably correct. So, though we didn't follow up this matter, I
+was sure he was right, and, even if he hadn't been, it would not have
+weighed heavily against his large proportion of proved successes.
+
+We separated then, as we took chairs at some distance from each other,
+and, with a sigh of regret that I could never hope to go far along the
+line in which Stone showed such proficiency, I began to read my morning
+paper.
+
+Fleming Stone left the place before I did, nodding a good-by as
+he passed me, and a moment after, my own foot-gear being in proper
+condition, I, too, went out, and went straight to my office.
+
+As I walked the short distance, my mind dwelt on Stone's quick-witted
+work. Again I wished that I possessed the kind of intelligence that
+makes that sort of thing so easy. Although unusual, it is, after all, a
+trait of many minds, though often, perhaps, unrecognized and undeveloped
+by its owner. I dare say it lies dormant in men who have never had
+occasion to realize its value. Indeed, it is of no continuous value to
+anyone but a detective, and nine detectives out of ten do not possess
+it.
+
+So I walked along, envying my friend Stone his gift, and reached my
+office just at ten o'clock as was my almost invariable habit.
+
+“Hurry up, Mr. Burroughs!” cried my office-boy, as I opened the door.
+“You're wanted on the telephone.”
+
+Though a respectful and well-mannered boy, some excitement had made him
+a trifle unceremonious, and I looked at him curiously as I took up the
+receiver.
+
+But with the first words I heard, the office-boy was forgotten, and my
+own nerves received a shock as I listened to the message. It was from
+the Detective Bureau with which I was connected, and the superintendent
+himself was directing me to go at once to West Sedgwick, where a
+terrible crime had just been discovered.
+
+“Killed!” I exclaimed; “Joseph Crawford?”
+
+“Yes; murdered in his home in West Sedgwick. The coroner telephoned to
+send a detective at once and we want you to go.”
+
+“Of course I'll go. Do you know any more details?”
+
+“No; only that he was shot during the night and the body found this
+morning. Mr. Crawford was a big man, you know. Go right off, Mr.
+Burroughs; we want you to lose no time.”
+
+Yes; I knew Joseph Crawford by name, though not personally, and I knew
+he was a big man in the business world, and his sudden death would mean
+excitement in Wall Street matters. Of his home, or home-life, I knew
+nothing.
+
+“I'll go right off,” I assured the Chief, and turned away from the
+telephone to find Donovan, the office-boy, already looking up trains in
+a timetable.
+
+“Good boy, Don,” said I approvingly; “what's the next train to West
+Sedgwick, and how long does it take to get there?”
+
+“You kin s'lect the ten-twenty, Mr. Burruz, if you whirl over in a
+taxi an' shoot the tunnel,” said Donovan, who was rather a graphic
+conversationalist. “That'll spill you out at West Sedgwick 'bout quarter
+of 'leven. Was he moidered, Mr. Burruz?”
+
+“So they tell me, Don. His death will mean something in financial
+circles.”
+
+“Yessir. He was a big plute. Here's your time-table, Mr. Burruz. When'll
+you be back?”
+
+“Don't know, Don. You look after things.”
+
+“Sure! everything'll be took care of. Lemme know your orders when you
+have 'em.”
+
+By means of the taxi Don had called and the tunnel route as he had
+suggested, I caught the train, satisfied that I had obeyed the Chief's
+orders to lose no time.
+
+Lose no time indeed! I was more anxious than any one else could possibly
+be to reach the scene of the crime before significant clues were
+obliterated or destroyed by bungling investigators. I had had experience
+with the police of suburban towns, and I well knew their two principal
+types. Either they were of a pompous, dignified demeanor, which covered
+a bewildered ignorance, or else they were overzealous and worked with
+a misdirected energy that made serious trouble for an intelligent
+detective. Of course, of the two kinds I preferred the former, but the
+danger was that I should encounter both.
+
+On my way I diverted my mind, and so partly forgot my impatience,
+by endeavoring to “deduce” the station or occupation of my fellow
+passengers.
+
+Opposite me in the tunnel train sat a mild-faced gentleman, and from the
+general, appearance of his head and hat I concluded he was a clergyman.
+I studied him unostentatiously and tried to find some indication of the
+denomination he might belong to, or the character of his congregation,
+but as I watched, I saw him draw a sporting paper from his pocket, and
+turning his hand, a hitherto unseen diamond flashed brilliantly from
+his little finger. I hastily, revised my judgment, and turning slightly
+observed the man who sat next me. Determined to draw only logical
+inferences, I scrutinized his coat, that garment being usually highly
+suggestive to our best regulated detectives. I noticed that while the
+left sleeve was unworn and in good condition, the right sleeve was
+frayed at the inside edge, and excessively smooth and shiny on the inner
+forearm. Also the top button of the coat was very much worn, and the
+next one slightly.
+
+“A-ha!” said I to myself, “I've nailed you, my friend. You're a
+desk-clerk, and you write all day long, standing at a desk. The worn top
+button rubs against your desk as you stand, which it would not do were
+you seated.”
+
+With a pardonable curiosity to learn if I were right, I opened
+conversation with the young man. He was not unwilling to respond,
+and after a few questions I learned, to my chagrin, that he was a
+photographer. Alas for my deductions! But surely, Fleming Stone himself
+would not have guessed a photographer from a worn and shiny coat-sleeve.
+At the risk of being rudely personal, I made some reference to fashions
+in coats. The young man smiled and remarked incidentally, that owing to
+certain circumstances he was at the moment wearing his brother's coat.
+
+“And is your brother a desk clerk?” inquired I almost involuntarily:
+
+He gave me a surprised glance, but answered courteously enough, “Yes;”
+ and the conversation flagged.
+
+Exultantly I thought that my deduction, though rather an obvious one,
+was right; but after another furtive glance at the young man, I realized
+that Stone would have known he was wearing another's coat, for it was
+the most glaring misfit in every way.
+
+Once more I tried, and directed my attention to a middle-aged,
+angular-looking woman, whose strong, sharp-featured face betokened a
+prim spinster, probably at the head of a girls' school, or engaged in
+some clerical work. However, as I passed her on my way to leave the
+train I noticed a wedding-ring on her hand, and heard her say to her
+companion, “No; I think a woman's sphere is in her own kitchen and
+nursery. How could I think otherwise, with my six children to bring
+up?” After these lamentable failures, I determined not to trust much to
+deduction in the case I was about to investigate, but to learn actual
+facts from actual evidence.
+
+I reached West Sedgwick, as Donovan had said, at quarter before eleven.
+Though I had never been there before, the place looked quite as I had
+imagined it. The railway station was one of those modern attractive
+structures of rough gray stone, with picturesque projecting roof and
+broad, clean platforms. A flight of stone steps led down to the roadway,
+and the landscape in every direction showed the well-kept roads, the
+well-grown trees and the carefully-tended estates of a town of suburban
+homes. The citizens were doubtless mainly men whose business was in New
+York, but who preferred not to live there.
+
+The superintendent must have apprised the coroner by telephone of my
+immediate arrival, for a village cart from the Crawford establishment
+was awaiting me, and a smart groom approached and asked if I were Mr.
+Herbert Burroughs.
+
+A little disappointed at having no more desirable companion on my way to
+the house, I climbed up beside the driver, and the groom solemnly took
+his place behind. Not curiosity, but a justifiable desire to learn the
+main facts of the case as soon as possible, led me to question the man
+beside me.
+
+I glanced at him first and saw only the usual blank countenance of the
+well-trained coachman.
+
+His face was intelligent, and his eyes alert, but his impassive
+expression showed his habit of controlling any indication of interest in
+people or things.
+
+I felt there would be difficulty in ingratiating myself at all, but I
+felt sure that subterfuge would not help me, so I spoke directly.
+
+“You are the coachman of the late Mr. Crawford?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+I hadn't really expected more than this in words, but his tone was so
+decidedly uninviting of further conversation that I almost concluded to
+say nothing more. But the drive promised to be a fairly long one, so I
+made another effort.
+
+“As the detective on this case, I wish to hear the story of it as soon
+as I can. Perhaps you can give me a brief outline of what happened.”
+
+It was perhaps my straightforward manner, and my quite apparent
+assumption of his intelligence, that made the man relax a little and
+reply in a more conversational tone.
+
+“We're forbidden to chatter, sir,” he said, “but, bein' as you're the
+detective, I s'pose there's no harm. But it's little we know, after
+all. The master was well and sound last evenin', and this mornin' he was
+found dead in his own office-chair.”
+
+“You mean a private office in his home?”
+
+“Yes, sir. Mr. Crawford went to his office in New York 'most every day,
+but days when he didn't go, and evenin's and Sundays, he was much in his
+office at home, sir.”
+
+“Who discovered the tragedy?”
+
+“I don't rightly know, sir, if it was Louis, his valet, or Lambert, the
+butler, but it was one or t'other, sir.”
+
+“Or both together?” I suggested.
+
+“Yes, sir; or both together.”
+
+“Is any one suspected of the crime?”
+
+The man hesitated a moment, and looked as if uncertain what to reply,
+then, as he set his jaw squarely, he said:
+
+“Not as I knows on, sir.”
+
+“Tell me something of the town,” I observed next, feeling that it was
+better to ask no more vital questions of a servant.
+
+We were driving along streets of great beauty. Large and handsome
+dwellings, each set in the midst of extensive and finely-kept grounds,
+met the view on either aide. Elaborate entrances opened the way to wide
+sweeps of driveway circling green velvety lawns adorned with occasional
+shrubs or flower-beds. The avenues were wide, and bordered with trees
+carefully set out and properly trimmed. The streets were in fine
+condition, and everything betokened a community, not only wealthy, but
+intelligent and public-spirited. Surely West Sedgwick was a delightful
+location for the homes of wealthy New York business men.
+
+“Well, sir,” said the coachman, with unconcealed pride, “Mr. Crawford
+was the head of everything in the place. His is the handsomest house and
+the grandest grounds. Everybody respected him and looked up to him. He
+hadn't an enemy in the world.”
+
+This was an opening for further conjecture as to the murderer, and I
+said: “But the man who killed him must have been his enemy.”
+
+“Yes, sir; but I mean no enemy that anybody knew of. It must have been
+some burglar or intruder.”
+
+Though I wanted to learn such facts as the coachman might know, his
+opinions did not interest me, and I again turned my attention to the
+beautiful residences we were passing.
+
+“That place over there,” the man went on, pointing with his whip, “is
+Mr. Philip Crawford's house--the brother of my master, sir. Them red
+towers, sticking up through the trees, is the house of Mr. Lemuel
+Porter, a great friend of both the Crawford brothers. Next, on the left,
+is the home of Horace Hamilton, the great electrician. Oh, Sedgwick is
+full of well-known men, sir, but Joseph Crawford was king of this town.
+Nobody'll deny that.”
+
+I knew of Mr. Crawford's high standing in the city, and now, learning
+of his local preeminence, I began to think I was about to engage in what
+would probably be a very important case.
+
+
+
+
+II. THE CRAWFORD HOUSE
+
+
+“Here we are, sir,” said the driver, as we turned in at a fine stone
+gateway. “This is the Joseph Crawford place.”
+
+He spoke with a sort of reverent pride, and I afterward learned that his
+devotion to his late master was truly exceptional.
+
+This probably prejudiced him in favor of the Crawford place and all its
+appurtenances, for, to me, the estate was not so magnificent as some of
+the others we had passed. And yet, though not so large, I soon realized
+that every detail of art or architecture was perfect in its way, and
+that it was really a gem of a country home to which I had been brought.
+
+We drove along a curving road to the house, passing well-arranged flower
+beds, and many valuable trees and shrubs. Reaching the porte cochere the
+driver stopped, and the groom sprang down to hand me out.
+
+As might be expected, many people were about. Men stood talking in
+groups on the veranda, while messengers were seen hastily coming or
+going through the open front doors.
+
+A waiting servant in the hall at once ushered me into a large room.
+
+The effect of the interior of the house impressed me pleasantly. As I
+passed through the wide hall and into the drawing-room, I was conscious
+of an atmosphere of wealth tempered by good taste and judgment.
+
+The drawing-room was elaborate, though not ostentatious, and seemed
+well adapted as a social setting for Joseph Crawford and his family.
+It should have been inhabited by men and women in gala dress and with
+smiling society manners.
+
+It was therefore a jarring note when I perceived its only occupant to be
+a commonplace looking man, in an ill-cut and ill-fitting business suit.
+He came forward to greet me, and his manner was a trifle pompous as he
+announced, “My name is Monroe, and I am the coroner. You, I think, are
+Mr. Burroughs, from New York.”
+
+It was probably not intentional, and may have been my imagination, but
+his tone seemed to me amusingly patronizing.
+
+“Yes, I am Mr. Burroughs,” I said, and I looked at Mr. Monroe with what
+I hoped was an expression that would assure him that our stations were
+at least equal.
+
+I fear I impressed him but slightly, for he went on to tell me that he
+knew of my reputation as a clever detective, and had especially desired
+my attendance on this case. This sentiment was well enough, but he still
+kept up his air and tone of patronage, which however amused more than
+irritated me.
+
+I knew the man by hearsay, though we had never met before; and I
+knew that he was of a nature to be pleased with his own prominence
+as coroner, especially in the case of so important a man as Joseph
+Crawford.
+
+So I made allowance for this harmless conceit on his part, and was even
+willing to cater to it a little by way of pleasing him. He seemed to me
+a man, honest, but slow of thought; rather practical and serious, and
+though overvaluing his own importance, yet not opinionated or stubborn.
+
+“Mr. Burroughs,” he said, “I'm very glad you could get here so promptly;
+for the case seems to me a mysterious one, and the value of immediate
+investigation cannot be overestimated.”
+
+“I quite agree with you,” I returned. “And now will you tell me the
+principal facts, as you know them, or will you depute some one else to
+do so?”
+
+“I am even now getting a jury together,” he said, “and so you will be
+able to hear all that the witnesses may say in their presence. In the
+meantime, if you wish to visit the scene of the crime, Mr. Parmalee will
+take you there.”
+
+At the sound of his name, Mr. Parmalee stepped forward and was
+introduced to me. He proved to be a local detective, a young man who
+always attended Coroner Monroe on occasions like the present; but who,
+owing to the rarity of such occasions in West Sedgwick, had had little
+experience in criminal investigation.
+
+He was a young man of the type often seen among Americans. He was very
+fair, with a pink complexion, thin, yellow hair and weak eyes. His
+manner was nervously alert, and though he often began to speak with an
+air of positiveness, he frequently seemed to weaken, and wound up his
+sentences in a floundering uncertainty.
+
+He seemed to be in no way jealous of my presence there, and indeed spoke
+to me with an air of comradeship.
+
+Doubtless I was unreasonable, but I secretly resented this. However I
+did not show my resentment and endeavored to treat Mr. Parmalee as a
+friend and co-worker.
+
+The coroner had left us together, and we stood in the drawing-room,
+talking, or rather he talked and I listened. Upon acquaintance he seemed
+to grow more attractive. He was impulsive and jumped at conclusions, but
+he seemed to have ideas, though they were rarely definitely expressed.
+
+He told me as much as he knew of the details of the affair and proposed
+that we go directly to the scene of the crime.
+
+As this was what I was impatient to do, I consented.
+
+“You see, it's this way,” he said, in a confidential whisper, as we
+traversed the long hall: “there is no doubt in any one's mind as to who
+committed the murder, but no name has been mentioned yet, and nobody
+wants to be the first to say that name. It'll come out at the inquest,
+of course, and then--”
+
+“But,” I interrupted, “if the identity of the murderer is so certain,
+why did they send for me in such haste?”
+
+“Oh, that was the coroner's doing. He's a bit inclined to the
+spectacular, is Monroe, and he wants to make the whole affair as
+important as possible.”
+
+“But surely, Mr. Parmalee, if you are certain of the criminal it is very
+absurd for me to take up the case at all.”
+
+“Oh, well, Mr. Burroughs, as I say, no name has been spoken yet. And,
+too, a big case like this ought to have a city detective on it. Even
+if you only corroborate what we all feel sure of, it will prove to the
+public mind that it must be so.”
+
+“Tell me then, who is your suspect?”
+
+“Oh, no, since you are here you had better investigate with an
+unprejudiced mind. Though you cannot help arriving at the inevitable
+conclusion.”
+
+We had now reached a closed door, and, at Mr. Parmalee's tap, were
+admitted by the inspector who was in charge of the room.
+
+It was a beautiful apartment, far too rich and elaborate to be
+designated by the name of “office,” as it was called by every one who
+spoke of it; though of course it was Mr. Crawford's office, as was
+shown by the immense table-desk of dark mahogany, and all the other
+paraphernalia of a banker's work-room, from ticker to typewriter.
+
+But the decorations of walls and ceilings, the stained glass of the
+windows, the pictures, rugs, and vases, all betokened luxurious tastes
+that are rarely indulged in office furnishings. The room was flooded
+with sunlight. Long French windows gave access to a side veranda, which
+in turn led down to a beautiful terrace and formal garden. But all these
+things were seen only in a hurried glance, and then my eyes fell on the
+tragic figure in the desk chair.
+
+The body had not been moved, and would not be until after the jury had
+seen it, and though a ghastly sight, because of a bullet-hole in the
+left temple, otherwise it looked much as Mr. Crawford must have looked
+in life.
+
+A handsome man, of large physique and strong, stern face, he must have
+been surprised, and killed instantly; for surely, given the chance,
+he would have lacked neither courage nor strength to grapple with an
+assailant.
+
+I felt a deep impulse of sympathy for that splendid specimen of
+humanity, taken unawares, without having been given a moment in which to
+fight for his life, and yet presumably seeing his murderer, as he seemed
+to have been shot directly from the front.
+
+As I looked at that noble face, serene and dignified in its death
+pallor, I felt glad that my profession was such as might lead to the
+avenging of such a detestable crime.
+
+And suddenly I had a revulsion of feeling against such petty methods as
+deductions from trifling clues.
+
+Moreover I remembered my totally mistaken deductions of that very
+morning. Let other detectives learn the truth by such claptrap means if
+they choose. This case was too large and too serious to be allowed to
+depend on surmises so liable to be mistaken. No, I would search for
+real evidence, human testimony, reliable witnesses, and so thorough,
+systematic, and persevering should my search be, that I would finally
+meet with success.
+
+“Here's the clue,” said Parmelee's voice, as he grasped my arm and
+turned me in another direction.
+
+He pointed to a glittering article on the large desk.
+
+It was a woman's purse, or bag, of the sort known as “gold-mesh.”
+ Perhaps six inches square, it bulged as if overcrowded with some
+feminine paraphernalia.
+
+“It's Miss Lloyd's,” went on Parmalee. “She lives here, you know--Mr.
+Crawford's niece. She's lived here for years and years.”
+
+“And you suspect her?” I said, horrified.
+
+“Well, you see, she's engaged to Gregory Hall he's Mr. Crawford's
+secretary--and Mr. Crawford didn't approve of the match; and so--”
+
+He shrugged his shoulders in a careless fashion, as if for a woman to
+shoot her uncle were an everyday affair.
+
+But I was shocked and incredulous, and said so.
+
+“Where is Miss Lloyd?” I asked. “Does she claim ownership of this gold
+bag?”
+
+“No; of course not,” returned Parmalee. “She's no fool, Florence Lloyd
+isn't! She's locked in her room and won't come out. Been there all the
+morning. Her maid says this isn't Miss Lloyd's bag, but of course she'd
+say that.”
+
+“Well, that question ought to be easily settled. What's in the bag?”
+
+“Look for yourself. Monroe and I ran through the stuff, but there's
+nothing to say for sure whose bag it is.”
+
+I opened the pretty bauble, and let the contents fall out on the desk.
+
+A crumpled handkerchief, a pair of white kid gloves, a little trinket
+known as a “vanity case,” containing a tiny mirror and a tinier powder
+puff; a couple of small hair-pins, a newspaper clipping, and a few
+silver coins were all that rewarded my trouble.
+
+Nothing definite, indeed, and yet I knew if Fleming Stone could look at
+the little heap of feminine belongings, he would at once tell the fair
+owner's age, height, and weight, if not her name and address.
+
+I had only recently assured myself that such deductions were of little
+or no use, and yet, I could not help minutely examining the pretty
+trifles lying on the desk. I scrutinized the handkerchief for a monogram
+or an initial, but it had none. It was dainty, plain and fine, of sheer
+linen, with a narrow hem. To me it indicated an owner of a refined,
+feminine type, and absolutely nothing more. I couldn't help thinking
+that even Fleming Stone could not infer any personal characteristics of
+the lady from that blank square of linen.
+
+The vanity case I knew to be a fad of fashionable women, and had that
+been monogrammed, it might have proved a clue. But, though pretty, it
+was evidently not of any great value, and was merely such a trifle as
+the average woman would carry about.
+
+And yet I felt exasperated that with so many articles to study, I could
+learn nothing of the individual to whom they belonged. The gloves were
+hopeless. Of a good quality and a medium size, they seemed to tell me
+nothing. They were but slightly soiled, and apparently might have been
+worn once or twice. They had never been cleaned, as the inside showed
+no scrawled hieroglyphics. But all of these conclusions pointed nowhere
+save to the average well-groomed American woman.
+
+The hair-pins and the silver money were equally bare of suggestion, but
+I hopefully picked up the bit of newspaper.
+
+“Surely this newspaper clipping must throw some light,” I mused, but it
+proved to be only the address of a dyeing and cleaning establishment in
+New York City.
+
+“This is being taken care of?” I said, and the burly inspector, who up
+to now had not spoken, said:
+
+“Yes, sir! Nobody touches a thing in this: room while I'm here. You,
+sir, are of course an exception, but no one else is allowed to meddle
+with anything.”
+
+This reminded me that as the detective in charge of this case, it was my
+privilege--indeed, my duty--to examine the papers and personal effects
+that were all about, in an effort to gather clues for future use.
+
+I was ignorant of many important details, and turned to Parmelee for
+information.
+
+That young man however, though voluble, was, inclined to talk on only
+one subject, the suspected criminal, Miss Florence Lloyd.
+
+“You see, it must be her bag. Because who else could have left it here?
+Mrs. Pierce, the only other lady in the house, doesn't carry a youngish
+bag like that. She'd have a black leather bag, more likely, or a-- or
+a--”
+
+“Well, it really doesn't matter what kind of a bag Mrs. Pierce would
+carry,” said I, a little impatiently; “the thing is to prove whether
+this is Miss Lloyd's bag or not. And as it is certainly not a matter
+of conjecture, but a matter of fact, I think we may leave it for the
+present, and turn our attention to other matters.”
+
+I could see that Parmalee was disappointed that I had made no startling
+deductions from my study of the bag and its contents, and, partly owing
+to my own chagrin at this state of affairs, I pretended to consider the
+bag of little consequence, and turned hopefully to an investigation of
+the room.
+
+The right-hand upper drawer of the double-pedestalled desk was open.
+Seemingly, Mr. Crawford had been engaged with its contents during the
+latter moments of his life.
+
+At a glance, I saw the drawer contained exceedingly valuable and
+important papers.
+
+With an air of authority, intentionally exaggerated for the purpose of
+impressing Parmalee, I closed the drawer, and locked it with the key
+already in the keyhole.
+
+This key was one of several on a key-ring, and, taking it from its
+place, I dropped the whole bunch in my pocket. This action at once put
+me in my rightful place. The two men watching me unconsciously assumed
+a more deferential air, and, though they said nothing, I could see that
+their respect for my authority had increased.
+
+Strangely enough, after this episode, a new confidence in my own powers
+took possession of me, and, shaking off the apathy that had come over me
+at sight of that dread figure in the chair, I set methodically to work
+to examine the room.
+
+Of course I noted the position of the furniture, the state of the
+window-fastenings, and such things in a few moments. The many filing
+cabinets and indexed boxes, I glanced at, and locked those that had keys
+or fastenings.
+
+The inspector sat with folded hands watching me with interest but saying
+nothing. Parmalee, on the other hand, kept up a running conversation,
+sometimes remarking lightly on my actions, and again returning to the
+subject of Miss Lloyd.
+
+“I can see,” he said, “that you naturally dislike to suspect a woman,
+and a young woman too. But you don't know Miss Lloyd. She is haughty
+and wilful. And as I told you, nobody has mentioned her yet in this
+connection. But I am speaking to you alone, and I have no reason to
+mince matters. And you know Florence Lloyd is not of the Crawford
+stock. The Crawfords are a fine old family, and not one of them could
+be capable of crime. But Miss Lloyd is on the other side of the house,
+a niece of Mrs. Crawford; and I've heard that the Lloyd stock is not all
+that could be desired. There is a great deal in heredity, and she may
+not be responsible...”
+
+I paid little attention to Parmalee's talk, which was thrown at me in
+jerky, desultory sentences, and interested me not at all. I went on with
+my work of investigation, and though I did not get down on my knees and
+examine every square inch of the carpet with a lens, yet I thoroughly
+examined all of the contents of the room. I regret to say, however, that
+I found nothing that seemed to be a clue to the murderer.
+
+Stepping out on the veranda, I looked for footprints. The “light snow”
+ usually so helpful to a detective had not fallen, as it was April, and
+rather warm for the season. But I found many heel marks, apparently of
+men's boots; yet they were not necessarily of very recent date, and I
+don't think much of foot-print clues, anyhow.
+
+Then I examined the carpet, or, rather, the several rugs which
+ornamented the beautiful polished floor.
+
+I found nothing but two petals of a pale yellow rose. They were
+crumpled, but not dry or withered, and could not have been long detached
+from the blossom on which they grew.
+
+Parmalee chanced to have his back toward me as I spied them, and
+I picked them up and put them away in my pocket-book without his
+knowledge. If the stolid inspector saw me, he made no sign. Indeed,
+I think he would have said nothing if I had carried off the big desk
+itself. I looked round the room for a bouquet or vase of flowers from
+which the petals might have fallen, but none was there.
+
+This far I had progressed when I heard steps in the hall, and a moment
+later the coroner ushered the six gentlemen of his jury into the room.
+
+
+
+
+III. THE CORONER'S JURY
+
+
+It was just as the men came in at the door, that I chanced to notice a
+newspaper that lay on a small table. I picked it up with an apparent air
+of carelessness, and, watching my chance, unobserved by Parmalee, I put
+the paper away in a drawer, which I locked.
+
+The six men, whom Coroner Monroe named over to me, by way of a brief
+introduction, stepped silently as they filed past the body of their late
+friend and neighbor.
+
+For the jurymen had been gathered hastily from among the citizens of
+West Sedgwick who chanced to be passing; and as it was after eleven
+o'clock, they were, for the most part, men of leisure, and occupants of
+the handsome homes in the vicinity.
+
+Probably none of them had ever before been called to act on a coroner's
+jury, and all seemed impressed with the awfulness of the crime, as well
+as imbued with a personal sense of sorrow.
+
+Two of the jurors had been mentioned to me by name, by the coachman
+who brought me from the station. Horace Hamilton and Lemuel Porter were
+near-by neighbors of the murdered man, and; I judged from their remarks,
+were rather better acquainted with him than were the others.
+
+Mr. Hamilton was of the short, stout, bald-headed type, sometimes called
+aldermanic. It was plainly to be seen that his was a jocund nature, and
+the awe which he felt in this dreadful presence of death, though clearly
+shown on his rubicund face, was evidently a rare emotion with him.
+He glanced round the room as if expecting to see everything there
+materially changed, and though he looked toward the figure of Mr.
+Crawford now and then, it was with difficulty, and he averted his
+eyes as quickly as possible. He was distinctly nervous, and though
+he listened to the remarks of Coroner Monroe and the other jurors, he
+seemed impatient to get away.
+
+Mr. Porter, in appearance, was almost the exact reverse of Mr. Hamilton.
+He was a middle-aged man with the iron gray hair and piercing dark eyes
+that go to make up what is perhaps the handsomest type of Americans. He
+was a tall man, strong, lean and sinewy, with a bearing of dignity and
+decision. Both these men were well-dressed to the point of affluence,
+and, as near neighbor and intimate friends of the dead man, they seemed
+to prefer to stand together and a little apart from the rest.
+
+Three more of the jurors seemed to me not especially noticeable in any
+way. They looked as one would expect property owners in West Sedgwick to
+look. They listened attentively to what Mr. Monroe said, asked few or no
+questions, and seemed appalled at the unusual task they had before them.
+
+Only one juror impressed me unpleasantly. That was Mr. Orville, a
+youngish man, who seemed rather elated at the position in which he found
+himself. He fingered nearly everything on the desk; he peered carefully
+into the face of the victim of the crime, and he somewhat ostentatiously
+made notes in a small Russia leather memorandum book.
+
+He spoke often to the coroner, saying things which seemed to me
+impertinent, such as, “Have you noticed the blotter, Mr. Coroner? Very
+often, you know, much may be learned from the blotter on a man's desk.”
+
+As the large blotter in question was by no means fresh, indeed was
+thickly covered with ink impressions, and as there was nothing to
+indicate that Mr. Crawford had been engaged in writing immediately
+before his death, Mr. Orville's suggestion was somewhat irrelevant. And,
+too, the jurors were not detectives seeking clues, but were now merely
+learning the known facts.
+
+However, Mr. Orville fussed around, even looking into the wastebasket,
+and turning up a corner of a large rug as if ferreting for evidence.
+
+The others exhibited no such minute curiosity, and, after a few moments,
+they followed the coroner out of the room.
+
+Then the doctor and his assistants came to take the body away, and
+I went in search of Coroner Monroe, eager for further information
+concerning the case, of which I really, as yet, knew but little.
+
+Parmalee went with me and we found Mr. Monroe in the library, quite
+ready to talk with us.
+
+“Mr. Orville seems to possess the detective instinct himself,” observed
+Mr. Parmalee, with what seemed like a note of jealousy in his tone.
+
+“The true detective mind,” returned Mr. Monroe, with his slow pomposity,
+“is not dependent on instinct or intuition.”
+
+“Oh, I think it is largely dependent on that,” I said, “or where does it
+differ from the ordinary inquiring mind?”
+
+“I'm sure you will agree with me, Mr. Burroughs,” the coroner went on,
+almost as if I had not spoken, “that it depends upon a nicely adjusted
+mentality that is quick to see the cause back of an effect.”
+
+To me this seemed a fair definition of intuition, but there was
+something in the unctuous roll of Mr. Monroe's words that made me
+positive he was quoting his somewhat erudite speech, and had not himself
+a perfectly clear comprehension of its meaning.
+
+“It's guessing,” declared Parmalee, “that's all it is, guessing. If you
+guess right, you're a famous detective; if you guess wrong, you're a
+dub. That's all there is about it.”
+
+“No, no, Mr. Parmalee,”--and Mr. Monroe slowly shook his finger at the
+rash youth--“what you call guessing is really divination. Yes, my dear
+sir, it is actual divination.”
+
+“To my mind,” I put in, “detective divination is merely minute
+observation. But why do we quibble over words and definitions when there
+is much work to be done? When is the formal inquest to be held, Mr.
+Monroe?”
+
+“This afternoon at two o'clock,” he replied.
+
+“Then I'll go away now,” I said, “for I must find an abiding place for
+myself in West Sedgwick. There is an inn, I suppose.”
+
+“They'll probably ask you to stay here,” observed Coroner Monroe, “but
+I advise you not to do so. I think you'll be freer and less hampered in
+your work if you go to the inn.”
+
+“I quite agree with you,” I replied. “But I see little chance of being
+invited to stay here. Where is the family? Who are in it?”
+
+“Not many. There is Miss Florence Lloyd, a niece of Mr. Crawford. That
+is, she is the niece of his wife. Mrs. Crawford has been dead many
+years, and Miss Lloyd has kept house for her uncle all that time. Then
+there is Mrs. Pierce, an elderly lady and a distant relative of Mr.
+Crawford's. That is all, except the secretary, Gregory Hall, who lives
+here much of the time. That is, he has a room here, but often he is in
+New York or elsewhere on Mr. Crawford's business.”
+
+“Mr. Crawford had an office both here and in New York?” I asked.
+
+“Yes; and of late years he has stayed at home as much as possible.
+He went to New York only about three or four days in the week, and
+conducted his business from here the rest of the time. Young Hall is a
+clever fellow, and has been Mr. Crawford's righthand man for years.”
+
+“Where is he now?”
+
+“We think he's in New York, but haven't yet been able to locate him
+at Mr. Crawford's office there, or at his club. He is engaged to Miss
+Lloyd, though I understand that the engagement is contrary to Mr.
+Crawford's wishes.”
+
+“And where is Miss Lloyd,--and Mrs. Pierce?”
+
+“They are both in their rooms. Mrs. Pierce is prostrated at the tragedy,
+and Miss Lloyd simply refuses to make her appearance.”
+
+“But she'll have to attend the inquest?”
+
+“Oh, yes, of course. She'll be with us then. I think I won't say
+anything about her to you, as I'd rather you'd see her first with
+entirely unprejudiced eyes.”
+
+“So you, too, think Miss Lloyd is implicated?”
+
+“I don't think anything about it, Mr. Burroughs. As coroner it is not my
+place to think along such lines.”
+
+“Well, everybody else thinks so,” broke in Parmalee. “And why? Because
+there's no one else for suspicion to light on. No one else who by any
+possibility could have done the deed.”
+
+“Oh, come now, Mr. Parmalee,” said I, “there must be others. They may
+not yet have come to our notice, but surely you must admit an intruder
+could have come into the room by way of those long, open windows.”
+
+“These speculations are useless, gentlemen,” said Mr. Monroe, with
+his usual air of settling the matter. “Cease then, I beg, or at least
+postpone them. If you are walking down the avenue, Mr. Parmalee, perhaps
+you'll be good enough to conduct Mr. Burroughs to the Sedgwick Arms,
+where he doubtless can find comfortable accommodations.”
+
+I thanked Mr. Monroe for the suggestion, but said, straightforwardly
+enough, that I was not yet quite ready to leave the Crawford house, but
+that I would not detain Mr. Parmalee, for I could myself find my way to
+the inn, having noticed it on my drive from the train.
+
+So Parmalee went away, and I was about to return to Mr. Crawford's
+office where I hoped to pursue a little uninterrupted investigation.
+
+But Mr. Monroe detained me a moment, to present me to a tall,
+fine-looking man who had just come in.
+
+He proved to be Philip Crawford, a brother of Joseph, and I at once
+observed a strong resemblance between their two faces.
+
+“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Burroughs,” he said. “Mr. Monroe tells me
+you are a clever and experienced detective, and I trust you can help us
+to avenge this dastardly crime. I am busy with some important matters
+just now, but later I shall be glad to confer with you, and be of any
+help I can in your investigation.”
+
+I looked at Mr. Philip Crawford curiously. Of course I didn't expect him
+to give way to emotional grief, but it jarred on me to hear him refer
+to his brother's tragic death in such cold tones, and with such a
+businesslike demeanor.
+
+However, I realized I did not know the man at all, and this attitude
+might be due to his effort in concealing his real feelings.
+
+He looked very like his brother Joseph, and I gathered from the
+appearance of both men, and the manner of Philip, that the Crawford
+nature was one of repression and self-control. Moreover, I knew nothing
+of the sentiments of the two brothers, and it might easily be that they
+were not entirely in sympathy.
+
+I thanked him for his offer of help, and then as he volunteered no
+further observations, I excused myself and proceeded alone to the
+library.
+
+As I entered the great room and closed the door behind me, I was again
+impressed by the beauty and luxury of the appointments. Surely Joseph
+Crawford must have been a man of fine calibre and refined tastes to
+enjoy working in such an atmosphere. But I had only two short hours
+before the inquest, and I had many things to do, so for the moment I
+set myself assiduously to work examining the room again. As in my first
+examination, I did no microscopic scrutinizing; but I looked over the
+papers on and in the desk, I noted conditions in the desk of Mr. Hall,
+the secretary, and I paid special attention to the position of the
+furniture and windows, my thoughts all directed to an intruder from
+outside on Mr. Crawford's midnight solitude.
+
+I stepped through the long French window on to the veranda, and after
+a thorough examination of the veranda, I went on down the steps to the
+gravel walk. Against a small rosebush, just off the walk, I saw a small
+slip of pink paper. I picked it up, hardly daring to hope it might be a
+clue, and I saw it was a trolley transfer, whose punched holes indicated
+that it had been issued the evening before. It might or might not be
+important as evidence, but I put it carefully away in my note-book for
+later consideration.
+
+Returning to the library I took the newspaper which I had earlier
+discovered from the drawer where I had hidden it, and after one more
+swift but careful glance round the room, I went away, confident that I
+had not done my work carelessly.
+
+I left the Crawford house and walked along the beautiful avenue to the
+somewhat pretentious inn bearing the name of Sedgwick Arms.
+
+Here, as I had been led to believe, I found pleasant, even luxurious
+accommodations. The landlord of the inn was smiling and pleasant,
+although landlord seems an old-fashioned term to apply to the very
+modern and up-to-date man who received me.
+
+His name was Carstairs, and he had the genial, perceptive manner of a
+man about town.
+
+“Dastardly shame!” he exclaimed, after he had assured himself of my
+identity. “Joseph Crawford was one of our best citizens, one of our
+finest men. He hadn't an enemy in the world, my dear Mr. Burroughs--not
+an enemy! generous, kindly nature, affable and friendly with all.”
+
+“But I understand he frowned on his ward's love affair, Mr. Carstairs.”
+
+“Yes; yes, indeed. And who wouldn't? Young Hall is no fit mate for
+Florence Lloyd. He's a fortune-hunter. I know the man, and his only
+ambition is the aggrandizement of his own precious self.”
+
+“Then you don't consider Miss Lloyd concerned in this crime?”
+
+“Concerned in crime? Florence Lloyd! why, man, you must be crazy! The
+idea is unthinkable!”
+
+I was sorry I had spoken, but I remembered too late that the suspicions
+which pointed toward Miss Lloyd were probably known only to those who
+had been in the Crawford house that morning. As for the townspeople in
+general, though they knew of the tragedy, they knew very little of its
+details.
+
+I hastened to assure Mr. Carstairs that I had never seen Miss Lloyd,
+that I had formed no opinions whatever, and that I was merely repeating
+what were probably vague and erroneous suspicions of mistakenly-minded
+people.
+
+At last, behind my locked door, I took from my pocket the newspaper I
+had brought from Mr. Crawford's office.
+
+It seemed to me important, from the fact that it was an extra, published
+late the night before.
+
+An Atlantic liner had met with a serious accident, and an extra had been
+hastily put forth by one of the most enterprising of our evening papers.
+I, myself, had bought one of these extras, about midnight; and the
+finding of a copy in the office of the murdered man might prove a clue
+to the criminal.
+
+I then examined carefully the transfer slip I had picked up on the
+Crawford lawn. It had been issued after nine o'clock the evening before.
+This seemed to me to prove that the holder of that transfer must have
+been on the Crawford property and near the library veranda late last
+night, and it seemed to me that this was plain common-sense reasoning,
+and not mere intuition or divination. The transfer might have a simple
+and innocent explanation, but until I could learn of that, I should hold
+it carefully as a possible clue.
+
+
+
+
+IV. THE INQUEST
+
+
+Shortly before two o'clock I was back at the Crawford house and found
+the large library, where the inquest was to be held, already well filled
+with people. I took an inconspicuous seat, and turned my attention
+first to the group that comprised, without a doubt, the members of Mr.
+Crawford's household.
+
+Miss Lloyd--for I knew at a glance the black-robed young woman must be
+she--was of a striking personality. Tall, large, handsome, she could
+have posed as a model for Judith, Zenobia, or any of the great and
+powerful feminine characters in history. I was impressed not so much by
+her beauty as by her effect of power and ability. I had absolutely no
+reason, save Parmalee's babblings, to suspect this woman of crime, but
+I could not rid myself of a conviction that she had every appearance of
+being capable of it.
+
+Yet her face was full of contradictions. The dark eyes were haughty,
+even imperious; but the red, curved mouth had a tender expression, and
+the chin, though firm and decided-looking, yet gave an impression of
+gentleness.
+
+On the whole, she fascinated me by the very mystery of her charm, and I
+found my eyes involuntarily returning again and again to that beautiful
+face.
+
+She was dressed in a black, trailing gown of material which I think is
+called China crepe. It fell around her in soft waving folds and lay in
+little billows on the floor. Her dark hair was dressed high on her head,
+and seemed to form a sort of crown which well suited her regal type. She
+held her head high, and the uplift of her chin seemed to be a natural
+characteristic.
+
+Good birth and breeding spoke in every phase of her personality, and in
+her every movement and gesture. I remembered Parmalee's hint of unworthy
+ancestors, and cast it aside as impossible of belief. She spoke seldom,
+but occasionally turned to the lady at her side with a few murmured
+words that were indubitably those of comfort or encouragement.
+
+Her companion, a gray-haired, elderly lady, was, of course, Mrs. Pierce.
+She was trembling with the excitement of the occasion, and seemed to
+depend on Florence Lloyd's strong personality and affectionate sympathy
+to keep her from utter collapse.
+
+Mrs. Pierce was of the old school of gentlewomen. Her quiet, black gown
+with its crepe trimmings, gave, even to my masculine eye an effect of
+correct and fashionable, yet quiet and unostentatious mourning garb.
+
+She had what seemed to me a puzzling face. It did not suggest strength
+of character, for the soft old cheeks and quivering lips indicated no
+strong self-control, and yet from her sharp, dark eyes she now and
+again darted glances that were unmistakably those of a keen and positive
+personality.
+
+I concluded that hers was a strong nature, but shaken to its foundation
+by the present tragedy. There was, without doubt, a great affection
+existing between her and Miss Lloyd, and yet I felt that they were not
+in each other's complete confidence.
+
+Though, for that matter, I felt intuitively that few people possessed
+the complete confidence of Florence Lloyd. Surely she was a wonderful
+creature, and as I again allowed myself to gaze on her beautiful face I
+was equally convinced of the possibility of her committing a crime and
+the improbability of her doing so.
+
+Near these two sat a young man who, I was told, was Gregory Hall, the
+secretary. He had been reached by telephone, and had come out from New
+York, arriving shortly after I had left the Crawford house.
+
+Mr. Hall was what may be termed the average type of young American
+citizens. He was fairly good-looking, fairly well-groomed, and so far
+as I could judge from his demeanor, fairly well-bred. His dark hair was
+commonplace, and parted on the side, while his small, carefully arranged
+mustache was commonplace also. He looked exactly what he was, the
+trusted secretary of a financial magnate, and he seemed to me a man
+whose dress, manner, and speech would always be made appropriate to the
+occasion or situation. In fact, so thoroughly did he exhibit just such
+a demeanor as suited a confidential secretary at the inquest of his
+murdered employer, that I involuntarily thought what a fine undertaker
+he would have made. For, in my experience, no class of men so perfectly
+adapt themselves to varying atmospheres as undertakers.
+
+Philip Crawford and his son, an athletic looking young chap, were also
+in this group. Young Crawford inherited to a degree the fine appearance
+of his father and uncle, and bade fair to become the same kind of a
+first-class American citizen as they.
+
+Behind these people, the ones most nearly interested in the procedure,
+were gathered the several servants of the house.
+
+Lambert, the butler, was first interviewed.
+
+The man was a somewhat pompous, middle-aged Englishman, and though of
+stolid appearance, his face showed what might perhaps be described as an
+intelligent stupidity.
+
+After a few formal questions as to his position in the household, the
+coroner asked him to tell his own story of the early morning.
+
+In a more clear and concise way than I should have thought the man
+capable of, he detailed his discovery of his master's body.
+
+“I came down-stairs at seven this morning,” he said, “as I always do. I
+opened the house, I saw the cook a few moments about matters pertaining
+to breakfast, and I attended to my usual duties. At about half-past
+seven I went to Mr. Crawford's office, to set it in order for the day,
+and as I opened the door I saw him sitting in his chair. At first I
+thought he'd dropped asleep there, and been there all night, then in a
+moment I saw what had happened.”
+
+“Well, what did you do next?” asked the coroner, as the man paused.
+
+“I went in search of Louis, Mr. Crawford's valet. He was just coming
+down the stairs. He looked surprised, for he said Mr. Crawford was not
+in his room, and his bed hadn't been slept in.”
+
+“Did he seem alarmed?”
+
+“No, sir. Not knowing what I knew, he didn't seemed alarmed. But he
+seemed agitated, for of course it was most unusual not finding Mr.
+Crawford in his own room.”
+
+“How did Louis show his agitation?” broke in Mr. Orville.
+
+“Well, sir, perhaps he wasn't to say agitated,--he looked more blank,
+yes, as you might say, blank.”
+
+“Was he trembling?” persisted Mr. Orville, “was he pale?” and the
+coroner frowned slightly at this juror's repeated inquisitiveness.
+
+“Louis is always pale,” returned the butler, seeming to make an effort
+to speak the exact truth.
+
+“Then of course you couldn't judge of his knowledge of the matter,” Mr.
+Orville said, with an air of one saying something of importance.
+
+“He had no knowledge of the matter, if you mean Mr. Crawford's death,”
+ said Lambert, looking disturbed and a little bewildered.
+
+“Tell your own story, Lambert,” said Coroner Monroe, rather crisply.
+“We'll hear what Louis has to say later.”
+
+“Well, sir, then I took Louis to the office, and we both saw the--the
+accident, and we wondered what to do. I was for telephoning right off
+to Doctor Fairchild, but Louis said first we'd better tell Miss Florence
+about it.”
+
+“And did you?”
+
+“We went out in the hall, and just then Elsa, Miss Lloyd's maid, was on
+the stairs. So we told her, and told her to tell Miss Lloyd, and ask her
+for orders. Well, her orders was for us to call up Doctor Fairchild,
+and so we did. He came as soon as he could, and he's been in charge ever
+since, sir.”
+
+“A straightforward story, clearly told,” observed the coroner, and then
+he called upon Louis, the valet. This witness, a young Frenchman, was
+far more nervous and excited than the calm-mannered butler, but the gist
+of his story corroborated Lambert's.
+
+Asked if he was not called upon to attend his master at bedtime, he
+replied,
+
+“Non, M'sieu; when Monsieur Crawford sat late in his library, or his
+office, he dismiss me and say I may go to bed, or whatever I like.
+Almost alway he tell me that.”
+
+“And he told you this last night?”
+
+“But yes. When I lay out his clothes for dinner, he then tell me so.”
+
+Although the man seemed sure enough of his statements he was evidently
+troubled in his mind. It might have been merely that his French nature
+was more excitable than the stolid indifference of the English butler.
+But at the same time I couldn't help feeling that the man had not
+told all he knew. This was merely surmise on my part, and I could not
+persuade myself that there was enough ground for it to call it even an
+intuition. So I concluded it best to ask no questions of the valet at
+present, but to look into his case later.
+
+Parmalee, however, seemed to have concluded differently. He looked at
+Louis with an intent gaze as he said, “Had your master said or done
+anything recently to make you think he was despondent or troubled in any
+way?”
+
+“No, sir,” said the man; but the answer was not spontaneous, and Louis's
+eyes rolled around with an expression of fear. I was watching him
+closely myself, and I could not help seeing that against his will his
+glance sought always Florence Lloyd, and though he quickly averted it,
+he was unable to refrain from furtive, fleeting looks in her direction.
+
+“Do you know anything more of this matter than you have told us?”
+ inquired the coroner of the witness.
+
+“No, sir,” replied Louis, and this time he spoke as with more certainty.
+“After Lambert and I came out of Mr. Crawford's office, we did just
+exactly as Lambert has tell you.”
+
+“That's all, Louis.... But, Lambert, one other matter. Tell us all you
+know of Mr. Joseph Crawford's movements last evening.”
+
+“He was at dinner, as usual, sir,” said the butler, in his monotonous
+drawl. “There were no guests, only the family. After dinner Mr. Crawford
+went out for a time. He returned about nine o'clock. I saw him come in,
+with his own key, and I saw him go to his office. Soon after Mr. Porter
+called.”
+
+“Mr. Lemuel Porter?” asked the coroner.
+
+“Yes, sir,” said the butler; and Mr. Porter, who was one of the jurors,
+gravely nodded his head in acquiescence.
+
+“He stayed until about ten, I should say,” went on the butler, and again
+Mr. Porter gave an affirmative nod. “I let him out myself,” went on
+Lambert, “and soon after that I went to the library to see if Mr.
+Crawford had any orders for me. He told me of some household matters he
+wished me to attend to to-day, and then he said he would sit up for
+some time longer, and I might go to bed if I liked. A very kind and
+considerate man, sir, was Mr. Crawford.”
+
+“And did you then go to bed?”
+
+“Yes, sir. I locked up all the house, except the office. Mr. Crawford
+always locks those windows himself, when he sits up late. The ladies
+had already gone to their rooms; Mr. Hall was away for the night, so
+I closed up the front of the house, and went to bed. That's all I know
+about the matter, sir--until I came down-stairs this morning.”
+
+“You heard no sound in the night--no revolver shot?”
+
+“No, sir. But my room is on the third floor, and at the other end of the
+house, sir. I couldn't hear a shot fired in the office, I'm sure, sir.”
+
+“And you found no weapon of any sort in the office this morning?”
+
+“No, sir; Louis and I both looked for that, but there was none in the
+room. Of that I'm sure, sir.”
+
+“That will do, Lambert.”
+
+“Yes, sir; thank you, sir.”
+
+“One moment,” said I, wishing to know the exact condition of the house
+at midnight. “You say, Lambert, you closed up the front of the house.
+Does that mean there was a back door open?”
+
+“It means I locked the front door, sir, and put the chain on. The
+library door opening on to the veranda I did not lock, for, as I said,
+Mr. Crawford always locks that and the windows in there when he is there
+late. The back door I left on the night latch, as Louis was spending the
+evening out.”
+
+“Oh, Louis was spending the evening out, was he?” exclaimed Mr. Orville.
+“I think that should be looked into, Mr. Coroner. Louis said nothing of
+this in his testimony.”
+
+Coroner Monroe turned again to Louis and asked him where he was the
+evening before.
+
+The man was now decidedly agitated, but by an effort he controlled
+himself and answered steadily enough:
+
+“I have tell you that Mr. Crawford say I may go wherever I like. And so,
+last evening I spend with a young lady.”
+
+“At what time did you go out?”
+
+“At half after the eight, sir.”
+
+“And what time did you return?”
+
+“I return about eleven.”
+
+“And did you then see a light in Mr. Crawford's office?”
+
+Louis hesitated a moment. It could easily be seen that he was pausing
+only to enable himself to speak naturally and clearly, but it was only
+after one of those darting glances at Miss Lloyd that he replied:
+
+“I could not see Mr. Crawford's office, because I go around the other
+side of the house. I make my entree by the back door; I go straight to
+my room, and I know nothing of my master until I go to his room this
+morning and find him not there.”
+
+“Then you didn't go to his room last night on your return?”
+
+“As I pass his door, I see it open, and his light low, so I know he is
+still below stair.”
+
+“And you did not pass by the library on your way round the house?”
+
+Louis's face turned a shade whiter than usual, but he said distinctly,
+though in a low voice, “No, sir.”
+
+An involuntary gasp as of amazement was heard, and though I looked
+quickly at Miss Lloyd, it was not she who had made the sound. It was one
+of the maidservants, a pretty German girl, who sat behind Miss Lloyd. No
+one else seemed to notice it, and I realized it was not surprising that
+the strain of the occasion should thus disturb the girl.
+
+“You heard Louis come in, Lambert?” asked Mr. Monroe, who was conducting
+the whole inquiry in a conversational way, rather than as a formal
+inquest.
+
+“Yes, sir; he came in about eleven, and went directly to his room.”
+
+The butler stood with folded hands, a sad expression in his eyes, but
+with an air of importance that seemed to be inseparable from him, in any
+circumstances.
+
+Doctor Fairchild was called as the next witness.
+
+He testified that he had been summoned that morning at about quarter
+before eight o'clock. He had gone immediately to Mr. Crawford's house,
+was admitted by the butler, and taken at once to the office. He found
+Mr. Crawford dead in his chair, shot through the left temple with a
+thirty-two calibre revolver.
+
+“Excuse me,” said Mr. Lemuel Porter, who, with the other jurors, was
+listening attentively to all the testimony. “If the weapon was not
+found, how do you know its calibre?”
+
+“I extracted the bullet from the wound,” returned Doctor Fairchild, “and
+those who know have pronounced it to be a ball fired from a small pistol
+of thirty-two calibre.”
+
+“But if Mr. Crawford had committed suicide, the pistol would have been
+there,” said Mr. Porter; who seemed to be a more acute thinker than the
+other jurymen.
+
+“Exactly,” agreed the coroner. “That's why we must conclude that Mr.
+Crawford did not take his own life.”
+
+“Nor would he have done so,” declared Doctor Fairchild. “I have known
+the deceased for many years. He had no reason for wishing to end his
+life, and, I am sure, no inclination to do so. He was shot by an alien
+hand, and the deed was probably committed at or near midnight.”
+
+“Thus we assume,” the coroner went on, as the doctor finished his simple
+statement and resumed his seat, “that Mr. Crawford remained in his
+office, occupied with his business matters, until midnight or later,
+when some person or persons came into his room, murdered him, and went
+away again, without making sufficient noise or disturbance to arouse the
+sleeping household.”
+
+“Perhaps Mr. Crawford himself had fallen asleep in his chair,” suggested
+one of the jurors,--the Mr. Orville, who was continually taking notes in
+his little book.
+
+“It is possible,” said the doctor, as the remark was practically
+addressed to him, “but not probable. The attitude in which the body was
+found indicates that the victim was awake, and in full possession of his
+faculties. Apparently he made no resistance of any sort.”
+
+“Which seems to show,” said the coroner, “that his assailant was not a
+burglar or tramp, for in that case he would surely have risen and tried
+to put him out. The fact that Mr. Crawford was evidently shot by a
+person standing in front of him, seems to imply that that person's
+attitude was friendly, and that the victim had no suspicion of the
+danger that threatened him.”
+
+This was clear and logical reasoning, and I looked at the coroner in
+admiration, until I suddenly remembered Parmalee's hateful suspicion and
+wondered if Coroner Monroe was preparing for an attack upon Miss Lloyd.
+
+Gregory Hall was summoned next.
+
+He was self-possessed and even cool in his demeanor. There was a frank
+manner about him that pleased me, but there was also a something which
+repelled me.
+
+I couldn't quite explain it to myself, but while he had an air of
+extreme straightforwardness, there was also an indefinable effect
+of reserve. I couldn't help feeling that if this man had anything to
+conceal, he would be quite capable of doing so under a mask of great
+outspokenness.
+
+But, as it turned out, he had nothing either to conceal or reveal, for
+he had been away from West Sedgwick since six o'clock the night before,
+and knew nothing of the tragedy until he heard of it by telephone at Mr.
+Crawford's New York office that morning about half-past ten. This
+made him of no importance as a witness, but Mr. Monroe asked him a few
+questions.
+
+“You left here last evening, you say?”
+
+“On the six o'clock train to New York, yes.”
+
+“For what purpose?”
+
+“On business for Mr. Crawford.”
+
+“Did that business occupy you last evening?”
+
+Mr. Hall looked surprised at this question, but answered quietly
+
+“No; I was to attend to the business to-day. But I often go to New York
+for several days at a time.”
+
+“And where were you last evening?” pursued the coroner.
+
+This time Mr. Hall looked more surprised still, and said
+
+“As it has no bearing on the matter in hand, I prefer not to answer that
+rather personal question.”
+
+Mr. Monroe looked surprised in his turn, and said: “I think I must
+insist upon an answer, Mr. Hall, for it is quite necessary that we learn
+the whereabouts of every member of this household last evening.”
+
+“I cannot agree with you, sir,” said Gregory Hall, coolly; “my
+engagements for last evening were entirely personal matters, in no way
+connected with Mr. Crawford's business. As I was not in West Sedgwick
+at the time my late employer met his death, I cannot see that my private
+affairs need be called into question.”
+
+“Quite so, quite so,” put in Mr. Orville; but Lemuel Porter interrupted
+him.
+
+“Not at all so. I agree with Mr. Monroe, that Mr. Hall should frankly
+tell us where he spent last evening.”
+
+“And I refuse to do so,” said Mr. Hall, speaking not angrily, but with
+great decision.
+
+“Your refusal may tend to direct suspicion toward yourself, Mr. Hall,”
+ said the coroner.
+
+Gregory Hall smiled slightly. “As I was out of town, your suggestion
+sounds a little absurd. However, I take that risk, and absolutely refuse
+to answer any questions save those which relate to the matter in hand.”
+
+Coroner Monroe looked rather helplessly at his jurors, but as none of
+them said anything further, he turned again to Gregory Hall.
+
+“The telephone message you received this morning, then, was the first
+knowledge you had of Mr. Crawford's death?”
+
+“It was.”
+
+“And you came out here at once?”
+
+“Yes; on the first train I could catch.”
+
+“I am sorry you resent personal questions, Mr. Hall, for I must ask you
+some. Are you engaged to Mr. Crawford's niece, Miss Lloyd?”
+
+“I am.”
+
+This answer was given in a low, quiet tone, apparently without emotion
+of any kind, but Miss Lloyd showed, a different attitude. At the
+words of Gregory Hall, she blushed, dropped her eyes, fingered her
+handkerchief nervously, and evinced just such embarrassment as might be
+expected from any young woman, in the event of a public mention of her
+betrothal. And yet I had not looked for such an exhibition from Florence
+Lloyd. Her very evident strength of character would seem to preclude the
+actions of an inexperienced debutante.
+
+“Did Mr. Crawford approve of your engagement to his niece?” pursued Mr.
+Monroe.
+
+“With all due respect, Mr. Coroner,” said Gregory Hall, in his subdued
+but firm way, “I cannot think these questions are relevant or pertinent.
+Unless you can assure me that they are, I prefer not to reply.”
+
+“They are both relevant and pertinent to the matter in hand, Mr. Hall;
+but I am now of the opinion that they would better be asked of another
+witness. You are excused. I now call Miss Florence Lloyd.”
+
+
+
+
+V. FLORENCE LLOYD
+
+
+A stir was perceptible all through the room as Miss Lloyd acknowledged
+by a bow of her beautiful head the summons of the coroner.
+
+The jurors looked at her with evident sympathy and admiration, and I
+remembered that as they were fellow-townsmen and neighbors they probably
+knew the young woman well, and she was doubtless a friend of their own
+daughters.
+
+It seemed as if such social acquaintance must prejudice them in her
+favor, and perhaps render them incapable of unbiased judgment, should
+her evidence be incriminating. But in my secret heart, I confess, I felt
+glad of this. I was glad of anything that would keep even a shadow of
+suspicion away from this girl to whose fascinating charm I had already
+fallen a victim.
+
+Nor was I the only one in the room who dreaded the mere thought of Miss
+Lloyd's connection with this horrible matter.
+
+Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Porter were, I could see, greatly concerned lest
+some mistaken suspicion should indicate any doubt of the girl. I could
+see by their kindly glances that she was a favorite, and was absolutely
+free from suspicion in their minds.
+
+Mr. Orville had not quite the same attitude. Though he looked at Miss
+Lloyd admiringly, I felt sure he was alertly ready to pounce upon
+anything that might seem to connect her with a guilty knowledge of this
+crime.
+
+Gregory Hall's attitude was inexplicable, and I concluded I had yet much
+to learn about that young man. He looked at Miss Lloyd critically, and
+though his glance could not be called quite unsympathetic, yet it showed
+no definite sympathy. He seemed to be coldly weighing her in his own
+mental balance, and he seemed to await whatever she might be about to
+say with the impartial air of a disinterested judge. Though a stranger
+myself, my heart ached for the young woman who was placed so suddenly in
+such a painful position, but Gregory Hall apparently lacked any personal
+interest in the case.
+
+I felt sure this was not true, that he was not really so unconcerned as
+he appeared; but I could not guess why he chose to assume an impassive
+mask.
+
+Miss Lloyd had not risen as it was not required of her, and she sat
+expectant, but with no sign of nervousness. Mrs. Pierce, her companion,
+was simply quivering with agitation. Now and again she would touch Miss
+Lloyd's shoulder or hand, or whisper a word of encouragement, or perhaps
+wring her own hands in futile despair.
+
+Of course these demonstrations were of little avail, nor did it seem as
+if Florence Lloyd needed assistance or support.
+
+She gave the impression not only of general capability in managing her
+own affairs, but of a special strength in an emergency.
+
+And an emergency it was; for though the two before-mentioned jurors, who
+had been intimate friends of her uncle, were doubtless in sympathy with
+Miss Lloyd, and though the coroner was kindly disposed toward her, yet
+the other jurors took little pains to conceal their suspicious attitude,
+and as for Mr. Parmalee, he was fairly eager with anticipation of the
+revelations about to come.
+
+“Your name?” said the corner briefly, as if conquering his own sympathy
+by an unnecessarily formal tone.
+
+“Florence Lloyd,” was the answer.
+
+“Your position in this house?”
+
+“I am the niece of Mrs. Joseph Crawford, who died many years ago. Since
+her death I have lived with Mr. Crawford, occupying in every respect the
+position of his daughter, though not legally adopted as such.”
+
+“Mr. Crawford was always kind to you?”
+
+“More than kind. He was generous and indulgent, and, though not of an
+affectionate nature, he was always courteous and gentle.”
+
+“Will you tell us of the last time you saw him alive?”
+
+Miss Lloyd hesitated. She showed no embarrassment, no trepidation; she
+merely seemed to be thinking.
+
+Her gaze slowly wandered over the faces of the servants, Mrs. Pierce,
+Mr. Philip Crawford, the jurors, and, lastly, dwelt for a moment on the
+now anxious, worried countenance of Gregory Hall.
+
+Then she said slowly, but in an even, unemotional voice: “It was last
+night at dinner. After dinner was over, my uncle went out, and before he
+returned I had gone to my room.”
+
+“Was there anything unusual about his appearance or demeanor at
+dinner-time?”
+
+“No; I noticed nothing of the sort.”
+
+“Was he troubled or annoyed about any matter, that you know of?”
+
+“He was annoyed about one matter that has been annoying him for some
+time: that is, my engagement to Mr. Hall.”
+
+Apparently this was the answer the coroner had expected, for he nodded
+his head in a satisfied way.
+
+The jurors, too, exchanged intelligent glances, and I realized that the
+acquaintances of the Crawfords were well informed as to Miss Lloyd's
+romance.
+
+“He did not approve of that engagement?” went on the coroner, though he
+seemed to be stating a fact, rather than asking a question.
+
+“He did not,” returned Miss Lloyd, and her color rose as she observed
+the intense interest manifest among her hearers.
+
+“And the subject was discussed at the dinner table?”
+
+“It was.”
+
+“What was the tenor of the conversation?”
+
+“To the effect that I must break the engagement.”
+
+“Which you refused to do?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+Her cheeks were scarlet now, but a determined note had crept into
+her voice, and she looked at her betrothed husband with an air of
+affectionate pride that, it seemed to me, ought to lift any man into the
+seventh heaven. But I noted Mr. Hall's expression with surprise. Instead
+of gazing adoringly at this girl who was thus publicly proving her
+devotion to him, he sat with eyes cast down, and frowning--positively
+frowning--while his fingers played nervously with his watch-chain.
+
+Surely this case required my closest attention, for I place far more
+confidence in deductions from facial expression and tones of the voice,
+than from the discovery of small, inanimate objects.
+
+And if I chose to deduce from facial expressions I had ample scope in
+the countenances of these two people.
+
+I was particularly anxious not to jump at an unwarrantable conclusion,
+but the conviction was forced upon me then and there that these two
+people knew more about the crime than they expected to tell. I certainly
+did not suspect either of them to be touched with guilt, but I was
+equally sure that they were not ingenuous in their testimony.
+
+While I knew that they were engaged, having heard it from both of them,
+I could not think that the course of their love affair was running
+smoothly. I found myself drifting into idle speculation as to whether
+this engagement was more desired by one than the other, and if so, by
+which.
+
+But though I could not quite understand these two, it gave me no trouble
+to know which I admired more. At the moment, Miss Lloyd seemed to me to
+represent all that was beautiful, noble and charming in womanhood,
+while Gregory Hall gave me the impression of a man crafty, selfish and
+undependable. However, I fully realized that I was theorizing without
+sufficient data, and determinedly I brought my attention back to the
+coroner's catalogue of questions.
+
+“Who else heard this conversation, besides yourself, Miss Lloyd?”
+
+“Mrs. Pierce was at the table with us, and the butler was in the room
+much of the time.”
+
+The purport of the coroner's question was obvious. Plainly he meant that
+she might as well tell the truth in the matter, as her testimony could
+easily be overthrown or corroborated.
+
+Miss Lloyd deliberately looked at the two persons mentioned. Mrs. Pierce
+was trembling as with nervous apprehension, but she looked steadily at
+Miss Lloyd, with eyes full of loyalty and devotion.
+
+And yet Mrs. Pierce was a bit mysterious also. If I could read her face
+aright, it bore the expression of one who would stand by her friend
+whatever might come. If she herself had had doubts of Florence Lloyd's
+integrity, but was determined to suppress them and swear to a belief in
+her, she would look just as she did now.
+
+On the other hand the butler, Lambert, who stood with folded arms, gazed
+straight ahead with an inscrutable countenance, but his set lips and
+square jaw betokened decision.
+
+As I read it, Miss Lloyd knew, as she looked, that should she tell an
+untruth about that talk at the dinner-table, Mrs. Pierce would repeat
+and corroborate her story; but Lambert would refute her, and would state
+veraciously what his master had said. Clearly, it was useless to attempt
+a false report, and, with a little sigh, Miss Lloyd seemed to resign
+herself to her fate, and calmly awaited the coroner's further questions.
+
+But though still calm, she had lost her poise to some degree. The lack
+of responsive glances from Gregory Hall's eyes seemed to perplex her.
+The eager interest of the six jurymen made her restless and embarrassed.
+The coroner's abrupt questions frightened her, and I feared her
+self-enforced calm must sooner or later give way.
+
+And now I noticed that Louis, the valet, was again darting those
+uncontrollable glances toward her. And as the agitated Frenchman
+endeavored to control his own countenance, I chanced to observe that the
+pretty-faced maid I had noticed before, was staring fixedly at Louis.
+Surely there were wheels within wheels, and the complications of this
+matter were not to be solved by the simple questions of the coroner. But
+of course this preliminary examination was necessary, and it was from
+this that I must learn the main story, and endeavor to find out the
+secrets afterward.
+
+“What was your uncle's response when you refused to break your
+engagement to Mr. Hall?” was the next inquiry.
+
+Again Miss Lloyd was silent for a moment, while she directed her gaze
+successively at several individuals. This time she favored Mr. Randolph,
+who was Mr. Crawford's lawyer, and Philip Crawford, the dead man's
+brother. After looking in turn at these two, and glancing for a moment
+at Philip Crawford's son, who sat by his side, she said, in a lower
+voice than she had before used,
+
+“He said he would change his will, and leave none of his fortune to me.”
+
+“His will, then, has been made in your favor?”
+
+“Yes; he has always told me I was to be sole heiress to his estate,
+except for some comparatively small bequests.”
+
+“Did he ever threaten this proceeding before?”
+
+“He had hinted it, but not so definitely.”
+
+“Did Mr. Hall know of Mr. Crawford's objection to his suit?”
+
+“He did.”
+
+“Did he know of your uncle's hints of disinheritance?”
+
+“He did.”
+
+“What was his attitude in the matter?”
+
+Florence Lloyd looked proudly at her lover.
+
+“The same as mine,” she said. “We both regretted my uncle's protest, but
+we had no intention of letting it stand in the way of our happiness.”
+
+Still Gregory Hall did not look at his fiancee. He sat motionless,
+preoccupied, and seemingly lost in deep thought, oblivious to all that
+was going on.
+
+Whether his absence from Sedgwick at the time of the murder made him
+feel that he was in no way implicated, and so the inquiry held no
+interest for him; or whether he was looking ahead and wondering whither
+these vital questions were leading Florence Lloyd, I had no means
+of knowing. Certainly, he was a man of most impassive demeanor and
+marvellous self-control.
+
+“Then, in effect, you defied your uncle?”
+
+“In effect, I suppose I did; but not in so many words. I always tried to
+urge him to see the matter in a different light.”
+
+“What was his objection to Mr. Hall as your husband?”
+
+“Must I answer that?”
+
+“Yes; I think so; as I must have a clear understanding of the whole
+affair.”
+
+“Well, then, he told me that he had no objection to Mr. Hall,
+personally. But he wished me to make what he called a more brilliant
+alliance. He wanted me to marry a man of greater wealth and social
+position.”
+
+The scorn in Miss Lloyd's voice for her uncle's ambitions was so
+unmistakable that it made her whole answer seem a compliment to Mr.
+Hall, rather than the reverse. It implied that the sterling worth of
+the young secretary was far more to be desired than the riches and rank
+advocated by her uncle. This time Gregory Hall looked at the speaker
+with a faint smile, that showed appreciation, if not adoration.
+
+But I did not gather from his attitude that he did not adore his
+beautiful bride-to-be; I only concluded that he was not one to show his
+feelings in public.
+
+However, I couldn't help feeling that I had learned which of the two was
+more anxious for the engagement to continue.
+
+“In what way was your uncle more definite in his threat last night, than
+he had been heretofore?” the coroner continued.
+
+Miss Lloyd gave a little gasp, as if the question she had been dreading
+had come at last. She looked at the inexorable face of the butler, she
+looked at Mr. Randolph, and then flashed a half-timid glance at Hall, as
+she answered,
+
+“He said that unless I promised to give up Mr. Hall, he would go last
+night to Mr. Randolph's and have a new will drawn up.”
+
+“Did he do so?” exclaimed Gregory Hall, an expression almost of fear
+appearing on his commonplace face.
+
+Miss Lloyd looked at him, and seemed startled. Apparently his sudden
+question had surprised her.
+
+Mr. Monroe paid no attention to Mr. Hall's remark, but said to Miss
+Lloyd, “He had made such threats before, had he not?”
+
+“Yes, but not with the same determination. He told me in so many words,
+I must choose between Mr. Hall or the inheritance of his fortune.”
+
+“And your answer to this?”
+
+“I made no direct answer. I had told him many times that I had no
+intention of breaking my engagement, whatever course he might choose to
+pursue.”
+
+Mr. Orville was clearly delighted with the turn things were taking.
+He already scented a sensation, and he scribbled industriously in his
+rapidly filling note-book.
+
+This habit of his disgusted me, for surely the jurors on this
+preliminary inquest could come to their conclusions without a detailed
+account of all these conversations.
+
+I also resented the looks of admiration which Mr. Orville cast at the
+beautiful girl. It seemed to me that with the exception of Mr. Hamilton
+and Mr. Porter, who were family friends, the jurors should have
+maintained a formal and impersonal attitude.
+
+Mr. Hamilton spoke directly to Miss Lloyd on the subject.
+
+“I am greatly surprised,” he said, “that Mr. Crawford should take such
+a stand. He has often spoken to me of you as his heiress, and to my
+knowledge, your engagement to Mr. Hall is not of immediately recent
+date.”
+
+“No,” said Miss Lloyd, “but it is only recently that my uncle expressed
+his disapprobation so strongly; and last night at dinner was the first
+time he positively stated his intention in regard to his will.”
+
+At this Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Porter conversed together in indignant
+whispers, and it was quite evident that they did not approve of Mr.
+Crawford's treatment of his niece.
+
+Mr. Philip Crawford looked astounded, and also dismayed, which surprised
+me, as I had understood that had it not been for Miss Lloyd, he himself
+would have been his brother's heir.
+
+Mr. Randolph showed only a lawyer-like, noncommittal expression, and
+Gregory Hall, too, looked absolutely impassive.
+
+The coroner grew more alert, as if he had discovered something of
+definite import, and asked eagerly,
+
+“Did he do so? Did he go to his lawyer's and make another will?”
+
+Miss Lloyd's cold calm had returned, and seemed to rebuke the coroner's
+excited interest.
+
+“I do not know,” she replied. “He went out after dinner, as I have told
+you, but I retired to my bedroom before he came home.”
+
+“And you did not come down-stairs again last night?”
+
+“I did not.”
+
+The words were spoken in a clear, even tone; but something made me doubt
+their truth. It was not the voice or inflection; there was no hesitation
+or stammer, but a sudden and momentary droop of Miss Lloyd's eyelids
+seemed to me to give the lie to her words.
+
+I wondered if Gregory Hall had the same thought, for he slowly raised
+his own eyes and looked at her steadily for the first time since her
+testimony began.
+
+She did not look at him. Instead, she was staring at the butler.
+Either she had reason to fear his knowledge, or I was fanciful. With an
+endeavor to shake off these shadows of suspicion, I chanced to look
+at Parmalee. To my disgust, he was quite evidently gloating over the
+disclosures being made by the witness. I felt my anger rise, and I
+determined then and there that if suspicion of guilt or complicity
+should by any chance unjustly light on that brave and lovely girl, I
+would make the effort of my life to clear her from it.
+
+“You did not come down again,” the coroner went on pointedly, “to ask
+your uncle if he had changed his will?”
+
+“No, I did not,” she replied, with such a ring of truth in her scornful
+voice, that my confidence returned, and I truly believed her.
+
+“Then you were not in your uncle's office last evening at all?”
+
+“I was not.”
+
+“Nor through the day?”
+
+She reflected a moment. “No, nor through the day. It chanced I had no
+occasion to go in there yesterday at all.”
+
+At these assertions of Miss Lloyd's, the Frenchman, Louis, looked
+greatly disturbed. He tried very hard to conceal his agitation, but
+it was not at all difficult to read on his face an endeavor to look
+undisturbed at what he heard.
+
+I hadn't a doubt, myself, that the man either knew something that would
+incriminate Miss Lloyd, or that they two had a mutual knowledge of some
+fact as yet concealed.
+
+I was surprised that no one else seemed to notice this, but the
+attention of every one in the room was concentrated on the coroner and
+the witness, and so Louis's behavior passed unnoticed.
+
+At this juncture, Mr. Lemuel Porter spoke with some dignity.
+
+“It would seem,” he said, “that this concludes Miss Lloyd's evidence
+in the matter. She has carried the narrative up to the point where
+Mr. Joseph Crawford went out of his house after dinner. As she herself
+retired to her room before his return, and did not again leave her room
+until this morning, she can have nothing further to tell us bearing on
+the tragedy. And as it is doubtless a most painful experience for her, I
+trust, Mr. Coroner, that you will excuse her from further questioning.”
+
+“But wait a minute,” Parmalee began, when Mr Hamilton interrupted
+him--“Mr. Porter is quite right,” he said; “there is no reason why Miss
+Lloyd should be further troubled in this matter. I feel free to advise
+her dismissal from the witness stand, because of my acquaintance and
+friendship with this household. Our coroner and most of our jurors
+are strangers to Miss Lloyd, and perhaps cannot appreciate as I do the
+terrible strain this experience means to her.”
+
+“You're right Hamilton,” said Mr. Philip Crawford; “I was remiss not to
+think of it myself. Mr. Monroe, this is not a formal inquest, and in the
+interest of kindness and humanity, I ask you to excuse Miss Lloyd from
+further questioning for the present.”
+
+I was surprised at the requests of these elderly gentlemen, for though
+it seemed to me that Miss Lloyd's testimony was complete, yet it also
+seemed as if Gregory Hall were the one to show anxiety that she be
+spared further annoyance.
+
+However, Florence Lloyd spoke for herself.
+
+“I am quite willing to answer any further questions,” she said; “I have
+answered all you have asked, and I have told you frankly the truth.
+Though it is far from pleasant to have my individual affairs thus
+brought to notice, I am quite ready to do anything to forward the cause
+of justice or to aid in any way the discovery of my uncle's murderer.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Mr. Monroe; “I quite appreciate the extreme
+unpleasantness of your position. But, Miss Lloyd, there are a few more
+questions I must ask you. Pardon me if I repeat myself, but I ask you
+once more if you did not come down to your uncle's office last evening
+after he had returned from his call on Mr. Randolph.”
+
+As I watched Florence Lloyd I saw that her eyes did not turn toward
+the coroner, or toward her fiance, or toward the jury, but she looked
+straight at Louis, the valet, as she replied in clear tones,
+
+“I did not.”
+
+
+
+
+VI. THE GOLD BAG
+
+
+“Is this yours?” asked Mr. Monroe, suddenly whisking into sight the
+gold-mesh bag.
+
+Probably his intent had been to startle her, and thus catch her off her
+guard. If so, he succeeded, for the girl was certainly startled, if only
+at the suddenness of the query.
+
+“N-no,” she stammered; “it's--it's not mine.”
+
+“Are you sure?” the coroner went on, a little more gently, doubtless
+moved by her agitation.
+
+“I'm--I'm quite sure. Where did you find it?”
+
+“What size gloves do you wear, Miss Lloyd?”
+
+“Number six.” She said this mechanically, as if thinking of something
+else, and her face was white.
+
+“These are number six,” said the coroner, as he took a pair of gloves
+from the bag. “Think again, Miss Lloyd. Do you not own a gold-chain bag,
+such as this?”
+
+“I have one something like that--or, rather, I did have one.”
+
+“Ah! And what did you do with it?”
+
+“I gave it to my maid, Elsa, some days ago.”
+
+“Why did you do that?”
+
+“Because I was tired of it, and as it was a trifle worn, I had ceased to
+care to carry it.”
+
+“Is it not a somewhat expensive trinket to turn over to your maid?”
+
+“No; they are not real gold. At least, I mean mine was not. It was gilt
+over silver, and cost only about twelve or fourteen dollars when new.”
+
+“What did you usually carry in it?”
+
+“What every woman carries in such a bag. Handkerchief, some small
+change, perhaps a vanity-box, gloves, tickets--whatever would be needed
+on an afternoon's calling or shopping tour.”
+
+“Miss Lloyd, you have enumerated almost exactly the articles in this
+bag.”
+
+“Then that is a coincidence, for it is not my bag.”
+
+The girl was entirely self-possessed again, and even a little
+aggressive.
+
+I admit that I did not believe her statements. Of course I could not be
+sure she was telling untruths, but her sudden embarrassment at the first
+sight of the bag, and the way in which she regained her self-possession,
+made me doubt her clear conscience in the matter.
+
+Parmalee, who had come over and sat beside me, whispered: “Striking
+coincidence, isn't it?”
+
+Although his sarcasm voiced my own thoughts, yet it irritated me
+horribly to hear him say it.
+
+“But ninety-nine women out of a hundred would experience the same
+coincidence,” I returned.
+
+“But the other ninety-eight weren't in the house last night, and she
+was.”
+
+At this moment Mrs. Pierce, whom I had suspected of feeling far deeper
+interest than she had so far shown, volunteered a remark.
+
+“Of course that isn't Florence's bag,” she said; “if Florence had gone
+to her uncle's office last evening, she would have been wearing her
+dinner gown, and certainly would not carry a street bag.”
+
+“Is this a street bag?” inquired Mr. Monroe, looking with a masculine
+helplessness at the gilt bauble.
+
+“Of course it is,” said Mrs. Pierce, who now that she had found her
+voice, seemed anxious to talk. “Nobody ever carries a bag like that in
+the house,--in the evening.”
+
+“But,” began Parmalee, “such a thing might have occurred, if Miss Lloyd
+had had occasion to go to her uncle's office with, we will say, papers
+or notes.”
+
+Personally I thought this an absurd suggestion, but Mr. Monroe seemed to
+take it seriously.
+
+“That might be,” he said, and I could see that momentarily the
+suspicions against Florence Lloyd were growing in force and were taking
+definite shape.
+
+As I noted the expressions, on the various faces, I observed that only
+Mr. Philip Crawford and the jurors Hamilton and Porter seemed entirely
+in sympathy with the girl. The coroner, Parmalee, and even the lawyer,
+Randolph, seemed to be willing, almost eager for her to incriminate
+herself.
+
+Gregory Hall, who should have been the most sympathetic of all, seemed
+the most coldly indifferent, and as for Mrs. Pierce, her actions were so
+erratic and uncertain, no one could tell what she thought.
+
+“You are quite positive it is not your bag?” repeated the coroner once
+more.
+
+“I'm positive it is not mine,” returned Miss Lloyd, without undue
+emphasis, but with an air of dismissing the subject.
+
+“Is your maid present?” asked the coroner. “Let her be summoned.”
+
+Elsa came forward, the pretty, timid young girl, of German effects, whom
+I had already noticed.
+
+“Have you ever seen this bag before?” asked the coroner, holding it up
+before her.
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“When?”
+
+“This morning, sir. Lambert showed it to me, sir. He said he found it in
+Mr. Crawford's office.”
+
+The girl was very pale, and trembled pitiably. She seemed afraid of the
+coroner, of Lambert, of Miss Lloyd, and of the jury. It might have
+been merely the unreasonable fear of an ignorant mind, but it had the
+appearance of some more definite apprehension.
+
+Especially did she seem afraid of the man, Louis. Though perhaps the
+distressed glances she cast at him were not so much those of fear as of
+anxiety.
+
+The coroner spoke kindly to her, and really seemed to take more notice
+of her embarrassment, and make more effort to put her at her ease than
+he had done with Miss Lloyd.
+
+“Is it Miss Lloyd's bag?”
+
+“I don't think so, sir.”
+
+“Don't you know? As her personal maid, you must be acquainted with her
+belongings.”
+
+“Yes, sir. No, it isn't hers, sir.”
+
+But as this statement was made after a swift but noticeable glance of
+inquiry at her mistress, a slight distrust of Elsa formed in my own
+mind, and probably in the minds of others.
+
+“She has one like this, has she not?”
+
+“She--she did have, sir; but she--she gave it to me.”
+
+“Yes? Then go and get it and let us see it.”
+
+“I haven't it now, sir. I--I gave it away.”
+
+“Oh, you gave it away! To whom? Can you get it back?”
+
+“No, sir; I gave it to my cousin, who sailed for Germany last week.”
+
+Miss Lloyd looked up in surprise, and that look of surprise told against
+her. I could see Parmalee's eyes gleam as he concluded in his own mind
+that the bag story was all false, was made up between mistress and maid,
+and that the part about the departing cousin was an artistic touch added
+by Elsa.
+
+The coroner, too, seemed inclined to disbelieve the present witness, and
+he sat thoughtfully snapping the catch of the bag.
+
+He turned again to Miss Lloyd. “Having given away your own bag,” he
+said suavely, “you have perhaps provided yourself with another, have you
+not?”
+
+“Why, no, I haven't,” said Florence Lloyd. “I have been intending to do
+so, and shall get one shortly, but I haven't yet selected it.”
+
+“And in the meantime you have been getting along without any?”
+
+“A gold-mesh bag is not an indispensable article; I have several bags of
+other styles, and I'm in no especial haste to purchase a new one.”
+
+Miss Lloyd's manner had taken on several degrees of hauteur, and her
+voice was incisive in its tone. Clearly she resented this discussion of
+her personal belongings, and as she entirely repudiated the ownership of
+the bag in the coroner's possession, she was annoyed at his questions.
+
+Mr. Monroe looked at her steadily.
+
+“If this is not your bag, Miss Lloyd,” he said, with some asperity,
+“how did it get on Mr. Crawford's desk late last night? The butler has
+assured me it was not there when he looked in at a little after ten
+o'clock. Yet this morning it lay there, in plain sight on the desk.
+Whose bag is it?”
+
+“I have not the slightest idea,” said Miss Lloyd firmly; “but, I repeat,
+it is not mine.”
+
+“Easy enough to see the trend of Monroe's questions,” said Parmalee in
+my ear. “If he can prove this bag to be Miss Lloyd's, it shows that
+she was in the office after ten o'clock last night, and this she has
+denied.”
+
+“Don't you believe her?” said I.
+
+“Indeed I don't. Of course she was there, and of course it's her bag.
+She put that pretty maid of hers up to deny it, but any one could see
+the maid was lying, also.”
+
+“Oh, come now, Parmalee, that's too bad! You've no right to say such
+things!”
+
+“Oh, pshaw! you think the same yourself, only you think it isn't
+chivalrous to put it into words.”
+
+Of course what annoyed me in Parmalee's speech was its inherent truth. I
+didn't believe Florence Lloyd. Much as I wanted to, I couldn't; for the
+appearance, manner and words of both women were not such as to inspire
+belief in their hearers.
+
+If she and Elsa were in collusion to deny her ownership of the bag, it
+would be hard to prove the contrary, for the men-servants could not be
+supposed to know, and I had no doubt Mrs. Pierce would testify as Miss
+Lloyd did on any matter.
+
+I was sorry not to put more confidence in the truth of the testimony
+I was hearing, but I am, perhaps, sceptical by nature. And, too, if
+Florence Lloyd were in any way implicated in the death of her uncle, I
+felt pretty sure she would not hesitate at untruth.
+
+Her marvellous magnetism attracted me strongly, but it did not blind me
+to the strength of her nature. While I could not, as yet, believe her in
+any way implicated in the death of her uncle, I was fully convinced she
+knew more concerning it than she had told and I knew, unless forced to,
+she would not tell what she desired to keep secret.
+
+My sympathy, of course, was with her, but my duty was plain. As a
+detective, I must investigate fairly, or give up the case.
+
+At this juncture, I knew the point at issue was the presence of Miss
+Lloyd in the office last night, and the two yellow rose petals I had
+picked up on the floor might prove a clue.
+
+At any rate it was my duty to investigate the point, so taking a card
+from my pocket I wrote upon it: “Find out if Miss Lloyd wore any flowers
+last evening, and what kind.”
+
+I passed this over to Mr. Monroe, and rather enjoyed seeing his
+mystification as he read it.
+
+To my surprise he did not question Florence Lloyd immediately, but
+turned again to the maid.
+
+“At what time did your mistress go to her room last evening?”
+
+“At about ten o'clock, sir. I was waiting there for her, and so I am
+sure.”
+
+“Did she at once retire?”
+
+“No, sir. She changed her evening gown for a teagown, and then said she
+would sit up for an hour or so and write letters, and I needn't wait.”
+
+“You left her then?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Did Miss Lloyd wear any flowers at dinner last evening?”
+
+“No, sir. There were no guests--only the family.”
+
+“Ah, quite so. But did she, by chance, pin on any flowers after she went
+to her room?”
+
+“Why, yes, sir; she did. A box of roses had come for her by a messenger,
+and when she found them in her room, she pinned one on the lace of her
+teagown.”
+
+“Yes? And what time did the flowers arrive?”
+
+“While Miss Lloyd was at dinner, sir. I took them from the box and put
+them in water, sir.”
+
+“And what sort of flowers were they?”
+
+“Yellow roses, sir.”
+
+“That will do, Elsa. You are excused.”
+
+The girl looked bewildered, and a little embarrassed as she returned
+to her place among the other servants, and Miss Lloyd looked a little
+bewildered also.
+
+But then, for that matter, no body understood the reason for the
+questions about the flowers, and though most of the jury merely looked
+preternaturally wise on the subject, Mr. Orville scribbled it all
+down in his little book. I was now glad to see the man keep up his
+indefatigable note-taking. If the reporters or stenographers missed any
+points, I could surely get them from him.
+
+But from the industry with which he wrote, I began to think he must be
+composing an elaborate thesis on yellow roses and their habits.
+
+Mr. Porter, looking greatly puzzled, observed to the coroner, “I have
+listened to your inquiries with interest; and I would like to know what,
+if any, special importance is attached to this subject of yellow roses.”
+
+“I'm not able to tell you,” replied Mr. Monroe. “I asked these questions
+at the instigation of another, who doubtless has some good reason for
+them, which he will explain in due time.”
+
+Mr. Porter seemed satisfied with this, and I nodded my head at the
+coroner, as if bidding him to proceed.
+
+But if I had been surprised before at the all but spoken intelligence
+which passed between the two servants, Elsa and Louis, I was more amazed
+now. They shot rapid glances at each other, which were evidently full
+of meaning to themselves. Elsa was deathly white, her lips trembled, and
+she looked at the Frenchman as if in terror of her life. But though he
+glanced at her meaningly, now and then, Louis's anxiety seemed to me to
+be more for Florence Lloyd than for her maid.
+
+But now the coroner was talking very gravely to Miss Lloyd.
+
+“Do you corroborate,” he was saying, “the statements of your maid about
+the flowers that were sent you last evening?”
+
+“I do,” she replied.
+
+“From whom did they come?”
+
+“From Mr. Hall.”
+
+“Mr. Hall,” said, the coroner, turning toward the young man, “how could
+you send flowers to Miss Lloyd last evening if you were in New York
+City?”
+
+“Easily,” was the cool reply. “I left Sedgwick on the six o'clock train.
+On my way to the station I stopped at a florist's and ordered some roses
+sent to Miss Lloyd. If they did not arrive until she was at dinner, they
+were not sent immediately, as the florist promised.”
+
+“When did you receive them, Miss Lloyd?”
+
+“They were in my room when I went up there at about ten o'clock last
+evening,” she replied, and her face showed her wonderment at these
+explicit questions.
+
+The coroner's face showed almost as much wonderment, and I said:
+“Perhaps, Mr. Monroe, I may ask a few questions right here.”
+
+“Certainly,” he replied.
+
+And thus it was, for the first time in my life, I directly addressed
+Florence Lloyd.
+
+“When you went up to your room at ten o'clock, the flowers were there?”
+ I asked, and I felt a most uncomfortable pounding at my heart because of
+the trap I was deliberately laying for her. But it had to be done, and
+even as I spoke, I experienced a glad realization, that if she were
+innocent, my questions could do her no harm.
+
+“Yes,” she repeated, and for the first time favored me with a look of
+interest. I doubt if she knew my name or scarcely knew why I was there.
+
+“And you pinned one on your gown?”
+
+“I tucked it in among the laces at my throat, yes.”
+
+“Miss Lloyd, do you still persist in saying you did not go down-stairs
+again, to your uncle's office?”
+
+“I did not,” she repeated, but she turned white, and her voice was
+scarce more than a whisper.
+
+“Then,” said I, “how did two petals of a yellow rose happen to be on the
+floor in the office this morning?”
+
+
+
+
+VII. YELLOW ROSES
+
+
+If any one expected to see Miss Lloyd faint or collapse at this crisis
+he must have been disappointed, and as I had confidently expected such
+a scene, I was completely surprised at her quick recovery of
+self-possession.
+
+For an instant she had seemed stunned by my question, and her eyes had
+wandered vaguely round the room, as if in a vain search for help.
+
+Her glance returned to me, and in that instant I gave her an answering
+look, which, quite involuntarily on my part, meant a grave and serious
+offer of my best and bravest efforts in her behalf. Disingenuous she
+might be, untruthful she might be, yes, even a criminal she might be,
+but in any case I was her sworn ally forever. Not that I meant to defeat
+the ends of justice, but I was ready to fight for her or with her, until
+justice should defeat us. Of course she didn't know all this, though
+I couldn't help hoping she read a little of it as my eyes looked into
+hers. If so, she recognized it only by a swift withdrawal of her own
+glance. Again she looked round at her various friends.
+
+Then her eyes rested on Gregory Hall, and, though he gave her no
+responsive glance, for some reason her poise returned like a flash. It
+was as if she had been invigorated by a cold douche.
+
+Determination fairly shone in her dark eyes, and her mouth showed a
+more decided line than I had yet seen in its red curves, as with a cold,
+almost hard voice she replied,
+
+“I have no idea. We have many flowers in the house, always.”
+
+“But I have learned from the servants that there were no other yellow
+roses in the house yesterday.”
+
+Miss Lloyd was not hesitant now. She replied quickly, and it was with an
+almost eager haste that she said,
+
+“Then I can only imagine that my uncle had some lady visitor in his
+office late last evening.”
+
+The girl's mood had changed utterly; her tone was almost flippant, and
+more than one of the jurors looked at her in wonderment.
+
+Mr. Porter, especially, cast an her a glance of fatherly solicitude, and
+I was sure that he felt, as I did, that the strain was becoming too much
+for her.
+
+“I don't think you quite mean that, Florence,” he said; “you and I knew
+your uncle too well to say such things.”
+
+But the girl made no reply, and her beautiful mouth took on a hard line.
+
+“It is not an impossible conjecture,” said Philip Crawford thoughtfully.
+“If the bag does not belong to Florence, what more probable than that it
+was left by its feminine owner? The same lady might have worn or carried
+yellow roses.”
+
+Perhaps it was because of my own desire to help her that these other men
+had joined their efforts to mine to ease the way as much as possible.
+
+The coroner looked a little uncomfortable, for he began to note the tide
+of sympathy turning toward the troubled girl.
+
+“Yellow roses do not necessarily imply a lady visitor,” he said, rather
+more kindly. “A man in evening dress might have worn one.”
+
+To his evident surprise, as well as to my own, this remark, intended to
+be soothing, had quite the opposite effect.
+
+“That is not at all probable,” said Miss Lloyd quite angrily. “Mr.
+Porter was in the office last evening; if he was wearing a yellow rose
+at the time, let him say so.”
+
+“I was not,” said Mr. Porter quietly, but looking amazed at the sudden
+outburst of the girl.
+
+“Of course you weren't!” Miss Lloyd went on, still in the same excited
+way. “Men don't wear roses nowadays, except perhaps at a ball; and,
+anyway, the gold bag surely implies that a woman was there!”
+
+“It seems to,” said Mr. Monroe; and then, unable longer to keep up her
+brave resistance, Florence Lloyd fainted.
+
+Mrs. Pierce wrung her hands and moaned in a helpless fashion. Elsa
+started forward to attend her young mistress, but it was the two
+neighbors who were jurors, Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Porter, who carried the
+unconscious girl from the room.
+
+Gregory Hall looked concerned, but made no movement to aid, and I
+marvelled afresh at such strange actions in a man betrothed to a
+particularly beautiful woman.
+
+Several women in the audience hurried from the room, and in a few
+moments the two jurors returned.
+
+“Miss Lloyd will soon be all right, I think,” said Mr. Porter to the
+coroner. “My wife is with her, and one or two other ladies. I think we
+may proceed with our work here.”
+
+There was something about Mr. Lemuel Porter that made men accept his
+dictum, and without further remark Mr. Monroe called the next witness,
+Mr. Roswell Randolph, and a tall man, with an intellectual face, came
+forward.
+
+While the coroner was putting the formal and preliminary questions
+to Mr. Randolph, Parmalee quietly drew my attention to a whispered
+conversation going on between Elsa and Louis.
+
+If this girl had fainted instead of Miss Lloyd, I should not have been
+surprised for she seemed on the very verge of nervous collapse. She
+seemed, too, to be accusing the man of something, which he vigorously
+denied. The girl interested me far more than the Frenchman. Though of
+the simple, rosy-cheeked type of German, she had an air of canniness and
+subtlety that was at variance with her naive effect. I soon concluded
+she was far more clever than most people thought, and Parmalee's
+whispered words showed that he thought so too.
+
+“Something doing in the case of Dutch Elsa, eh?” he said; “she and
+Johnny Frenchy have cooked up something between them.”
+
+“Nothing of any importance, I fancy,” I returned, for Miss Lloyd's
+swoon seemed to me a surrender, and I had little hope now of any other
+direction in which to look.
+
+But I resumed my attention to the coroner's inquiries of Mr. Randolph.
+
+In answer to a few formal questions, he stated that he had been Mr.
+Crawford's legal adviser for many years, and had entire charge of all
+such matters as required legal attention.
+
+“Did you draw up the late Mr. Crawford's will?” asked the coroner.
+
+“Yes; after the death of his wife--about twelve years ago.”
+
+“And what were the terms of that will?”
+
+“Except for some minor bequests, the bulk of his fortune was bequeathed
+to Miss Florence Lloyd.”
+
+“Have you changed that will in any way, or drawn a later one?”
+
+“No.”
+
+It was by the merest chance that I was looking at Gregory Hall, as the
+lawyer gave this answer.
+
+It required no fine perception to understand the look of relief and
+delight that fairly flooded his countenance. To be sure, it was quickly
+suppressed, and his former mask of indifference and preoccupation
+assumed, but I knew as well as if he had put it into words, that he had
+trembled lest Miss Lloyd had been disinherited before her uncle had met
+his death in the night.
+
+This gave me many newThis gave me many new thoughts, but before I could formulate them, I
+heard the coroner going on with his questions.
+
+“Did Mr. Crawford visit you last evening?”
+
+“Yes; he was at my house for perhaps half an hour or more between eight
+and nine o'clock.”
+
+“Did he refer to the subject of changing his will?”
+
+“He did. That was his errand. He distinctly stated his intention of
+making a new will, and asked me to come to his office this morning and
+draw up the instrument.”
+
+“But as that cannot now be done, the will in favor of Miss Lloyd still
+stands?”
+
+“It does,” said Mr. Randolph, “and I am glad of it. Miss Lloyd has been
+brought up to look upon this inheritance as her own, and while I
+would have used no undue emphasis, I should have tried to dissuade Mr.
+Crawford from changing his will.”
+
+“But before we consider the fortune or the will, we must proceed with
+our task of bringing to light the murderer, and avenging Mr. Crawford's
+death.”
+
+“I trust you will do so, Mr. Coroner, and that speedily. But I may
+say, if allowable, that you are on the wrong track when you allow your
+suspicions to tend towards Florence Lloyd.”
+
+“As your opinion, Mr. Randolph, of course that sentiment has some
+weight, but as a man of law, yourself, you must know that such an
+opinion must be proved before it can be really conclusive.”
+
+“Yes, of course,” said Mr. Randolph, with a deep sigh. “But let me beg
+of you to look further in search of other indications before you press
+too hard upon Miss Lloyd with the seeming clues you now have.”
+
+I liked Mr. Randolph very much. Indeed it seemed to me that the men of
+West Sedgwick were of a fine class as to both intellect and judgment,
+and though Coroner Monroe was not a brilliant man, I began to realize
+that he had some sterling qualities and was distinctly just and fair in
+his decisions.
+
+As for Gregory Hall, he seemed like a man free from a great anxiety.
+Though still calm and reserved in appearance, he was less nervous,
+and quietly awaited further developments. His attitude was not hard to
+understand. Mr. Crawford had objected to his secretary's engagement to
+his niece, and now Mr. Crawford's objections could no longer matter.
+Again, it was not surprising that Mr. Hall should be glad to learn that
+his fiancee was the heiress she had supposed herself to he. Even though
+he were marrying the girl simply for love of her, a large fortune in
+addition was by no means to be despised. At any rate, I concluded that
+Gregory Hall thought so.
+
+As often happened, Parmalee read my thoughts. “A fortune-hunter,” he
+murmured, with a meaning glance at Hall.
+
+I remembered that Mr. Carstairs, at the inn had said the same thing, and
+I thoroughly believed it myself.
+
+“Has he any means of his own?”
+
+“No,” said Parmalee, “except his salary, which was a good one from Mr.
+Crawford, but of course he's lost that now.”
+
+“I don't feel drawn toward him. I suppose one would call him a gentleman
+and yet he isn't manly.”
+
+“He's a cad,” declared Parmalee; “any fortune hunter is a cad, and I
+despise him.”
+
+Although I tried to hold my mind impartially open regarding Mr. Hall,
+I was conscious of an inclination to despise him myself. But I was also
+honest enough to realize that my principal reason for despising him was
+because he had won the hand of Florence Lloyd.
+
+I heard Coroner Monroe draw a long sigh.
+
+Clearly, the man was becoming more and more apprehensive, and really
+dreaded to go on with the proceedings, because he was fearful of what
+might be disclosed thereby.
+
+The gold bag still lay on the table before him; the yellow rose petals
+were not yet satisfactorily accounted for; Miss Lloyd's agitation
+and sudden loss of consciousness, though not surprising in the
+circumstances, were a point in her disfavor. And now the revelation that
+Mr. Crawford was actually on the point of disinheriting his niece made
+it impossible to ignore the obvious connection between that fact and the
+event of the night.
+
+But no one had put the thought into words, and none seemed inclined to.
+
+Mechanically, Mr. Monroe called the next witness on his list, and Mrs.
+Pierce answered.
+
+For some reason she chose to stand during her interview, and as she
+rose, I realized that she was a prim little personage, but of such
+a decided nature that she might have been stigmatized by the term
+stubborn. I had seen such women before; of a certain soft, outward
+effect, apparently pliable and amenable, but in reality, deep, shrewd
+and clever.
+
+And yet she was not strong, for the situation in which she found herself
+made her trembling and unstrung.
+
+When asked by the coroner to tell her own story of the events of the
+evening before, she begged that he would question her instead.
+
+Desirous of making it as easy for her as possible, Mr. Monroe acceded to
+her wishes, and put his questions in a kindly and conversational tone.
+
+“You were at dinner last night, with Miss Lloyd and Mr. Crawford?”
+
+“Yes,” was the almost inaudible reply, and Mrs. Pierce seemed about to
+break down at the sad recollection.
+
+“You heard the argument between Mr. Crawford and his niece at the dinner
+table?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“This resulted in high words on both sides?”
+
+“Well, I don't know exactly what you mean by high words. Mr. Crawford
+rarely lost his temper and Florence never.”
+
+“What then did Mr. Crawford say in regard to disinheriting Miss Lloyd?”
+
+“Mr. Crawford said clearly, but without recourse to what may be called
+high words, that unless Florence would consent to break her engagement
+he would cut her off with a shilling.”
+
+“Did he use that expression?”
+
+“He did at first, when he was speaking more lightly; then when Florence
+refused to do as he wished he said he would go that very evening to Mr.
+Randolph's and have a new will made which should disinherit Florence,
+except for a small annuity.”
+
+“And what did Miss Lloyd reply to this threat?” asked the coroner.
+
+“She said,” replied Mrs. Pierce, in her plaintive tones, “that her uncle
+might do as he chose about that; but she would never give up Mr. Hall.”
+
+At this moment Gregory Hall looked more manly than I had yet seen him.
+
+Though he modestly dropped his eyes at this tacit tribute to his
+worthiness, yet he squared his shoulders, and showed a justifiable pride
+in the love thus evinced for him.
+
+“Was the subject discussed further?” pursued the coroner.
+
+“No; nothing more was said about it after that.”
+
+“Will the making of a new will by Mr. Crawford affect yourself in any
+way, Mrs. Pierce?”
+
+“No,” she replied, “Mr. Crawford left me a small bequest in his earlier
+will and I had reason to think he would do the same in a later will,
+even though he changed his intentions regarding Florence.”
+
+“Miss Lloyd thoroughly believed that he intended to carry out his threat
+last evening?”
+
+“She didn't say so to me, but Mr. Crawford spoke so decidedly on the
+matter, that I think both she and I believed he was really going to
+carry out his threat at last.”
+
+“When Mr. Crawford left the house, did you and Miss Lloyd know where he
+was going?”
+
+“We knew no more than he had said at the table. He said nothing when he
+went away.”
+
+“How did you and Miss Lloyd spend the remainder of the evening?”
+
+“It was but a short evening. We sat in the music-room for a time, but at
+about ten o'clock we both went up to our rooms.”
+
+“Had Mr. Crawford returned then?”
+
+“Yes, he came in perhaps an hour earlier. We heard him come in at the
+front door, and go at once to his office.”
+
+“You did not see him, or speak to him?”
+
+“We did not. He had a caller during the evening. It was Mr. Porter, I
+have since learned.”
+
+“Did Miss Lloyd express no interest as to whether he had changed his
+will or not?”
+
+“Miss Lloyd didn't mention the will, or her engagement, to me at all. We
+talked entirely of other matters.”
+
+“Was Miss Lloyd in her usual mood or spirits?”
+
+“She seemed a little quiet, but not at all what you might call worried.”
+
+“Was not this strange when she was fully expecting to be deprived of her
+entire fortune?”
+
+“It was not strange for Miss Lloyd. She rarely talks of her own affairs.
+We spent an evening similar in all respects to our usual evening when we
+do not have guests.”
+
+“And you both went upstairs at ten. Was that unusually early for you?”
+
+“Well, unless we have guests, we often go at ten or half-past ten.”
+
+“And did you see Miss Lloyd again that night?”
+
+“Yes; about half an hour later, I went to her room for a book I wanted.”
+
+“Miss Lloyd had not retired?”
+
+“No; she asked me to sit down for awhile and chat.”
+
+“Did you do so?”
+
+“Only for a few moments. I was interested in the book I had come for,
+and I wanted to take it away to my own room to read.”
+
+“And Miss Lloyd, then, did not seem dispirited or in any way in an
+unusual mood?”
+
+“Not that I noticed. I wasn't quizzing her or looking into her eyes to
+see what her thoughts were, for it didn't occur to me to do so. I
+knew her uncle had dealt her a severe blow, but as she didn't open
+the subject, of course I couldn't discuss it with her. But I did think
+perhaps she wanted to be by herself to consider the matter, and that was
+one reason why I didn't stay and chat as she had asked me to.”
+
+“Perhaps she really wanted to discuss the matter with you.”
+
+“Perhaps she did; but in that case she should have said so. Florence
+knows well enough that I am always ready to discuss or sympathize with
+her in any matter, but I never obtrude my opinions. So as she said
+nothing to lead me to think she wanted to talk to me especially, I said
+good-night to her.”
+
+
+
+
+VIII. FURTHER INQUIRY
+
+
+“Did you happen to notice, Mrs. Pierce, whether Miss Lloyd was wearing a
+yellow rose when you saw her in her room?”
+
+Mrs. Pierce hesitated. She looked decidedly embarrassed, and seemed
+disinclined to answer. But she might have known that to hesitate and
+show embarrassment was almost equivalent to an affirmative answer to the
+coroner's question. At last she replied,
+
+“I don't know; I didn't notice.”
+
+This might have been a true statement, but I think no one in the room
+believed it. The coroner tried again.
+
+“Try to think, Mrs. Pierce. It is important that we should know if Miss
+Lloyd was wearing a yellow rose.”
+
+“Yes,” flared out Mrs. Pierce angrily, “so that you can prove she went
+down to her uncle's office later and dropped a piece of her rose there!
+But I tell you I don't remember whether she was wearing a rose or not,
+and it wouldn't matter if she had on forty roses! If Florence Lloyd says
+she didn't go down-stairs, she didn't.”
+
+“I think we all believe in Miss Lloyd's veracity,” said Mr. Monroe, “but
+it is necessary to discover where those rose petals in the library came
+from. You saw the flowers in her room, Mrs. Pierce?”
+
+“Yes, I believe I did. But I paid no attention to them, as Florence
+nearly always has flowers in her room.”
+
+“Would you have heard Miss Lloyd if she had gone down-stairs after you
+left her?”
+
+“I don't know,” said Mrs. Pierce, doubtfully.
+
+“Is your room next to hers?”
+
+“No, not next.”
+
+“Is it on the same corridor?”
+
+“No.”
+
+“Around a corner?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“And at some distance?”
+
+“Yes.” Mrs. Pierce's answers became more hesitating as she saw the drift
+of Mr. Monroe's questions. Clearly, she was trying to shield Florence,
+if necessary, at the expense of actual truthfulness.
+
+“Then,” went on Mr. Monroe, inexorably, “I understand you to say that
+you think you would have heard Miss Lloyd, had she gone down-stairs,
+although your room is at a distance and around a corner and the hall and
+stairs are thickly carpeted. Unless you were listening especially, Mrs.
+Pierce, I think you would scarcely have heard her descend.”
+
+“Well, as she didn't go down, of course I didn't hear her,” snapped Mrs.
+Pierce, with the feminine way of settling an argument by an unprovable
+statement.
+
+Mr. Monroe began on another tack.
+
+“When you went to Miss Lloyd's room,” he said, “was the maid, Elsa,
+there?”
+
+“Miss Lloyd had just dismissed her for the night.”
+
+“What was Miss Lloyd doing when you went to her room?”
+
+“She was looking over some gowns that she proposed sending to the
+cleaner's.”
+
+The coroner fairly jumped. He remembered the newspaper clipping of a
+cleaner's advertisement, which was even now in the gold bag before him.
+Though all the jurors had seen it, it had not been referred to in the
+presence of the women.
+
+Recovering himself at once, he said quietly “Was not that rather work
+for Miss Lloyd's maid?”
+
+“Oh, Elsa would pack and send them, of course,” said Mrs. Pierce
+carelessly. “Miss Lloyd was merely deciding which ones needed cleaning.”
+
+“Do you know where they were to be sent?”
+
+Mrs. Pierce looked a little surprised at this question.
+
+“Miss Lloyd always sends her things to Carter & Brown's,” she said.
+
+Now, Carter & Brown was the firm name on the advertisement, and it was
+evident at once that the coroner considered this a damaging admission.
+
+He sat looking greatly troubled, but before he spoke again, Mr.
+Parmalee made an observation that decidedly raised that young man in my
+estimation.
+
+“Well,” he said, “that's pretty good proof that the gold bag doesn't
+belong to Miss Lloyd.”
+
+“How so?” asked the coroner, who had thought quite the contrary.
+
+“Why, if Miss Lloyd always sends her goods to be cleaned to Carter &
+Brown, why would she need to cut their address from a newspaper and save
+it?”
+
+At first I thought the young man's deduction distinctly clever, but
+on second thought I wasn't so sure. Miss Lloyd might have wanted that
+address for a dozen good reasons. To my mind, it proved neither her
+ownership of the gold bag, nor the contrary.
+
+In fact, I thought the most important indication that the bag might be
+hers lay in the story Elsa told about the cousin who sailed to Germany.
+Somehow that sounded untrue to me, but I was more than willing to
+believe it if I could.
+
+I longed for Fleming Stone, who, I felt sure, could learn from the bag
+and its contents the whole truth about the crime and the criminal.
+
+But I had been called to take charge of the case, and my pride forbade
+me to call on any one for help.
+
+I had scorned deductions from inanimate objects, but I resolved to study
+that bag again, and study it more minutely. Perhaps there were some
+threads or shreds caught in its meshes that might point to its owner. I
+remembered a detective story I read once, in which the whole discovery
+of the criminal depended on identifying a few dark blue woollen threads
+which were found in a small pool of candle grease on a veranda roof. As
+it turned out, they were from the trouser knee of a man who had knelt
+there to open a window. The patent absurdity of leaving threads from
+one's trouser knee, amused me very much, but the accommodating criminals
+in fiction almost always leave threads or shreds behind them. And surely
+a gold-mesh bag, with its thousands of links would be a fine trap to
+catch some threads of evidence, however minute they might be.
+
+Furthermore I decided to probe further into that yellow rose business. I
+was not at all sure that those petals I found on the floor had anything
+to do with Miss Lloyd's roses, but it must be a question possible of
+settlement, if I went about it in the right way. At any rate, though
+I had definite work ahead of me, my duty just now was to listen to the
+forthcoming evidence, though I could not help thinking I could have put
+questions more to the point than Mr. Monroe did.
+
+Of course the coroner's inquest was not formally conducted as a trial by
+jury would be, and so any one spoke, if he chose, and the coroner seemed
+really glad when suggestions were offered him.
+
+At this point Philip Crawford rose.
+
+“It is impossible,” he said, “not to see whither these questions are
+tending. But you are on the wrong tack, Mr. Coroner. No matter how
+evidence may seem to point toward Florence Lloyd's association with this
+crime, it is only seeming. That gold bag might have been hers and it
+might not. But if she says it isn't, why, then it isn't! Notwithstanding
+the state of affairs between my brother and his niece, there is not
+the shadow of a possibility that the young woman is implicated in
+the slightest degree, and the sooner you leave her name out of
+consideration, and turn your search into other channels, the sooner you
+will find the real criminal.”
+
+It was not so much the words of Philip Crawford, as the sincere way in
+which they were spoken, that impressed me. Surely he was right; surely
+this beautiful girl was neither principal nor accessory in the awful
+crime which, by a strange coincidence, gave to her her fortune and her
+lover.
+
+“Mr. Crawford's right,” said Lemuel Porter. “If this jury allows itself
+to be misled by a gold purse and two petals of a yellow rose, we are
+unworthy to sit on this case. Why, Mr. Coroner, the long French windows
+in the office were open, or, at least, unfastened all through the night.
+We have that from the butler's testimony. He didn't lock them last
+night; they were found unlocked this morning. Therefore, I hold that
+an intruder, either man or woman, may have come in during the night,
+accomplished the fatal deed, and departed without any one being the
+wiser. That this intruder was a woman, is evidenced by the bag she left
+behind her. For, as Mr. Crawford has said, if Miss Lloyd denies the
+ownership of that bag, it is not hers.”
+
+After all, these declarations were proof, of a sort. If Mr. Porter and
+Mr. Philip Crawford, who had known Florence Lloyd for years, spoke thus
+positively of her innocence, it could not be doubted.
+
+And then the voice of Parmalee again sounded in my ears.
+
+“Of course Mr. Porter and Mr. Crawford would stand up for Miss Lloyd; it
+would be strange if they didn't. And of course, Mrs. Pierce will do all
+she can to divert suspicion. But the evidences are against her.”
+
+“They only seem to be,” I corrected. “Until we prove the gold bag and
+the yellow rose to be hers; there is no evidence against her at all.”
+
+“She also had motive and opportunity. Those two points are of quite as
+much importance as evidence.”
+
+“She had motive and opportunity,” I agreed, “but they were not
+exclusive. As Mr. Porter pointed out, the open windows gave opportunity
+that was world wide; and as to motive, how are we to know who had or who
+hadn't it.”
+
+“You're right, I suppose. Perhaps I am too positive of Miss Lloyd's
+implication in the matter, but I'm quite willing to be convinced to the
+contrary.”
+
+The remarks of Mr. Parmalee were of course not audible to any one save
+myself. But the speeches which had been made by Mr. Crawford and Mr.
+Porter, and which, strange to say, amounted to an arraignment and a
+vindication almost in the same breath, had a decided effect upon the
+assembly.
+
+Mrs. Pierce began to weep silently. Gregory Hall looked startled, as
+if the mere idea of Miss Lloyd's implication was a new thought to him.
+Lawyer Randolph looked considerably disturbed, and I at once suspected
+that his legal mind would not allow him to place too much dependence on
+the statements of the girl's sympathetic friends.
+
+Mr. Hamilton, another of the jurors whom I liked, seemed to be
+thoughtfully weighing the evidence. He was not so well acquainted with
+Miss Lloyd as the two men who had just spoken in her behalf, and he made
+a remark somewhat diffidently.
+
+“I agree,” he said, “with the sentiments just expressed; but I also
+think that we should endeavor to find some further clues or evidence.
+Had Mr. Crawford any enemies who would come at night to kill him? Or are
+there any valuables missing? Could robbery have been the motive?”
+
+“It does not seem so,” replied the coroner. “Nothing is known to be
+missing. Mr. Crawford's watch and pocket money were not disturbed.”
+
+“The absence of the weapon is a strange factor in the case,” put in Mr.
+Orville, apparently desirous of having his voice heard as well as those
+of the other jurors.
+
+“Yes,” agreed Mr. Monroe; “and yet it is not strange that the criminal
+carried away with him what might have been a proof of his identity.”
+
+“Does Miss Lloyd own a pistol?” blurted out Mr. Parmalee.
+
+Gregory Hall gave him an indignant look, but Coroner Monroe seemed
+rather glad to have the question raised--probably so that it could be
+settle at once in the negative.
+
+And it was.
+
+“No,” replied Mrs. Pierce, when the query was put to her. “Both Florence
+and I are desperately afraid of firearms. We wouldn't dream of owning a
+pistol--either of us.”
+
+Of course, this was significant, but in no way decisive. Granting that
+Miss Lloyd could have been the criminal, it would have been possible
+for her secretly to procure a revolver, and secretly to dispose of it
+afterward. Then, too, a small revolver had been used. To be sure,
+this did not necessarily imply that a woman had used it, but, taken in
+connection with the bag and the rose petals, it gave food for thought.
+
+But the coroner seemed to think Mrs. Pierce's assertions greatly in
+Miss Lloyd's favor, and, being at the end of his list of witnesses, he
+inquired if any one else in the room knew of anything that could throw
+light on the matter.
+
+No one responded to this invitation, and the coroner then directed the
+jury to retire to find a verdict. The six men passed into another room,
+and I think no one who awaited their return apprehended any other result
+than the somewhat unsatisfactory one of “person or persons unknown.”
+
+And this was what the foreman announced when the jury returned after
+their short collocation.
+
+Then, as a jury, they were dismissed, but from that moment the mystery
+of Joseph Crawford's death became the absorbing thought of all West
+Sedgwick.
+
+“The murderer of my brother shall be found and brought to justice!”
+ declared Philip Crawford, and all present seemed to echo his vow.
+
+Then and there, Mr. Crawford retained Lawyer Randolph to help him
+in running down the villain, and, turning to me, asked to engage my
+services also.
+
+To this, I readily agreed, for I greatly desired to go on with the
+matter, and cared little whether I worked for an individual or for the
+State.
+
+Of course Mr. Crawford's determination to find the murderer proved anew
+his conviction that Florence Lloyd was above all suspicion, but in the
+face of certain details of the evidence so far, I could not feel so
+absolutely certain of this.
+
+However, it was my business to follow up every clue, or apparent clue,
+and every bit of evidence, and this I made up my mind to do, regardless
+of consequences.
+
+I confess it was difficult for me to feel regardless of consequences,
+for I had a haunting fear that the future was going to look dark for
+Florence Lloyd. And if it should be proved that she was in any way
+responsible for or accessory to this crime, I knew I should wish I had
+had nothing to do with discovering that fact. But back of this was an
+undefined but insistent conviction that the girl was innocent, and
+that I could prove it. This may have been an inordinate faith in my own
+powers, or it may have been a hope born of my admiration for the young
+woman herself. For there is no doubt, that for the first time in my life
+I was taking a serious interest in a woman's personality. Heretofore
+I had been a general admirer of womankind, and I had naturally treated
+them all with chivalry and respect. But now I had met one whom I desired
+to treat in a far tenderer way, and to my chagrin I realized that I had
+no right to entertain such thoughts toward a girl already betrothed.
+
+So I concluded to try my best to leave Florence Lloyd's personality out
+of the question, to leave my feelings toward her out of the question,
+and to devote my energies to real work on the case and prove by
+intelligent effort that I could learn facts from evidence without
+resorting to the microscopic methods of Fleming Stone. I purposely
+ignored the fact that I would have been only too glad to use these
+methods had I the power to do so!
+
+
+
+
+IX. THE TWELFTH ROSE
+
+
+For the next day or two the Crawford house presented the appearance
+usual in any home during the days immediately preceding a funeral.
+
+By tacit consent, all reference to the violence of Mr. Crawford's
+death was avoided, and a rigorous formality was the keynote of all the
+ceremonies. The servants were garbed in correct mourning, the ladies of
+the house refused to see anybody, and all personal callers were met by
+Philip Crawford or his wife, while business acquaintances were received
+by Gregory Hall.
+
+As private secretary, of course Mr. Hall was in full charge of Mr.
+Crawford's papers and personal effects. But, in addition to this, as the
+prospective husband of the heiress, he was practically the head of the
+house.
+
+He showed no elation or ostentation at this state of affairs, but
+carried himself with an air of quiet dignity, tinged with a suggestion
+of sadness, which, if merely conventional, seemed none the less sincere.
+
+I soon learned that the whole social atmosphere of West Sedgwick was
+one of extreme formality, and everything was done in accordance with the
+most approved conventions. Therefore, I found I could get no chance for
+a personal conversation with Miss Lloyd until after the funeral.
+
+I had, however, more or less talk with Gregory Hall, and as I became
+acquainted with him, I liked him less.
+
+He was of a cold and calculating disposition, and when we were alone, he
+did not hesitate to gloat openly over his bright prospects.
+
+“Terrible thing, to be put out of existence like that,” he said, as we
+sat in Mr. Crawford's office, looking over some papers; “but it solved a
+big problem for Florence and me. However, we'll be married as soon as we
+decently can, and then we'll go abroad, and forget the tragic part of it
+all.”
+
+“I suppose you haven't a glimmer of a suspicion as to who did it,” I
+ventured.
+
+“No, I haven't. Not the faintest notion. But I wish you could find
+out. Of course, nobody holds up that bag business as against Florence,
+but--it's uncomfortable all the same. I wish I'd been here that night.
+I'm 'most sure I'd have heard a shot, or something.”
+
+“Where were you?” I said, in a careless tone.
+
+Hall drew himself up stiffly. “Excuse me,” he said. “I declined to
+answer that question before. Since I was not in West Sedgwick, it can
+matter to no one where I was.”
+
+“Oh, that's all right,” I returned affably, for I had no desire to get
+his ill will. “But of course we detectives have to ask questions. By the
+way, where did you buy Miss Lloyd's yellow roses?”
+
+“See here,” said Gregory Hall, with a petulant expression, “I don't want
+to be questioned. I'm not on the witness-stand, and, as I've told you,
+I'm uncomfortable already about these so-called `clues' that seem to
+implicate Miss Lloyd. So, if you please, I'll say nothing.”
+
+“All right,” I responded, “just as you like.”
+
+I went away from the house, thinking how foolish people could be. I
+could easily discover where he bought the roses, as there were only
+three florists' shops in West Sedgwick and I resolved to go at once to
+hunt up the florist who sold them.
+
+Assuming he would naturally go to the shop nearest the railroad station,
+and which was also on the way from the Crawford house, I went there
+first, and found my assumption correct.
+
+The florist was more than willing to talk on the subject.
+
+“Yes, sir,” he said; “I sold those roses to Mr. Hall--sold 'em to him
+myself. He wanted something extra nice, and I had just a dozen of those
+big yellow beauties. No, I don't raise my own flowers. I get 'em from
+the city. And so I had just that dozen, and I sent 'em right up. Well,
+there was some delay, for two of my boys were out to supper, and I
+waited for one to get back.”
+
+“And you had no other roses just like these in stock?”
+
+“No, sir. Hadn't had for a week or more. Haven't any now. May not get
+any more at all. They're a scarce sort, at best, and specially so this
+year.”
+
+“And you sent Miss Lloyd the whole dozen?”
+
+“Yes, sir; twelve. I like to put in an extra one or two when I can, but
+that time I couldn't. There wasn't another rose like them short of New
+York City.”
+
+I thanked the florist, and, guessing that he was not above it, I gave
+him a more material token of my gratitude for his information, and then
+walked slowly back to my room at the inn.
+
+Since there were no other roses of that sort in West Sedgwick that
+evening, it seemed to me as if Florence Lloyd must have gone down to her
+uncle's office after having pinned the blossom on her bodice. The only
+other possibility was that some intruder had entered by way of the
+French window wearing or carrying a similar flower, and that this
+intruder had come from New York, or at least from some place other than
+West Sedgwick. It was too absurd. Murderers don't go about decked with
+flowers, and yet at midnight a man in evening dress was not impossible,
+and evening dress might easily imply a boutonniere.
+
+Well, this well-dressed man I had conjured up in my mind must have come
+from out of town, or else whence the flower, after all?
+
+And then I bethought myself of that late newspaper. An extra, printed
+probably as late as eleven o'clock at night, must have been brought
+out to West Sedgwick by a traveller on some late train. Why not Gregory
+Hall, himself? I let my imagination run riot for a minute. Mr. Hall
+refused to say where he was on the night of the murder. Why not assume
+that he had come out from New York, in evening dress, at or about
+midnight? This would account for the newspaper and the yellow rose
+petals, for, if he bought a boutonniere in the city, how probable he
+would select the same flower he had just sent his fiancee.
+
+I rather fancied the idea of Gregory Hall as the criminal. He had the
+same motive as Miss Lloyd. He knew of her uncle's objection to their
+union, and his threat of disinheritance. How easy for him to come out
+late from New York, on a night when he was not expected, and remove
+forever the obstacle to his future happiness!
+
+I drew myself up with a start. This was not detective work. This was
+mere idle speculation. I must shake it off, and set about collecting
+some real evidence.
+
+But the thought still clung to me; mere speculation it might be, but it
+was founded on the same facts that already threw suspicion on Florence
+Lloyd. With the exception of the gold bag--and that she disclaimed--such
+evidence as I knew of pointed toward Mr. Hall as well as toward Miss
+Lloyd.
+
+However at present I was on the trail of those roses, and I determined
+to follow that trail to a definite end. I went back to the Crawford
+house and as I did not like to ask for Miss Lloyd, I asked for Mrs.
+Pierce.
+
+She came down to the drawing room, and greeted me rather more cordially
+than I had dared to hope. I had a feeling that both ladies resented my
+presence there, for so many women have a prejudice against detectives.
+
+But though nervous and agitated, Mrs. Pierce spoke to me kindly.
+
+“Did you want to see me for anything in particular, Mr. Burroughs?” she
+asked.
+
+“Yes, I do, Mrs. Pierce,” I replied; “I may as well tell you frankly
+that I want to find out all I can about those yellow roses.”
+
+“Oh, those roses! Shall I never hear the last of them? I assure you, Mr.
+Burroughs, they're of no importance whatever.”
+
+“That is not for you to decide,” I said quietly, and I began to see
+that perhaps a dictatorial attitude might be the best way to manage this
+lady. “Are the rest of those flowers still in Miss Lloyd's room? If so I
+wish to see them.”
+
+“I don't know whether they are or not; but I will find out, and if so
+I'll bring them down.”
+
+“No,” I said, “I will go with you to see them.”
+
+“But Florence may be in her room.”
+
+“So much the better. She can tell me anything I wish to know.”
+
+“Oh, please don't interview her! I'm sure she wouldn't want to talk with
+you.”
+
+“Very well, then ask her to vacate the room, and I will go there with
+you now.”
+
+Mrs. Pierce went away, and I began to wonder if I had gone too far or
+had overstepped my authority. But it was surely my duty to learn all I
+could about Florence Lloyd, and what so promising of suggestions as her
+own room?
+
+Mrs. Pierce returned in a few moments, and affably enough she asked me
+to accompany her to Miss Lloyd's room.
+
+I did so, and after entering devoted my whole attention to the bunch of
+yellow roses, which in a glass vase stood on the window seat. Although
+somewhat wilted, they were still beautiful, and without the slightest
+doubt were the kind of rose from which the two tell-tale petals had
+fallen.
+
+Acting upon a sudden thought, I counted them. There were nine, each one
+seemingly with its full complement of petals, though of this I could not
+be perfectly certain.
+
+“Now, Mrs.--Pierce,” I said, turning to her with an air of authority
+which was becoming difficult to maintain, “where are the roses which
+Miss Lloyd admits having pinned to her gown?”
+
+“Mercy! I don't know,” exclaimed Mrs. Pierce, looking bewildered. “I
+suppose she threw them away.”
+
+“I suppose she did,” I returned; “would she not be likely to throw them
+in the waste basket?”
+
+“She might,” returned Mrs. Pierce, turning toward an ornate affair of
+wicker-work and pink ribbons.
+
+Sure enough, in the basket, among a few scraps of paper, were two
+exceedingly withered yellow roses. I picked them out and examined them,
+but in their present state it was impossible to tell whether they had
+lost any petals or not, so I threw them back in the basket.
+
+Mrs. Pierce seemed to care nothing for evidence or deduction in the
+matter, but began to lament the carelessness of the chambermaid who had
+not emptied the waste basket the day before.
+
+But I secretly blessed the delinquent servant, and began pondering on
+this new development of the rose question. The nine roses in the vase
+and the two in the basket made but eleven, and the florist had told me
+that he had sent a dozen. Where was the twelfth?
+
+The thought occurred to me that Miss Lloyd might have put away one as a
+sentimental souvenir, but to my mind she did not seem the kind of a girl
+to do that. I knew my reasoning was absurd, for what man can predicate
+what a woman will do? but at the same time I could not seem to imagine
+the statuesque, imperial Miss Lloyd tenderly preserving a rose that her
+lover had given her.
+
+But might not Gregory Hall have taken one of the dozen for himself
+before sending the rest? This was merely surmise, but it was a
+possibility, and at any rate the twelfth rose was not in Miss Lloyd's
+room.
+
+Therefore the twelfth rose was a factor to be reckoned with, a bit of
+evidence to be found; and I determined to find it.
+
+I asked Mrs. Pierce to arrange for me an interview with Miss Lloyd, but
+the elder lady seemed doubtful.
+
+“I'm quite sure she won't see you,” she said, “for she has declared she
+will see no one until after the funeral. But if you want me to ask her
+anything for you, I will do so.”
+
+“Very well,” I said, surprised at her willingness; “please ask Miss
+Lloyd if she knows what became of the twelfth yellow rose; and beg her
+to appreciate the fact that it is a vital point in the case.”
+
+Mrs. Pierce agreed to do this, and as I went down the stairs she
+promised to join me in the library a few moments later.
+
+She kept her promise, and I waited eagerly her report.
+
+“Miss Lloyd bids me tell you,” she said, “that she knows nothing of what
+you call the twelfth rose. She did not count the roses, she merely took
+two of them to pin on her dress, and when she retired, she carelessly
+threw those two in the waste basket. She thinks it probable there
+were only eleven in the box when it arrived. But at any rate she knows
+nothing more of the matter.”
+
+I thanked Mrs. Pierce for her courtesy and patience, and feeling that I
+now had a real problem to consider, I started back to the inn.
+
+It could not be that this rose matter was of no importance. For the
+florist had assured me he had sold exactly twelve flowers to Mr. Gregory
+Hall, and of these, I could account for only eleven. The twelfth rose
+must have been separated from the others, either by Mr. Hall, at the
+time of purchase, or by some one else later. If the petals found on the
+floor fell from that twelfth rose, and if Florence Lloyd spoke the
+truth when she declared she knew nothing of it, then she was free from
+suspicion in that direction.
+
+But until I could make some further effort to find out about the missing
+rose I concluded to say nothing of it to anybody. I was not bound to
+tell Parmalee any points I might discover, for though colleagues, we
+were working independently of each other.
+
+But as I was anxious to gather any side lights possible, I determined to
+go for a short conference with the district attorney, in whose hands the
+case had been put after the coroner's inquest.
+
+He was a man named Goodrich, a quiet mannered, untalkative person, and
+as might be expected he had made little or no progress as yet.
+
+He said nothing could be done until after the funeral and the reading of
+the will, which ceremonies would occur the next afternoon.
+
+I talked but little to Mr. Goodrich, yet I soon discovered that he
+strongly suspected Miss Lloyd of the crime, either as principal or
+accessory.
+
+“But I can't believe it,” I objected. “A girl, delicately brought up,
+in refined and luxurious surroundings, does not deliberately commit an
+atrocious crime.”
+
+“A woman thwarted in her love affair will do almost anything,” declared
+Mr. Goodrich. “I have had more experience than you, my boy, and I advise
+you not to bank too much on the refined and luxurious surroundings.
+Sometimes such things foster crime instead of preventing it. But the
+truth will come out, and soon, I think. The evidence that seems to point
+to Miss Lloyd can be easily proved or disproved, once we get at the work
+in earnest. That coroner's jury was made up of men who were friends and
+neighbors of Mr. Crawford. They were so prejudiced by sympathy for Miss
+Lloyd, and indignation at the unknown criminal, that they couldn't give
+unbiased judgment. But we will yet see justice done. If Miss Lloyd is
+innocent, we can prove it. But remember the provocation she was under.
+Remember the opportunity she had, to visit her uncle alone in his
+office, after every one else in the house was asleep. Remember that she
+had a motive--a strong motive--and no one else had.”
+
+“Except Mr. Gregory Hall,” I said meaningly.
+
+“Yes; I grant he had the same motive. But he is known to have left town
+at six that evening, and did not return until nearly noon the next day.
+That lets him out.”
+
+“Yes, unless he came back at midnight, and then went back to the city
+again.”
+
+“Nonsense!” said Mr. Goodrich. “That's fanciful. Why, the latest
+train--the theatre train, as we call it--gets in at one o'clock, and
+it's always full of our society people returning from gayeties in New
+York. He would have been seen had he come on that train, and there is no
+later one.”
+
+I didn't stay to discuss the matter further. Indeed, Mr. Goodrich had
+made me feel that my theories were fanciful.
+
+But whatever my theories might be there were still facts to be
+investigated.
+
+Remembering my determination to examine that gold bag more thoroughly
+I asked Mr. Goodrich to let me see it, for of course, as district
+attorney, it was now in his possession.
+
+He gave it to me with an approving nod. “That's the way to work,” he
+said. “That bag is your evidence. Now from that, you detectives must go
+ahead and learn the truth.”
+
+“Whose bag is it?” I said, with the intention of drawing him out.
+
+“It's Miss Lloyd's bag,” he said gravely. “Any woman in the world
+would deny its ownership, in the existing circumstances, and I am
+not surprised that she did so. Nor do I blame her for doing so. Self
+preservation is a mighty strong impulse in the human heart, and we've
+all got a right to obey it.”
+
+As I took the gold bag from his hand, I didn't in the least believe that
+Florence Lloyd was the owner of it, and I resolved anew to prove this to
+the satisfaction of everybody concerned.
+
+Mr. Goodrich turned away and busied himself about other matters, and I
+devoted myself to deep study.
+
+The contents of the bag proved as blank and unsuggestive as ever. The
+most exhaustive examination of its chain, its clasp and its thousands of
+links gave me not the tiniest thread or shred of any sort.
+
+But as I poked and pried around in its lining I found a card, which had
+slipped between the main lining and an inside pocket.
+
+I drew it out as carefully as I could, and it proved to be a small plain
+visiting card bearing the engraved name, “Mrs. Egerton Purvis.”
+
+I sat staring at it, and then furtively glanced at Mr. Goodrich. He was
+not observing me, and I instinctively felt that I did not wish him to
+know of the card until I myself had given the matter further thought.
+
+I returned the card to its hiding place and returned the bag to Mr.
+Goodrich, after which I went away.
+
+I had not copied the name, for it was indelibly photographed upon my
+brain. As I walked along the street I tried to construct the personality
+of Mrs. Egerton Purvis from her card. But I was able to make no rational
+deductions, except that the name sounded aristocratic, and was quite in
+keeping with the general effect of the bag and its contents.
+
+To be sure I might have deduced that she was a lady of average height
+and size, because she wore a number six glove; that she was careful of
+her personal appearance, because she possessed a vanity case; that she
+was of tidy habits, because she evidently expected to send her gowns
+to be cleaned. But all these things seemed to me puerile and even
+ridiculous, as such characteristics would apply to thousands of woman
+all over the country.
+
+Instead of this, I went straight to the telegraph office and wired to
+headquarters in a cipher code. I instructed them to learn the identity
+and whereabouts of Mrs. Egerton Purvis, and advise me as soon as
+possible.
+
+Then I returned to the Sedgwick Arms, feeling decidedly well satisfied
+with my morning's work, and content to wait until after Mr. Crawford's
+funeral to do any further real work in the matter.
+
+
+
+
+X. THE WILL
+
+
+I went to the Crawford house on the day of the funeral; but as I reached
+there somewhat earlier than the hour appointed, I went into the office
+with the idea of looking about for further clues.
+
+In the office I found Gregory Hall; looking decidedly disturbed.
+
+“I can't find Mr. Crawford's will,” he said, as he successively looked
+through one drawer after another.
+
+“What!” I responded. “Hasn't that been located already?”
+
+“No; it's this way: I didn't see it here in this office, or in the New
+York office, so I assumed Mr. Randolph had it in his possession. But
+it seems he thought it was here, all the time. Only this morning we
+discovered our mutual error, and Mr. Randolph concluded it must be in
+Mr. Crawford's safety deposit box at the bank in New York. So Mr. Philip
+Crawford hurried through his administration papers--he is to be executor
+of the estate--and went in to get it from the bank. But he has just
+returned with the word that it wasn't there. So we've no idea where it
+is.”
+
+“Oh, well,” said I, “since he hadn't yet made the new will he had in
+mind, everything belongs to Miss Lloyd.”
+
+“That's just the point,” said Hall, his face taking on a despairing
+look. “If we don't find that will, she gets nothing!”
+
+“How's that?” I said.
+
+“Why, she's really not related to the Crawfords. She's a niece of Joseph
+Crawford's wife. So in the absence of a will his property will all go to
+his brother Philip, who is his legal heir.”
+
+“Oho!” I exclaimed. “This is a new development. But the will will turn
+up.”
+
+“Oh, yes, I'm sure of it,” returned Hall, but his anxious face showed
+anything but confidence in his own words.
+
+“But,” I went on, “didn't Philip Crawford object to his brother's giving
+all his fortune to Miss Lloyd?”
+
+“It didn't matter if he did. Nobody could move Joseph Crawford's
+determination. And I fancy Philip didn't make any great disturbance
+about it. Of course, Mr. Joseph had a right to do as he chose with his
+own, and the will gave Philip a nice little sum, any way. Not much,
+compared to the whole fortune, but, still, a generous bequest.”
+
+“What does Mr. Randolph say?”
+
+“He's completely baffled. He doesn't know what to think.”
+
+“Can it have been stolen?”
+
+“Why, no; who would steal it? I only fear he may have destroyed it
+because he expected to make a different one. In that case, Florence is
+penniless, save for such bounty as Philip Crawford chooses to bestow on
+her.”
+
+I didn't like the tone in which Hall said this. It was distinctly
+aggrieved, and gave the impression that Florence Lloyd, penniless,
+was of far less importance than Miss Lloyd, the heiress of her uncle's
+millions.
+
+“But he would doubtless provide properly for her,” I said.
+
+“Oh, yes, properly. But she would find herself in a very different
+position, dependent on his generosity, from what she would be as sole
+heir to her uncle's fortune.”
+
+I looked steadily at the man. Although not well acquainted with him, I
+couldn't resist giving expression to my thought.
+
+“But since you are to marry her,” I said, “she need not long be
+dependent upon her uncle's charity.”
+
+“Philip Crawford isn't really her uncle, and no one can say what he will
+do in the matter.”
+
+Gregory Hall was evidently greatly disturbed at the new situation
+brought about by the disappearance of Mr. Crawford's will. But
+apparently the main reason for his disturbance was the impending poverty
+of his fiancee. There was no doubt that Mr. Carstairs and others who had
+called this man a fortune-hunter had judged him rightly.
+
+However, without further words on the subject, I waited while Hall
+locked the door of the office, and then we went together to the great
+drawing-room, where the funeral services were about to take place.
+
+I purposely selected a position from which I could see the faces of the
+group of people most nearly connected with the dead man. I had a strange
+feeling, as I looked at them, that one of them might be the instrument
+of the crime which had brought about this funeral occasion.
+
+During the services I looked closely and in turn at each face, but
+beyond the natural emotions of grief which might be expected, I could
+read nothing more.
+
+The brother, Philip Crawford, the near neighbors, Mr. Porter and Mr.
+Hamilton, the lawyer, Mr. Randolph, all sat looking grave and solemn as
+they heard the last words spoken above their dead friend. The ladies of
+the household, quietly controlling their emotions, sat near me, and next
+to Florence Lloyd Gregory Hall had seated himself.
+
+All of these people I watched closely, half hoping that some inadvertent
+sign might tell me of someone's knowledge of the secret. But when
+the clergyman referred to the retribution that would sooner or later
+overtake the criminal. I could see an expression of fear or apprehension
+on no face save that of Florence Lloyd. She turned even whiter than
+before, her pale lips compressed in a straight line, and her small black
+gloved hand softly crept into that of Gregory Hall. The movement was
+not generally noticeable, but it seemed to me pathetic above all things.
+Whatever her position in the matter, she was surely appealing to him for
+help and protection.
+
+Without directly repulsing her, Hall was far from responsive. He allowed
+her hand to rest in his own but gave her no answering pressure, and
+looked distinctly relieved when, after a moment, she withdrew it.
+
+I saw that Parmalee also had observed this, and I could see that to him
+it was an indication of the girl's perturbed spirit. To me it seemed
+that it might equally well mean many other things. For instance it might
+mean her apprehension for Gregory Hall, who, I couldn't help thinking
+was far more likely to be a wrongdoer than the girl herself.
+
+With a little sigh I gave up trying to glean much information from the
+present opportunity, and contented myself with the melancholy pleasure
+it gave me simply to look at the sad sweet face of the girl who was
+already enshrined in my heart.
+
+After the solemn and rather elaborate obsequies were over, a little
+assembly gathered in the library to hear the reading of the will.
+
+As, until then, no one had known of the disappearance of the will,
+except the lawyer and the secretary, it came as a thunderbolt.
+
+“I have no explanation to offer,” said Mr. Randolph, looking greatly
+concerned, but free of all personal responsibility. “Mr. Crawford always
+kept the will in his own possession. When he came to see me, the last
+evening he was alive, in regard to making a new will, he did not bring
+the old one with him. We arranged to meet in his office the next morning
+to draw up the new instrument, when he doubtless expected to destroy the
+old one.
+
+“He may have destroyed it on his return home that evening. I do not
+know. But so far it has not been found among his papers in either of his
+offices or in the bank. Of course it may appear, as the search, though
+thorough, has not yet been exhaustive. We will, therefore, hold the
+matter in abeyance a few days, hoping to find the missing document.”
+
+His hearers were variously affected by this news. Florence Lloyd was
+simply dazed. She could not seem to grasp a situation which so suddenly
+changed her prospects. For she well knew that in the event of no will
+being found, Joseph Crawford's brother would be his rightful heir, and
+she would be legally entitled to nothing at all.
+
+Philip Crawford sat with an utterly expressionless face. Quite able to
+control his emotion, if he felt any, he made no sign that he welcomed
+this possibility of a great fortune unexpectedly coming to him.
+
+Lemuel Porter, who, with his wife, had remained because of their close
+friendship with the family, spoke out rather abruptly,
+
+“Find it! Of course it must be found! It's absurd to think the man
+destroyed one will before the other was drawn.”
+
+“I agree with you,” said Philip Crawford.
+
+“Joseph was very methodical in his habits, and, besides, I doubt if he
+would really have changed his will. I think he merely threatened it, to
+see if Florence persisted in keeping her engagement.”
+
+This was a generous speech on the part of Philip Crawford. To be sure,
+generosity of speech couldn't affect the disposal of the estate. If no
+will were found, it must by law go to the brother, but none the less the
+hearty, whole-souled way in which he spoke of Miss Lloyd was greatly to
+his credit as a man.
+
+“I think so, too,” agreed Mr. Porter. “As you know, I called on Mr.
+Joseph Crawford during the--the last evening of his life.”
+
+The speaker paused, and indeed it must have been a sad remembrance that
+pictured itself to his mind.
+
+“Did he then refer to the matter of the will?” asked Mr. Randolph, in
+gentle tones.
+
+“He did. Little was said on the subject, but he told me that unless
+Florence consented to his wishes in the matter of her engagement to Mr.
+Hall, he would make a new will, leaving her only a small bequest.”
+
+“In what manner did you respond, Mr. Porter?”
+
+“I didn't presume to advise him definitely, but I urged him not to be
+too hard on the girl, and, at any rate, not to make a new will until he
+had thought it over more deliberately.”
+
+“What did he then say?”
+
+“Nothing of any definite import. He began talking of other matters, and
+the will was not again referred to. But I can't help thinking he had not
+destroyed it.”
+
+At this, Miss Lloyd seemed about to speak, but, glancing at Gregory
+Hall, she gave a little sigh, and remained silent.
+
+“You know of nothing that can throw any light on the matter of the will,
+Mr. Hall?” asked Mr. Randolph.
+
+“No, sir. Of course this whole situation is very embarrassing for me.
+I can only say that I have known for a long time the terms of Mr.
+Crawford's existing will; I have known of his threats of changing it;
+I have known of his attitude toward my engagement to his niece. But
+I never spoke to him on any of these subjects, nor he to me, though
+several times I have thought he was on the point of doing so. I have had
+access to most of his private papers, but of two or three small boxes he
+always retained the keys. I had no curiosity concerning the contents
+of these boxes, but I naturally assumed his will was in one of them. I
+have, however, opened these boxes since Mr. Crawford's death, in company
+with Mr. Randolph, and we found no will. Nor could we discover any in
+the New York office or in the bank. That is all I know of the matter.”
+
+Gregory Hall's demeanor was dignified and calm, his voice even and,
+indeed, cold. He was like a bystander, with no vital interest in the
+subject he talked about.
+
+Knowing, as I did, that his interest was vital, I came to the conclusion
+that he was a man of unusual self-control, and an ability to mask his
+real feelings completely. Feeling that nothing more could be learned
+at present, I left the group in the library discussing the loss of the
+will, and went down to the district attorney's office.
+
+He was, of course, surprised at my news, and agreed with me that it gave
+us new fields for conjecture.
+
+“Now, we see,” he said eagerly, “that the motive for the murder was the
+theft of the will.”
+
+“Not necessarily,” I replied. “Mr. Crawford may have destroyed the will
+before he met his death.”
+
+“But that would leave no motive. No, the will supplies the motive. Now,
+you see, this frees Miss Lloyd from suspicion. She would have no reason
+to kill her uncle and then destroy or suppress a will in her own favor.”
+
+“That reasoning also frees Mr. Hall from suspicion,” said I, reverting
+to my former theories.
+
+“Yes, it does. We must look for the one who has benefited by the
+removal of the will. That, of course, would be the brother, Mr. Philip
+Crawford.”
+
+I looked at the attorney a moment, and then burst into laughter.
+
+“My dear Mr. Goodrich,” I said, “don't be absurd! A man would hardly
+shoot his own brother, but aside from that, why should Philip Crawford
+kill Joseph just at the moment he is about to make a new will in
+Philip's favor? Either the destruction of the old will or the drawing
+of the new would result in Philip's falling heir to the fortune. So he
+would hardly precipitate matters by a criminal act. And, too, if he had
+been keen about the money, he could have urged his brother to disinherit
+Florence Lloyd, and Joseph would have willingly done so. He was on the
+very point of doing so, any way.”
+
+“That's true,” said Mr. Goodrich, looking chagrined but unconvinced.
+“However, it frees Miss Lloyd from all doubts, by removing her motive.
+As you say, she wouldn't suppress a will in her favor, and thereby turn
+the fortune over to Philip. And, as you also said, this lets Gregory
+Hall out, too, though I never suspected him for a moment. But, of
+course, his interests and Miss Lloyd's are identical.”
+
+“Wait a moment,” I said, for new thoughts were rapidly following one
+another through my brain. “Not so fast, Mr. District Attorney. The
+disappearance of the will does not remove motive from the possibility of
+Miss Lloyd's complicity in this crime--or Mr. Hall's either.”
+
+“How so?”
+
+“Because, if Florence Lloyd thought her uncle was in possession of that
+will, her motive was identically the same as if he had possessed it.
+Now, she certainly thought he had it, for her surprise at the news of
+its loss was as unfeigned as my own. And of course Hall thought the will
+was among Mr. Crawford's effects, for he has been searching constantly
+since the question was raised.”
+
+“But I thought that yesterday you were so sure of Miss Lloyd's
+innocence,” objected Mr. Goodrich.
+
+“I was,” I said slowly, “and I think I am still. But in the light of
+absolute evidence I am only declaring that the non-appearance of that
+will in no way interferes with the motive Miss Lloyd must have had if
+she is in any way guilty. She knew, or thought she knew, that the will
+was there, in her favor. She knew her uncle intended to revoke it
+and make another in her disfavor. I do not accuse her--I'm not sure I
+suspect her--I only say she had motive and opportunity.”
+
+As I walked away from Mr. Goodrich's office, those words rang in my
+mind, motive and opportunity. Truly they applied to Mr. Hall as well as
+to Miss Lloyd, although of course it would mean Hall's coming out from
+the city and returning during the night. And though this might have
+been a difficult thing to do secretly, it was by no means impossible. He
+might not have come all the way to West Sedgwick Station, but might have
+dropped off the train earlier and taken the trolley. The trolley! that
+thought reminded me of the transfer I had picked up on the grass plot
+near the office veranda. Was it possible that slip of paper was a clue,
+and pointing toward Hall?
+
+Without definite hope of seeing Gregory Hall, but hopeful of learning
+something about him, I strolled back to the Crawford house. I went
+directly to the office, and by good luck found Gregory Hall there alone.
+He was still searching among the papers of Mr. Crawford's desk.
+
+“Ah, Mr. Burroughs,” he said, as I entered, “I'm glad to see you. If
+detectives detect, you have a fine chance here to do a bit of good work.
+I wouldn't mind offering you an honorarium myself, if you could unearth
+the will that has so mysteriously disappeared.”
+
+Hall's whole manner had changed. He had laid aside entirely the grave
+demeanor which he had shown at the funeral, and was again the alert
+business man. He was more than this. He was eager,--offensively so,--in
+his search for the will. It needed no detective instinct to see that
+the fortune of Joseph Crawford and its bestowment were matters of vital
+interest to him.
+
+But though his personal feelings on the subject might be distasteful to
+me, it was certainly part of my duty to aid in the search, and so with
+him I looked through the various drawers and filing cabinets. The papers
+representing or connected with the financial interests of the late
+millionaire were neatly filed and labelled; but in some parts of
+the desk we found the hodge-podge of personal odds and ends which
+accumulates with nearly everybody.
+
+Hall seemed little interested in those, but to my mind they showed a
+possibility of casting some light on Mr. Crawford's personal affairs.
+
+But among old letters, photographs, programs, newspaper clippings, and
+such things, there was nothing that seemed of the slightest interest,
+until at last I chanced upon a photograph that arrested my attention.
+
+“Do you know who this is?” I inquired.
+
+“No,” returned Hall, with a careless glance at it; “a friend of Mr.
+Crawford's, I suppose.”
+
+“More than a friend, I should judge,” and I turned the back of the
+picture toward him. Across it was written, “with loving Christmas
+greetings, from M.S.P.”; and it was dated as recently as the Christmas
+previous.
+
+“Well,” said Hall, “Mr. Crawford may have had a lady friend who cared
+enough about him to send an affectionate greeting, but I never heard
+of her before, and I doubt if she is in any way responsible for the
+disappearance of this will.”
+
+He went on searching through the desks, giving no serious heed to the
+photograph. But to me it seemed important. I alone knew of the visiting
+card in the gold bag. I alone knew that that bag belonged to a lady
+named Purvis. And here was a photograph initialed by a lady whose
+surname began with P, and who was unmistakably on affectionate terms
+with Mr. Crawford. To my mind the links began to form a chain; the lady
+who had sent her photograph at Christmas, and who had left her gold bag
+in Mr. Crawford's office the night he was killed, surely was a lady to
+be questioned.
+
+But I had not yet had a reply to my telegram to headquarters, so I said
+nothing to Hall on this subject, and putting the photograph in my pocket
+continued to assist him to look for the will, but without success.
+However, the discovery of the photograph had in a measure diverted my
+suspicions from Gregory Hall; and though I endeavored to draw him into
+general conversation, I did not ask him any definite questions about
+himself.
+
+But the more I talked with him, the more I disliked him: He not only
+showed a mercenary, fortune-hunting spirit, but he showed himself in
+many ways devoid of the finer feelings and chivalrous nature that ought
+to belong to the man about to marry such a perfect flower of womanhood
+as Florence Lloyd.
+
+
+
+
+XI. LOUIS'S STORY
+
+
+After spending an evening in thinking over the situation and piecing
+together my clues, I decided that the next thing to be done was to trace
+up that transfer. If I could fasten that upon Gregory Hall, it would
+indeed be a starting point to work from. Although this seemed to
+eliminate Mrs. Purvis, who had already become a living entity in my
+mind, I still had haunting suspicions of Hall; and then, too, there was
+a possibility of collusion between these two. It might be fanciful, but
+if Hall and the Purvis woman were both implicated, Hall was quite enough
+a clever villain to treat the photograph lightly as he had done.
+
+And so the next morning, I started for the office of the trolley car
+company.
+
+I learned without difficulty that the transfer I had found, must have
+been given to some passenger the night of Mr. Crawford's death, but
+was not used. It had been issued after nine o'clock in the evening,
+somewhere on the line between New York and West Sedgwick. It was a
+transfer which entitled a passenger on that line to a trip on the branch
+line running through West Sedgwick, and the fact that it had not been
+used, implied either a negligent conductor or a decision on the part of
+the passenger not to take his intended ride.
+
+All this was plausible, though a far from definite indication that Hall
+might have come out from New York by trolley, or part way by trolley,
+and though accepting a transfer on the West Sedgwick branch, had
+concluded not to use it. But the whole theory pointed equally as well to
+Mrs. Purvis, or indeed to the unknown intruder insisted upon by so many.
+I endeavored to learn something from certain conductors who brought
+their cars into West Sedgwick late at night, but it seemed they carried
+a great many passengers and of course could not identify a transfer, of
+which scores of duplicates had been issued.
+
+Without much hope I interviewed the conductors of the West Sedgwick
+Branch Line. Though I could learn nothing definite, I fell into
+conversation with one of them, a young Irishman, who was interested
+because of my connection with the mystery.
+
+“No, sir,” he said, “I can't tell you anythin' about a stray transfer.
+But one thing I can tell you. That 'ere murder was committed of a
+Toosday night, wasn't it?”
+
+“Yes,” I returned.
+
+“Well, that 'ere parlyvoo vally of Mr. Crawford's, he's rid, on my car
+'most every Toosday night fer weeks and weeks. It's his night off. And
+last Toosday night he didn't ride with me. Now I don't know's that means
+anything, but agin it might.”
+
+It didn't seem to me that it meant much, for certainly Louis was not
+under the slightest suspicion. And yet as I came to think about it, if
+that had been Louis's transfer and if he had dropped it near the office
+veranda, he had lied when he said that he went round the other side of
+the house to reach the back entrance.
+
+It was all very vague, but it narrowed itself down to the point that
+if that were Louis's transfer it could be proved; and if not it must be
+investigated further. For a trolley transfer, issued at a definite hour,
+and dropped just outside the scene of the crime was certainly a clue of
+importance.
+
+I proceeded to the Crawford house, and though I intended to have a talk
+with Louis later, I asked first for Miss Lloyd. Surely, if I were to
+carry on my investigation of the case, in her interests, I must have a
+talk with her. I had not intruded before, but now that the funeral was
+over, the real work of tracking the criminal must be commenced, and as
+one of the principal characters in the sad drama, Miss Lloyd must play
+her part.
+
+Until I found myself in her presence I had not actually realized how
+much I wanted this interview.
+
+I was sure that what she said, her manner and her facial expression,
+must either blot out or strengthen whatever shreds of suspicion I held
+against her.
+
+“Miss Lloyd,” I began, “I am, as you know, a detective; and I am here
+in Sedgwick for the purpose of discovering the cowardly assassin of your
+uncle. I assume that you wish to aid me in any way you can. Am I right
+in this?”
+
+Instead of the unhesitating affirmative I had expected, the girl spoke
+irresolutely. “Yes,” she said, “but I fear I cannot help you, as I know
+nothing about it.”
+
+The fact that this reply did not sound to me as a rebuff, for which
+it was doubtless intended, I can only account for by my growing
+appreciation of her wonderful beauty.
+
+Instead of funereal black, Miss Lloyd was clad all in white, and her
+simple wool gown gave her a statuesque appearance; which, however, was
+contradicted by the pathetic weariness in her face and the sad droop
+of her lovely mouth. Her helplessness appealed to me, and, though she
+assumed an air of composure, I well knew it was only assumed, and that
+with some difficulty.
+
+Resolving to make it as easy as possible for her, I did not ask her to
+repeat the main facts, which I already knew.
+
+“Then, Miss Lloyd,” I said, in response to her disclaimer, “if you
+cannot help me, perhaps I can help you. I have reason to think that
+possibly Louis, your late uncle's valet, did not tell the truth in his
+testimony at the coroner's inquest. I have reason to think that instead
+of going around the house to the back entrance as he described, he went
+around the other side, thus passing your uncle's office.”
+
+To my surprise this information affected Miss Lloyd much more seriously
+than I supposed it would.
+
+“What?” she said, and her voice was a frightened whisper. “What time did
+he come home?”
+
+“I don't know,” I replied; “but you surely don't suspect Louis of
+anything wrong. I was merely hoping, that if he did pass the office he
+might have looked in, and so could tell us of your uncle's well-being at
+that time.”
+
+“At what time?”
+
+“At whatever time he returned home. Presumably rather late. But since
+you are interested in the matter, will you not call Louis and let us
+question him together?”
+
+The girl fairly shuddered at this suggestion. She hesitated, and for a
+moment was unable to speak. Of course this behavior on her part filled
+my soul with awful apprehension. Could it be possible that she and Louis
+were in collusion, and that she dreaded the Frenchman's disclosures? I
+remembered the strange looks he had cast at her while being questioned
+by the coroner. I remembered his vehement denial of having passed the
+office that evening,--too vehement, it now seemed to me. However, if I
+were to learn anything damaging to Florence Lloyd's integrity, I would
+rather learn it now, in her presence, than elsewhere. So I again asked
+her to send for the valet.
+
+With a despairing look, as of one forced to meet an impending fate, she
+rose, crossed the room and rang a bell. Then she returned to her seat
+and said quietly, “You may ask the man such questions as you wish, Mr.
+Burroughs, but I beg you will not include me in the conversation.”
+
+“Not unless it should be necessary,” I replied coldly, for I did not
+at all like her making this stipulation. To me it savored of a sort of
+cowardice, or at least a presumption on my own chivalry.
+
+When the man appeared, I saw at a glance he was quite as much agitated
+as Miss Lloyd. There was no longer a possibility of a doubt that these
+two knew something, had some secret in common, which bore directly on
+the case, and which must be exposed. A sudden hope flashed into my mind
+that it might be only some trifling secret, which seemed of importance
+to them, but which was merely a side issue of the great question.
+
+I considered myself justified in taking advantage of the man's
+perturbation, and without preliminary speech I drew the transfer from my
+pocket and fairly flashed it in his face.
+
+“Louis,” I said sternly, “you dropped this transfer when you came home
+the night of Mr. Crawford's death.”
+
+The suddenness of my remark had the effect I desired, and fairly
+frightened the truth out of the man.
+
+“Y-yes, sir,” he stammered, and then with a frightened glance at Miss
+Lloyd, he stood nervously interlacing his fingers.
+
+I glanced at Miss Lloyd myself, but she had regained entire
+self-possession, and sat looking straight before her with an air that
+seemed to say, “Go on, I'm prepared for the worst.”
+
+As I paused myself to contemplate the attitudes of the two, I lost my
+ground of vantage, for when I again spoke to the man, he too was more
+composed and ready to reply with caution. Doubtless he was influenced by
+Miss Lloyd's demeanor, for he imitatively assumed a receptive air.
+
+“Where did you get the transfer?” I went on.
+
+“On the trolley, sir; the main line.”
+
+“To be used on the Branch Line through West Sedgwick?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“Why did you not use it?”
+
+“As I tell you, sir, and as I tell monsieur, the coroner, I have spend
+that evening with a young lady. We went for a trolley ride, and as we
+returned I take a transfer for myself, but not for her, as she live near
+where we alight.”
+
+“Oh, you left the main line and took the young lady home, intending then
+yourself to come by trolley through West Sedgwick?”
+
+“Yes, sir; it was just that way.”
+
+At this point Louis seemed to forget his embarrassment, his gaze strayed
+away, and a happy expression came into his eyes. I felt sure I was
+reading his volatile French nature aright, when I assumed his mind had
+turned back to the pleasant evening he had spent with his young lady
+acquaintance. Somehow this went far to convince me of the fellow's
+innocence for it was quite evident the murder and its mystery were not
+uppermost in his thoughts at that moment. But my next question brought
+him back to realization of the present situation.
+
+“And why didn't you use your transfer?”
+
+“Only that the night, he was so pleasant, I desired to walk.”
+
+“And so you walked through the village, holding, perhaps, the transfer
+in your hand?”
+
+“I think, yes; but I do not remember the transfer in my hand, though he
+may have been there.”
+
+And now the man's unquiet had returned. His lips twitched and his dark
+eyes rolled about, as he endeavored in vain to look anywhere but at Miss
+Lloyd. She, too, was controlling herself by a visible effort.
+
+Anxious to bring the matter to a crisis, I said at once, and directly:
+
+“And then you entered the gates of this place, you walked to the house,
+you walked around the house to the back by way of the path which
+leads around by the library veranda, and you accidentally dropped your
+transfer near the veranda step.”
+
+I spoke quietly enough, but Louis immediately burst into voluble denial.
+
+“No, no!” he exclaimed; “I do not go round by the office, I go the other
+side of the house. I have tell you so many times.”
+
+“But I myself picked up your transfer near the office veranda.”
+
+“Then he blow there. The wind blow that night, oh, something fearful! He
+blow the paper around the house, I think.”
+
+“I don't think so,” I retorted; “I think you went around the house that
+way, I think you paused at the office window--”
+
+Just here I made a dramatic pause myself, hoping thus to appeal to the
+emotional nature of my victim. And I succeeded. Louis almost shrieked
+as he pressed his hands against his eyes, and cried out: “No! no! I
+tell you I did not go round that way! I go round the other way, and the
+wind--the wind, he blow my transfer all about!”
+
+I tried a more quiet manner, I tried persuasive arguments, I finally
+resorted to severity and even threats, but no admission could I get from
+Louis, except that he had not gone round the house by way of the office.
+I was positive the man was lying, and I was equally positive that Miss
+Lloyd knew he was lying, and that she knew why, but the matter seemed
+to me at a deadlock. I could have questioned her, but I preferred to do
+that when Louis was not present. If she must suffer ignominy it need not
+be before a servant. So I dismissed Louis, perhaps rather curtly, and
+turning to Miss Lloyd, I asked her if she believed his assertion that he
+did not pass by the office that night.
+
+“I don't know what I believe,” she answered, wearily drawing her hand
+across her brow. “And I can't see that it matters anyway. Supposing
+he did go by the office, you certainly don't suspect him of my uncle's
+murder, do you?”
+
+“It is my duty, Miss Lloyd,” I said gently, for the girl was pitiably
+nervous, “to get the testimony of any one who was in or near the office
+that night. But of course testimony is useless unless it is true.”
+
+I looked her straight in the eyes as I said this, for I was thoroughly
+convinced that her own testimony at the inquest had not been entirely
+true.
+
+I think she understood my glance, for she arose at once, and said
+with extreme dignity: “I cannot see any necessity for prolonging this
+interview, Mr. Burroughs. It is of course your work to discover the
+truth or falsity of Louis's story, but I cannot see that it in any way
+implicates or even interests me.”
+
+The girl was superb. Her beauty was enhanced by the sudden spirit she
+showed, and her flashing dark eyes suggested a baited animal at bay.
+Apparently she had reached the limit of her endurance, and was unwilling
+to be questioned further or drawn into further admissions. And yet, some
+inexplicable idea came to me that she was angry, not with me, but with
+the tangle in which I had remorselessly enmeshed her. Of a high order of
+intelligence, she knew perfectly well that I was conscious of the fact
+that there was a secret of some sort between her and the valet. Her
+haughty disdain, I felt sure, was to convey the impression that though
+there might be a secret between them, it was no collusion or working
+together, and that though her understanding with the man was mysterious,
+it was in no way beneath her dignity. Her imperious air as she quietly
+left the room thrilled me anew, and I began to think that a woman who
+could assume the haughty demeanor of an empress might have chosen, as
+empresses had done before her, to commit crime.
+
+However, she went away, and the dark and stately library seemed to have
+lost its only spot of light and charm. I sat for a few minutes pondering
+over it all, when I saw passing through the hall, the maid, Elsa. It
+suddenly occurred to me, that having failed with the mistress of the
+house, I might succeed better with her maid, so I called the girl in.
+
+She came willingly enough, and though she seemed timid, she was not
+embarrassed or afraid.
+
+“I'm in authority here,” I said, “and I'm going to ask you some
+questions, which you must answer truthfully.”
+
+“Yes, sir,” she said, without any show of interest.
+
+“Have you been with Miss Lloyd long?”
+
+“Yes, sir; about four years, sir.”
+
+“Is she a kind mistress?”
+
+“Indeed she is, sir. She is the loveliest lady I ever worked for. I'd do
+anything for Miss Lloyd, that I would.”
+
+“Well, perhaps you can best serve her by telling all you know about the
+events of Tuesday night.”
+
+“But I don't know anything, sir,” and Elsa's eyes opened wide in
+absolutely unfeigned wonderment.
+
+“Nothing about the actual murder; no, of course not. But I just want
+you to tell me a few things about some minor matters. Did you take the
+yellow flowers from the box that was sent to Miss Lloyd?”
+
+“Yes, sir; I always untie her parcels. And as she was at dinner, I
+arranged the flowers in a vase of water.”
+
+“How many flowers were there?”
+
+For some reason this simple query disturbed the girl greatly. She
+flushed scarlet, and then she turned pale. She twisted the corner of her
+apron in her nervous fingers, and then said, only half audibly, “I don't
+know, sir.”
+
+“Oh, yes, you do, Elsa,” I said in kindly tones, being anxious not to
+frighten her; “tell me how many there were. Were there not a dozen?”
+
+“I don't know, sir; truly I don't. I didn't count them at all.”
+
+It was impossible to disbelieve her; she was plainly telling the truth.
+And, too, why should she count the roses? The natural thing would be not
+to count them, but merely to put them in the vase as she had said. And
+yet, there was something about those flowers that Elsa knew and wouldn't
+tell. Could it be that I was on the track of that missing twelfth rose?
+I knew, though perhaps Elsa did not, how many roses the florist had sent
+in that box. And unless Gregory Hall had abstracted one at the time of
+his purchase, the twelfth rose had been taken by some one else after the
+flowers reached the Crawford House. Could it have been Elsa, and was her
+perturbation only because of a guilty conscience over a petty theft of a
+flower? But I realized I must question her adroitly if I would find out
+these things.
+
+“Is Miss Lloyd fond of flowers?” I asked, casually.
+
+“Oh, yes, sir, she always has some by her.”
+
+“And do you love flowers too, Elsa?”
+
+“Yes, sir.” But the quietly spoken answer, accompanied by a natural and
+straightforward look promised little for my new theory.
+
+“Does Miss Lloyd sometimes give you some of her flowers?”
+
+“Oh, yes, sir, quite often.”
+
+“That is, if she's there when they arrive. But if she isn't there, and
+you open the box yourself, she wouldn't mind if you took one or two
+blossoms, would she?”
+
+“Oh, no, sir, she wouldn't mind. Miss Lloyd's awful kind about such
+things. But I wouldn't often do it, sir.”
+
+“No; of course not. But you did happen to take one of those yellow
+roses, didn't you, though?”
+
+I breathlessly awaited the answer, but to my surprise, instead of
+embarrassment the girl's eyes flashed with anger, though she answered
+quietly enough, “Well, yes, I did, sir.”
+
+Ah, at last I was on the trail of that twelfth rose! But from the frank
+way in which the girl admitted having taken the flower, I greatly feared
+that the trail would lead to a commonplace ending.
+
+“What did you do with it?” I said quietly, endeavoring to make the
+question sound of little importance.
+
+“I don't want to tell you;” and the pout on her scarlet lips seemed more
+like that of a wilful child than of one guarding a guilty secret.
+
+“Oh, yes, tell me, Elsa;” and I even descended to a coaxing tone, to win
+the girl's confidence.
+
+“Well, I gave it to that Louis.”
+
+“To Louis? and why do you call him that Louis?”
+
+“Oh, because. I gave him the flower to wear because I thought he was
+going to take me out that evening. He had promised he would, at least he
+had sort of promised, and then,--and then--”
+
+“And then he took another young lady,” I finished for her in tones of
+such sympathy and indignation that she seemed to think she had found a
+friend.
+
+“Yes,” she said, “he went and took another girl riding on the trolley,
+after he had said he would take me.”
+
+“Elsa,” I said suddenly, and I fear she thought I had lost interest in
+her broken heart, “did Louis wear that rose you gave him that night?”
+
+“Yes, the horrid man! I saw it in his coat when he went away.”
+
+“And did he wear it home again?”
+
+“How should I know?” Elsa tossed her head with what was meant to be a
+haughty air, but which was belied by the blush that mantled her cheek at
+her own prevarication.
+
+“But you do know,” I insisted, gently; “did he wear it when he came
+home?”
+
+“Yes, he did.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“Because I looked in his room the next day, and I saw it there all
+withered. He had thrown it on the floor!”
+
+The tragedy in Elsa's eyes at this awful relation of the cruelty of
+the sterner sex called for a spoken sympathy, and I said at once, and
+heartily: “That was horrid of him! If I were you I'd never give him
+another flower.”
+
+In accordance with the natural impulses of her sex, Elsa seemed pleased
+at my disapproval of Louis's behavior, but she by no means looked as if
+she would never again bestow her favor upon him. She smiled and tossed
+her head, and seemed willing enough for further conversation, but for
+the moment I felt that I had enough food for thought. So I dismissed
+Elsa, having first admonished her not to repeat our conversation to any
+one. In order to make sure that I should be obeyed in this matter, I
+threatened her with some unknown terrors which the law would bring upon
+her if she disobeyed me. When I felt sure she was thoroughly frightened
+into secrecy concerning our interview, I sent her away and began to
+cogitate on what she had told me.
+
+If Louis came to the house late that night, as by his own admission
+he did; if he went around the house on the side of the office, as the
+straying transfer seemed to me to prove; and if, at the time, he was
+wearing in his coat a yellow rose with petals similar to those found on
+the office floor the next morning, was not one justified in looking more
+deeply into the record of Louis the valet?
+
+
+
+
+XII. LOUIS'S CONFESSION
+
+
+Elsa had been gone but a few moments when Florence Lloyd returned to the
+library. I arose to greet her and marvelled at the change which had come
+over her. Surely here was a girl of a thousand moods. She had left
+me with an effect of hauteur and disdain; she returned, gentle and
+charming, almost humble. I could not understand it, and remained
+standing after she had seated herself, awaiting developments.
+
+“Sit down, Mr. Burroughs,” she said, and her low, sweet voice seemed
+full of cordial invitation. “I'm afraid I was rude to you, when I went
+away just now; and I want to say that if I can tell you anything you
+wish to know, I should be glad to do so.”
+
+I drew up a chair and seated myself near her. My heart was pounding with
+excitement at this new phase of the girl's nature. For an instant it
+seemed as if she must have a personal kindly feeling toward me, and
+then my reason returned, and with a suddenly falling heart and slowing
+pulses, I realized that I was a fool, and that after thinking over the
+disclosures Louis had made, Miss Lloyd had shrewdly concluded it was
+to her best advantage to curry favor with the detective. This knowledge
+came to me instinctively, and so I distrusted her gentle voice and
+winning smile, and hardening my heart against her, I resolved to turn
+this new mood of hers to my own advantage, and learn what I could while
+she was willing to converse:
+
+“I'm glad of this opportunity, Miss Lloyd,” I said, “for there are some
+phases of this affair that I want to discuss with you alone. Let us talk
+the matter over quietly. It is as well that you should know that there
+are some doubts felt as to the entire truth of the story you told at the
+inquest. I do not say this to frighten you,” I added, as the poor girl
+clasped her hands and gave me a look of dumb alarm; “but, since it is
+so, I want to do all I can to set the matter right. Do you remember
+exactly all that took place, to your knowledge, on the night of your
+uncle's death?”
+
+“Yes,” she replied, looking more frightened still. It was evident that
+she knew more than she had yet revealed, but I almost forgot my
+inquiry, so absorbed was I in watching her lovely face. It was even more
+exquisite in its terrified pallor than when the fleeting pink showed in
+her cheeks.
+
+“Then,” I said, “let us go over it. You heard your uncle go out at about
+eight o'clock and return about nine?”
+
+“Yes, I heard the front door open and close both times.”
+
+“You and Mrs. Pierce being in the music-room, of course. Then, later,
+you heard a visitor enter, and again you heard him leave?”
+
+“Yes--Mr. Porter.”
+
+“Did you know it was Mr. Porter, at the time he was here?”
+
+“No; I think not. I didn't think at all who it might be. Uncle Joseph
+often had men to call in the evening.”
+
+“About what time did Mr. Porter leave?”
+
+“A few minutes before ten. I heard Lambert say, `Good-night, sir,' as he
+closed the door after him.”
+
+“And soon after, you and Mrs. Pierce went upstairs?”
+
+“Yes; only a few minutes after.”
+
+“And, later, Mrs. Pierce came to your room?”
+
+“Yes; about half-past ten, I should say; she came to get a book. She
+didn't stay two minutes.”
+
+“And after that, you went down-stairs again to speak to your uncle?” For
+the merest instant Miss Lloyd's eyes closed and she swayed as if about
+to faint, but she regained her composure at once, and answered with some
+asperity,
+
+“I did not. I have told you that I did not leave my room again that
+night.”
+
+Her dark eyes blazed, her cheeks flushed, and though her full lower lip
+quivered it was with anger now, not fear.
+
+As I watched her, I wondered how I could have thought her more beautiful
+when pale. Surely with this glowing color she was at her glorious best.
+
+“Then when did you drop the two rose petals there?” I went on, calmly
+enough, though my own heart was beating fast.
+
+“I did not drop them. They were left there by some intruder.”
+
+“But, Miss Lloyd,” and I observed her closely, “the petals were from a
+rose such as those Mr. Hall sent you that evening. The florist assures
+me there were no more such blossoms in West Sedgwick at that time. The
+fallen petals, then, were from one of your own roses, or--”
+
+“Or?” asked Miss Lloyd, her hands pressed against the laces at her
+throbbing bosom. “Or?”
+
+“Or,” I went on, “from a rose worn by some one who had come out from New
+York on a late train.”
+
+For the moment I chose to ignore Louis's rose for I wanted to learn
+anything Miss Lloyd could tell me. And, too, the yellow petals might
+have fallen from a flower in Hall's coat after all. I thought it
+possible by suggesting this idea, to surprise from her some hint as to
+whether she had any suspicion of him.
+
+She gave a gasp, and, leaning back in her chair, she closed her eyes, as
+if spent with a useless struggle.
+
+“Wait a moment,” she said, putting out her hand with an imploring
+gesture. “Wait a moment. Let me think. I will tell you all, but--wait--”
+
+With her eyes still closed, she lay back against the satin chair
+cushion, and I gazed at her, fascinated.
+
+I knew it! Then and there the knowledge came to me! Not her guilt, not
+her innocence. The crime seemed far away then, but I knew like a flash
+not only that I loved this girl, this Florence Lloyd, but that I should
+never love any one else. It mattered not that she was betrothed to
+another man; the love that had suddenly sprung to life in my heart was
+such pure devotion that it asked no return. Guilty or innocent, I loved
+her. Guilty or innocent, I would clear her; and if the desire of her
+heart were toward another, she should ever know or suspect my adoration
+for her.
+
+I gazed at her lovely face, knowing that when her eyes opened I
+must discreetly turn my glance aside, but blessing every instant of
+opportunity thus given me.
+
+Her countenance, though troubled and drawn with anxiety, was so pure
+and sweet that I felt sure of her innocence. But it should be my work to
+prove that to the world.
+
+Suddenly her eyes flashed open; again her mood had changed.
+
+“Mr. Burroughs,” she said, and there was almost a challenge in her tone,
+“why do you ask me these things? You are a detective, you are here to
+find out for yourself, not to ask others to find out. I am innocent of
+my uncle's death, of course, but when you cast suspicion on the man
+to whom I am betrothed, you cannot expect me to help you confirm that
+suspicion. You have made me think by your remark about a man on a late
+train that you refer to Mr. Hall. Do you?”
+
+This was a change of base, indeed. I was being questioned instead of
+doing the catechising myself. Very well; if it were my lady's will to
+challenge me, I would meet her on her own ground.
+
+“You took the hint very quickly,” I said. “Had you thought of such a
+possibility before?”
+
+“No, nor do I now. I will not.” Again she was the offended queen. “But
+since you have breathed the suggestion, you may not count on any help
+from me.”
+
+“Could you have helped me otherwise?” I said, detaining her as she swept
+by.
+
+To this she made no answer, but again her face wore a troubled
+expression, and as she went slowly from the room, she left me with a
+strong conviction that she knew far more about Gregory Hall's connection
+with the matter than she had told me.
+
+I sat alone for a few moments wondering what I had better do next.
+
+I had about decided to go in search of Parmalee, and talk things over
+with him, but I thought it would be better to see Louis first, and
+settle up the matter of his rose more definitely. Accordingly I rang
+the bell, and when the parlor maid answered it, I asked her to send both
+Louis and Elsa to me in the library.
+
+I could see at once that these two were not friendly toward each other,
+and I hoped this fact would aid me in learning the truth from them.
+
+“Now, Louis,” I began, “you may as well tell me the truth about your
+home coming last Tuesday night. In the first place, you must admit that
+you were wearing in your coat one of the yellow roses which had been
+sent to Miss Lloyd.”
+
+“No, no, indeed!” declared Louis, giving Elsa a threatening glance, as
+if forbidding her to contradict him.
+
+“Nonsense, man,” I said; “don't stand there and tell useless lies. It
+will not help you. The best thing you can do for yourself and for all
+concerned is to tell the truth. And, moreover, if you don't tell it to
+me now, you will have to tell it to Mr. Goodrich, later. Elsa gave you a
+yellow rose and you wore it away that evening when you went to see your
+young lady. Now what became of that rose?”
+
+“I--I lost it, sir.”
+
+“No, you didn't lose it. You wore it home again, and when you retired,
+you threw it on the floor, in your own room.”
+
+“No, sir. You make mistake. I look for him next day in my room, but
+cannot find him.”
+
+I almost laughed at the man's ingenuousness. He contradicted his own
+story so unconsciously, that I began to think he was more of a simpleton
+than a villain.
+
+“Of course you couldn't find it,” I informed him, “for it was taken from
+your room next day; and of course you didn't look for it until after you
+had heard yellow roses discussed at the inquest.”
+
+Louis's easily read face proved my statement correct, but he glowered at
+Elsa, as he said: “Who take him away? who take my rose from my room.”
+
+“But you denied having a rose, Louis. Now you're asking who took it
+away. Once again, let me advise you to tell the truth. You're not at all
+successful in telling falsehoods. Now answer me this: When you came home
+Tuesday night, did you or did you not walk around the house past the
+office window?”
+
+“No, sir. I walked around the other side. I--”
+
+“Stop, Louis! You're not telling the truth. You did walk around by the
+office, and you dropped your transfer there. It never blew all around
+the house, as you have said it did.”
+
+A look of dogged obstinacy came into the man's eyes, but he did not look
+at me. He shifted his gaze uneasily, as he repeated almost in a singsong
+way, “go round the other side of the house.”
+
+It was a sort of deadlock. Without a witness to the fact, I could not
+prove that he had gone by the office windows, though I was sure he had.
+
+But help came from an unexpected quarter.
+
+Elsa had been very quiet during the foregoing conversation, but now
+she spoke up suddenly, and said: “He did go round by the office, Mr.
+Burroughs, and I saw him.”
+
+I half expected to see Louis turn on the girl in a rage, but the effect
+of her speech on him was quite the reverse. He almost collapsed; he
+trembled and turned white, and though he tried to speak, he made no
+sound. Surely this man was too cowardly for a criminal; but I must learn
+the secret of his knowledge.
+
+“Tell me about it, Elsa,” I said, quietly.
+
+“I was looking out at my window, sir, at the back of the house; and I
+saw Louis come around the house, and he came around by the office side.”
+
+“You're positive of this, Elsa? you would swear to it? Remember, you are
+making an important assertion.”
+
+“I am telling the truth, sir. I saw him plainly as he came around and
+entered at the back door.”
+
+“You hear, Louis?” I said sternly. “I believe Elsa's statement rather
+than yours, for she tells a straight story, while you are rattled and
+agitated, and have all the appearance of concealing something.”
+
+Louis looked helpless. He didn't dare deny Elsa's story, but he would
+not confirm it. At last he said, with a glance of hatred at the girl,
+“Elsa, she tell that story to make the trouble for me.”
+
+There was something in this. Elsa, I knew, was jealous, and her pride
+had been hurt because Louis had taken the rose she gave him, and then
+had gone to call on another girl. But I had no reason to doubt Elsa's
+statement, and I had every reason to doubt Louis's. I tried to imagine
+what Louis's experience had really been, and it suddenly occurred to me,
+that though innocent himself of real wrong, he had seen something in the
+office, or through the office windows that he wished to keep secret. I
+did not for a moment believe that the man had killed his master, so I
+concluded he was endeavoring to shield someone else.
+
+“Louis,” I said, suddenly, “I'll tell you what you did. You went around
+by the office, you saw a light there late at night, and you naturally
+looked in. You saw Mr. Crawford there, and he was perhaps already
+killed. You stepped inside and discovered this, and then you came away,
+and said nothing about it, lest you yourself be suspected of the crime.
+Incidentally you dropped two petals from the rose Elsa had given you.”
+
+Louis's answer to this accusation was a perfect storm of denials,
+expressed in voluble French and broken English, but all to the effect
+that it was not true, and that if he had seen his master dead, he would
+have raised an alarm.
+
+I saw that I had not yet struck the right idea, so I tried again. “Then,
+Louis, you must have passed the office before Mr. Crawford was killed,
+which is really more probable. Then as you passed the window, you saw
+something or someone in the office, and you're not willing to tell about
+it. Is this it?”
+
+This again brought forth only incoherent denial, and I could see that
+the man was becoming so rattled, it was difficult for him to speak
+clearly, had he desired to do so.
+
+“Elsa,” I said, suddenly, “you took that rose from Louis's room. What
+did you do with it?”
+
+“I kept,--I mean, I don't know what I did with it,” stammered the girl,
+blushing rosy red, and looking shyly at Louis.
+
+I felt sorry to disclose the poor girl's little romance, for it was
+easy enough to see that she was in love with the fickle Frenchman,
+who evidently did not reciprocate her interest. He looked at her
+disdainfully, and she presented a pathetic picture of embarrassment.
+
+But the situation was too serious for me to consider Elsa's sentiments,
+and I said, rather sternly: “You do know where it is. You preserved that
+rose as a souvenir. Go at once and fetch it.”
+
+It was a chance shot, for I was not at all certain that she had kept
+the withered flower, but dominated by my superior will she went away at
+once. She returned in a moment with the flower.
+
+Although withered, it was still in fairly good condition; quite enough
+so for me to see at a glance that no petals had been detached from it.
+The green calyx leaves clung around the bud in such a manner as to prove
+positively that the unfolding flower had lost no petal. This settled the
+twelfth rose. Wherever those tell-tale petals had come from, they were
+not from Louis's rose. I gave the flower back to Elsa, and I said, “take
+your flower, my girl, and go away now. I don't want to question you any
+more for the present.”
+
+A little bewildered at her sudden dismissal, Elsa went away, and I
+turned my attention to the Frenchman.
+
+“Louis,” I began, “this must be settled here and now between us. Either
+you must tell me what I want to know, or you must be taken before the
+district attorney, and be made to tell him. I have proved to my own
+satisfaction that the rose petals in the office were not from the flower
+you wore. Therefore I conclude that you did not go into the office that
+night, but as you passed the window you did see someone in there with
+Mr. Crawford. The hour was later than Mr. Porter's visit, for he had
+already gone home, and Lambert had locked the front door and gone to
+bed. You came in later, and what you saw, or whom you saw through the
+office window so surprised you, or interested you, that you paused to
+look in, and there you dropped your transfer.”
+
+Though Louis didn't speak, I could see at once that I was on the right
+track at last. The man was shielding somebody. He was unwilling to tell
+what he had seen, lest it inculpate someone. Could it be Gregory Hall?
+If Hall had come out on a late train, and Louis had seen him there, he
+might, perhaps under Hall's coercion, be keeping the fact secret. Again,
+if a strange woman with the gold bag had been in the office, that also
+would have attracted Louis's attention. Again, and here my heart almost
+stopped beating, could he have seen Florence Lloyd in there? But a
+second thought put me at ease again. Surely to have seen Florence in
+there would have been so usual and natural a sight that it could not
+have caused him anxiety. And yet, again, for him to have seen Florence
+in her uncle's office, would have proved to him that the story she
+told at the inquest was false. I must get out of him the knowledge he
+possessed, if I had to resort to a sort of third degree. But I might
+manage it by adroit questioning.
+
+“I quite understand, Louis, that you are shielding some person. But let
+me tell you that it is useless. It is much wiser for you to tell me all
+you know, and then I can go to work intelligently to find the man who
+murdered Mr. Crawford. You want me to find him, do you not?”
+
+Louis seemed to have found his voice again. “Yes, sir, of course he must
+be found. Of course I want him found,--the miscreant, the villain! but,
+Mr. Burroughs, sir, what I have see in the office makes nothing to your
+search. I simply see Mr. Crawford alive and well. And I pass by. That
+fool girl Elsa, she tell you that I pass by, so I may say so. But I see
+nothing in the office to alarm me, and if I drop my transfer there, it
+is but because I think of him as no consequence, and I let him go.”
+
+“Louis,” and I looked him straight in the eye, “all that sounds
+straightforward and true. But, if you saw nothing in the office to
+surprise or alarm you, why did you at first deny having passed by the
+office at all?”
+
+The man had no answer for this. He was not ingenious in inventing
+falsehood, and he stood looking helpless and despairing. I perceived I
+should have to go on with my questioning.
+
+“Was it a man or a woman you saw in there with Mr. Crawford?”
+
+“I see nobody, sir, nobody but my master.”
+
+That wouldn't do, then. As long as I asked him direct questions he could
+answer falsely. I must trip him up in some roundabout way.
+
+“Yes,” I said pleasantly, “I understand that. And what was Mr. Crawford
+doing?”
+
+“He sat at his desk;” and Louis spoke slowly, and picked his words with
+care.
+
+“Was he writing?”
+
+“No; that is, yes, sir, he was writing.”
+
+I now knew he was not writing, for the truth had slipped out before the
+man could frame up his lie. I believed I was going to learn something at
+last, if I could make the man tell. Surely the testimony of one who saw
+Joseph Crawford late that night was of value, and though that testimony
+was difficult to obtain, it was well worth the effort.
+
+“And was Mr. Hall at his desk also?”
+
+Louis stared at me. “Mr. Hall, he was in New York that night.” This was
+said so simply and unpremeditatedly, that I was absolutely certain it
+was not Hall whom Louis had seen there.
+
+“Oh, yes, of course, so he was,” I said lightly; “and Mr. Crawford was
+writing, was he?”
+
+“Yes, sir,” spoken with the dogged scowl which I was beginning to learn
+always accompanied Louis's untruthful statements.
+
+And now I decided to put my worst fear to the test and have it over
+with. It must be done, and I felt sure I could do it, but oh, how I
+dreaded it!
+
+“Did Mr. Crawford look up or see you?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“And didn't Miss Florence see you, either?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+It was out. The mere fact that Louis answered that question so calmly
+and unconsciously proved he was telling the truth. But what a truth! for
+it told me at the same time that Florence Lloyd was in the office with
+her uncle, that Louis had seen her, but that she had not seen him. I had
+learned the truth from my reading of the man's expression and demeanor,
+and though it made my heart sink, I didn't for a moment doubt that it
+was the truth.
+
+Of course Louis realized the next instant what he had done, and again he
+began his stammering denials. “Of course, Miss Lloyd do not see me for
+she is not there. How can she see me, then? I tell you my master was
+alone!”
+
+Had I been the least uncertain, this would have convinced me that I was
+right. For Louis's voice rose almost to a shriek, so angry was he with
+himself for having made the slip.
+
+“Give it up, Louis,” I said; “you have let out the truth, now be quiet.
+You couldn't help it, man, you were bound to trip yourself up sooner
+or later. You put up a good fight for Miss Florence, and now that I
+understand why you told your falsehoods, I can't help admiring your
+chivalry. You saw Miss Lloyd there that evening, you heard her next day
+at the inquest deny having been in the office in the evening. So, in
+a way, it was very commendable on your part to avoid contradicting her
+testimonies, with your own. But you are not clever enough, Louis, to
+carry out that deceit to the end. And now that you have admitted that
+you saw Miss Lloyd there, you can best help her cause, and best help me
+to help her cause, by telling me all about it. For rest assured, Louis,
+that I am quite as anxious to prove Miss Lloyd's innocence as you can
+possibly be, and the only way to accomplish that end, is to learn as
+much of the truth as I possibly can. Now, tell me what she was doing.”
+
+“Only talking to her uncle, sir.” Louis had the air of a defeated man.
+He had tried to shield Miss Lloyd's name and had failed. Now he spoke
+sullenly, and as if his whole cause were lost.
+
+“And Mr. Crawford was talking to her?”
+
+“Yes, sir.”
+
+“He was not writing, then?”
+
+“No, sir.”
+
+“Did they seem to be having an amicable conversation?”
+
+Louis hesitated, and his hesitation was sufficient answer.
+
+“Never mind,” I said, “you need not tell me more. In fact, I would
+prefer to get the rest of the story from Miss Lloyd, herself.”
+
+Louis looked startled. “Don't tell Miss Lloyd I told you this,” he
+begged; “I have try very hard not to tell you.”
+
+“I know you tried hard, Louis, not to tell me, and it was not your fault
+that I wrung the truth from you. I will not tell Miss Lloyd that you
+told me, unless it should become necessary, and I do not think it will.
+Go away now, Louis, and do not discuss this matter with anybody at all.
+And, also, do not think for a moment that you have been disloyal in
+telling me that you saw Miss Lloyd. As I say, you couldn't help it. I
+should simply have kept at you until I made you tell, so you need not
+blame yourself in the matter at all.”
+
+Louis went away, and though I could see that he believed what I said,
+he had a dejected air, and I couldn't help feeling sorry for the man who
+had so inadvertently given me the knowledge that must be used against
+the beautiful girl who had herself given untrue testimony.
+
+
+
+
+XIII. MISS LLOYD'S CONFIDENCE
+
+
+After Louis left me, I felt as if a dead weight had fallen on my heart.
+Florence Lloyd had gone down to her uncle's office late that night, and
+yet at the inquest she had testified that she had not done so. And
+even to me, when talking quietly and alone, she had repeated her false
+assertion. This much I knew, but why she had done it, I did not know.
+Not until I was forced to do so, would I believe that even her falsehood
+in the matter meant that she herself was guilty. There must be some
+other reason for her mendacity.
+
+Well, I would find out this reason, and if it were not a creditable one
+to her, I would still endeavor to do all I could for her. I longed to
+see her, and try if perhaps kind and gentle urging might not elicit
+the truth. But she had left me with such an air of haughty disdain, I
+hesitated to send for her again just now. And as it was nearly dinner
+time, I resolved to go back to my hotel.
+
+On the way, I came to the conclusion that it would do no harm to have a
+talk with Parmalee.
+
+I had not much confidence in his detective ability, but he knew the
+people better than I did, and might be able to give me information of
+some sort.
+
+After I reached the Sedgwick Arms I telephoned Parmalee to come over and
+dine with me, and he readily consented.
+
+During dinner I told him all that I had learned from Elsa and Louis.
+Of course I had no right to keep this knowledge to myself, and, too, I
+wanted Parmalee's opinion on the situation as it stood at present.
+
+“It doesn't really surprise me,” he said, “for I thought all along, Miss
+Lloyd was not telling the truth. I'm not yet ready to say that I think
+she killed her uncle, although I must say it seems extremely probable.
+But if she didn't commit the deed, she knows perfectly well who did.”
+
+“Meaning Hall?”
+
+“No, I don't mean Hall. In fact I don't mean any one in particular.
+I think Miss Lloyd was the instigator of the crime, and practically
+carried out its commission, but she may have had an assisting agent for
+the actual deed.”
+
+“Oh, how you talk! It quite gives me the shivers even to think of a
+beautiful young woman being capable of such thoughts or deeds.”
+
+“But, you see, Burroughs, that's because you are prejudiced in favor
+of Miss Lloyd. Women are capable of crime as well as men, and sometimes
+they're even more clever in the perpetration of it. And you must admit
+if ever a woman were capable of crime, Miss Lloyd is of that type.”
+
+“I have to agree to that, Parmalee,” I admitted; “she certainly shows
+great strength of character.”
+
+“She shows more than that; she has indomitable will, unflinching
+courage, and lots of pluck. If, for any reason, she made up her mind to
+kill a man, she'd find a way to do it.”
+
+This talk made me cringe all over, but I couldn't deny it, for so far as
+I knew Florence Lloyd, Parmalee's words were quite true.
+
+“All right,” I said, “I'll grant her capability, but that doesn't prove
+a thing. I don't believe that girl is guilty, and I hope to prove her
+innocence.”
+
+“But look at the evidence, man! She denied her presence in the room, yet
+we now know she was there. She denied the ownership of the gold bag,
+yet probably she was also untruthful in that matter. She is a woman of
+a complex nature, and though I admire her in many ways, I shouldn't care
+to have much to do with her.”
+
+“Let us leave out the personal note, Parmalee,” I said, for I was angry
+at his attitude toward Florence.
+
+“All right. Don't you think for a moment that I don't see where you
+stand with regard to the haughty beauty, but that's neither here nor
+there.”
+
+“Indeed it isn't,” I returned; “and whatever may be my personal feeling
+toward Miss Lloyd, I can assure you it in no way influences my work on
+this case.”
+
+“I believe you, old man; and so I'm sure you will agree with me that
+we must follow up the inquiry as to Miss Lloyd's presence in the office
+that night. She must be made to talk, and perhaps it would be best to
+tell Goodrich all about it, and let him push the matter.”
+
+“Oh, no,” I cried involuntarily. “Don't set him on the track of the poor
+girl. That is, Parmalee, let me talk to her again, first. Now that I
+know she was down there that night, I think I can question her in
+a little different manner, and persuade her to own the truth. And,
+Parmalee, perhaps she was down there because Hall was there.”
+
+“Hall! He was in New York.”
+
+“So he says, but why should he speak the truth any more than Miss
+Lloyd?”
+
+“You, mean they may both be implicated?”
+
+“Yes; or he may have used her as a tool.”
+
+“Not Florence Lloyd. She's nobody's tool.”
+
+“Any woman might be a tool at the command of the man she loves. But,” I
+went on, with an air of conviction which was not entirely genuine, “Miss
+Lloyd doesn't love Mr. Hall.”
+
+“I don't know about that,” returned Parmalee; “you can't tell about
+a woman like Florence Lloyd. If she doesn't love him, she's at least
+putting up a bluff of doing so.”
+
+“I believe it is a bluff, though I'm sure I don't know why she should do
+that.”
+
+“On the other hand, why shouldn't she? For some reason she's dead set
+on marrying him, ready to give up her fortune to do so, if necessary. He
+must have some sort of a pretty strong hold on her.”
+
+“I admit all that, and yet I can't believe she loves him. He's such a
+commonplace man.”
+
+“Commonplace doesn't quite describe him. And yet Gregory Hall, with all
+the money in the world, could never make himself distinguished or worth
+while in any way.”
+
+“No; and what would Miss Florence Lloyd see in a man like that, to make
+her so determined to marry him?”
+
+“I don't think she is determined, except that Hall has some sort of hold
+over her,--a promise or something,--that she can't escape.”
+
+My heart rejoiced at the idea that Florence was not in love with Hall,
+but I did not allow myself to dwell on that point, for I was determined
+to go on with the work, irrespective of my feelings toward her.
+
+“You see,” Parmalee went on, “you suspect Hall, only because you're
+prejudiced against him.”
+
+“Good gracious!” I exclaimed; “that's an awful thing to say, Parmalee.
+The idea of a detective suspecting a man, merely because he doesn't
+admire his personality! And besides, it isn't true. If I suspect Hall,
+it's because I think he had a strong motive, a possible opportunity, and
+more than all, because he refuses to tell where he was Tuesday night.”
+
+“But that's just the point, Burroughs. A man who'll commit murder would
+fix up his alibi first of all. He would know that his refusal to tell
+his whereabouts would be extremely suspicious. No, to my mind it's
+Hall's refusal to tell that stamps him as innocent.”
+
+“Then, in that case, it's the cleverest kind of an alibi he could
+invent, for it stamps him innocent at once.”
+
+“Oh, come, now, that's going pretty far; but I will say, Burroughs,
+that you haven't the least shred of proof against Hall, and you know
+it. Prejudice and unfounded suspicion and even a strong desire that
+he should be the villain, are all very well. But they won't go far as
+evidence in a court of law.”
+
+I was forced to admit that Parmalee was right, and that so far I had no
+proof whatever that Gregory Hall was at all implicated in Mr. Crawford's
+death. To be sure he might have worn a yellow rose, and he might have
+brought the late newspaper, but there was no evidence to connect
+him with those clues, and too, there was the gold bag. It was highly
+improbable that that should have been brought to the office and left
+there by a man.
+
+However, I persuaded Parmalee to agree not to carry the matter to Mr.
+Goodrich until I had had one more interview with Miss Lloyd, and I
+promised to undertake that the next morning.
+
+After Parmalee had gone, I indulged in some very gloomy reflections.
+Everything seemed to point one way. Every proof, every suspicion and
+every hint more or less implicated Miss Lloyd.
+
+But the more I realized this, the more I determined to do all I could
+for her, and as to do this, I must gain her confidence, and even
+liking, I resolved to approach the subject the next day with the utmost
+tactfulness and kindliness, hoping by this means to induce the truth
+from her.
+
+The next morning I started on my mission with renewed hopefulness.
+Reaching the Crawford house, I asked for Miss Lloyd, and I was shown
+into a small parlor to wait for her. It was a sort of morning room, a
+pretty little apartment that I had not been in before; and it was so
+much more cheerful and pleasant than the stately library, I couldn't
+help hoping that Miss Lloyd, too, would prove more amenable than she had
+yet been.
+
+She soon came in, and though I was beginning to get accustomed to the
+fact that she was a creature of variable moods, I was unprepared for
+this one. Her hauteur had disappeared; she was apparently in a sweet
+and gentle frame of mind. Her large dark eyes were soft and gentle, and
+though her red lips quivered, it was not with anger or disdain as they
+had done the day before. She wore a plain white morning gown, and a long
+black necklace of small beads. The simplicity of this costume suited her
+well, and threw into relief her own rich coloring and striking beauty.
+
+She greeted me more pleasantly than she had ever done before, and I
+couldn't help feeling that the cheerful sunny little room had a better
+effect on her moods than the darker furnishings of the library.
+
+“I wish,” I began, “that we had not to talk of anything unpleasant this
+morning. I wish there were no such thing as untruth or crime in the
+world, and that I were calling on you, as an acquaintance, as a friend
+might call.”
+
+“I wish so, too,” she responded, and as she flashed a glance at me, I
+had a glimpse of what it might mean to be friends with Florence
+Lloyd without the ugly shadow between us that now was spoiling our
+tete-a-tete.
+
+Just that fleeting glance held in it the promise of all that was
+attractive, charming and delightful in femininity. It was as if the veil
+of the great, gloomy sorrow had been lifted for a moment, and she was
+again an untroubled, merry girl. It seemed too, as if she wished that we
+could be together under pleasanter circumstances and could converse
+on subjects of less dreadful import. However, all these thoughts that
+tumultuously raced through my mind must be thrust aside in favor of the
+business in hand.
+
+So though I hated to, I began at once.
+
+“I am sorry, Miss Lloyd, to doubt your word, but I want to tell you
+myself rather than to have you learn it from others that I have a
+witness who has testified to your presence in your uncle's office that
+fateful Tuesday night, although you have said you didn't go down there.”
+
+As I had feared, the girl turned white and shivered as if with a
+dreadful apprehension.
+
+“Who is the witness?” she said.
+
+I seemed to read her mind, and I felt at once that to her, the
+importance of what I had said depended largely on my answer to this
+question, and I paused a moment to think what this could mean. And then
+it flashed across me that she was afraid I would say the witness was
+Gregory Hall. I became more and more convinced that she was shielding
+Hall, and I felt sure that when she learned it was not he, she would
+feel relieved. However, I had promised Louis not to let her know that he
+had told me of seeing her, unless it should be necessary.
+
+“I think I won't tell you that; but since you were seen in the office at
+about eleven o'clock, will you not tell me,--I assure you it is for your
+own best interests,--what you were doing there, and why you denied being
+there?”
+
+“First tell me the name of your informer;” and so great was her
+agitation that she scarcely breathed the words.
+
+“I prefer not to do so, but I may say it is a reliable witness and one
+who gave his evidence most unwillingly.”
+
+“Well, if you will not tell me who he was, will you answer just one
+question about him? Was it Mr. Hall?”
+
+“No; it was not Mr. Hall.”
+
+As I had anticipated, she showed distinctly her relief at my answer.
+Evidently she dreaded to hear Hall's name brought into the conversation.
+
+“And now, Miss Lloyd, I ask you earnestly and with the best intent,
+please to tell me the details of your visit to Mr. Crawford that night
+in his office.”
+
+She sat silent for a moment, her eyes cast down, the long dark lashes
+lying on her pale cheeks. I waited patiently, for I knew she was
+struggling with a strong emotion of some sort, and I feared if I hurried
+her, her gentle mood would disappear, and she might again become angry
+or haughty of demeanor.
+
+At last she spoke. The dark lashes slowly raised, and she seemed even
+more gentle than at first.
+
+“I must tell you,” she said. “I see I must. But don't repeat it, unless
+it is necessary. Detectives have to know things, but they don't have to
+tell them, do they?”
+
+“We never repeat confidences, Miss Lloyd,” I replied, “except when
+necessary to further the cause of right and justice.”
+
+“Truly? Is that so?”
+
+She brightened up so much that I began to hope she had only some
+trifling matter to tell of.
+
+“Well, then,” she went on, “I will tell you, for I know it need not
+be repeated in the furtherance of justice. I did go down to my uncle's
+office that night, after Mrs. Pierce had been to my room; and it was
+I--it must have been I--who dropped those rose petals.”
+
+“And left the bag,” I suggested.
+
+“No,” she said, and her face looked perplexed, but not confused. “No,
+the bag is not mine, and I did not leave it there. I know nothing of it,
+absolutely nothing. But I did go to the office at about eleven
+o'clock. I had a talk with my uncle, and I left him there a half-hour
+later--alive and well as when I went in.”
+
+“Was your conversation about your engagement?”
+
+“Yes.”
+
+“Was it amicable?”
+
+“No, it was not! Uncle Joseph was more angry than I had ever before seen
+him. He declared he intended to make a new will the next morning, which
+would provide only a small income for me. He said this was not revenge
+or punishment for my loyalty to Mr. Hall, but--but--”
+
+“But what?” I urged gently.
+
+“It scarcely seems loyal to Mr. Hall for me to say it,” she returned,
+and the tears were in her eyes. “But this is all confidential. Well,
+Uncle Joseph said that Gregory only wanted to marry me for my fortune,
+and that the new will would prove this. Of course I denied that Mr. Hall
+was so mercenary, and then we had a good deal of an altercation. But
+it was not very different from many discussions we had had on the same
+subject, only Uncle was more decided, and said he had asked Mr. Randolph
+to come the next morning and draw up the new will. I left him still
+angry--he wouldn't even say good-night to me--and now I blame myself for
+not being more gentle, and trying harder to make peace. But it annoyed
+me to have him call Gregory mercenary--”
+
+“Because you knew it was true,” I said quietly.
+
+She turned white to the very lips. “You are unnecessarily impertinent,”
+ she said.
+
+“I am,” I agreed. “I beg your pardon.” But I had discovered that she did
+realize her lover's true nature.
+
+“And then you went to your room, and stayed there?” I went on, with a
+meaning emphasis on the last clause.
+
+“Yes,” she said; “and so, you see, what I have told you casts no light
+on the mystery. I only told you so as to explain the bits of the yellow
+rose. I feared, from what you said, that Mr. Hall's name might possibly
+be brought into discussion.”
+
+“Why, he was not in West Sedgwick that night,” I said.
+
+“Where was he?” she countered quickly.
+
+“I don't know. He refuses to tell. Of course you must see that his
+absolute refusal to tell where he was that night is, to say the least,
+an unwise proceeding.”
+
+“He won't even tell me where he was,” she said, sighing. “But it doesn't
+matter. He wasn't here.”
+
+“That's just it,” I rejoined. “If he was not here, it would be far
+better for him to tell where he really was. For the refusal to tell
+raises a question that will not be downed, except by an alibi. I don't
+want to be cruel, Miss Lloyd, but I must make you see that as the
+inquiry proceeds, the actions of both Mr. Hall and yourself will be
+subjected to very close scrutiny, and though perhaps undue attention
+will be paid to trifles, yet the trifles must be explained.”
+
+I was so sorry for the girl, that, in my effort not to divulge my too
+great sympathy, I probably used a sterner tone than I realized.
+
+At any rate, I had wakened her at last to a sense of the danger that
+threatened her and her lover, and now, if she would let me, I would do
+all in my power to save them both. But I must know all she could tell
+me.
+
+“When did Mr. Hall leave you?” I asked.
+
+“You mean the day--last Tuesday?”
+
+“Yes?”
+
+“He left here about half-past five. He had been in the office with Uncle
+Joseph all the afternoon, and at five o'clock he came in here for a
+cup of tea with me. He almost always comes in at tea-time. Then he left
+about half-past five, saying he was going to New York on the six o'clock
+train.”
+
+“For what purpose?”
+
+“I never ask him questions like that. I knew he was to attend to some
+business for Uncle the next day, but I never ask him what he does
+evenings when he is in the city, or at any time when he is not with me.”
+
+“But surely one might ask such questions of the man to whom she is
+betrothed.”
+
+Miss Lloyd again put on that little air of hauteur which always
+effectually stopped my “impertinence.”
+
+“It is not my habit,” she said. “What Gregory wishes me to know he tells
+me of his own accord.”
+
+
+
+
+XIV. MR. PORTER'S VIEWS
+
+
+I began on a new tack.
+
+“Miss Lloyd, why did you tell an untruth, and say you did not come
+down-stairs again, after going up at ten o'clock?”
+
+Her hauteur disappeared. A frightened, appealing look came into her
+eyes, and she looked to me like a lovely child afraid of unseen dangers.
+
+“I was afraid,” she confessed. “Yes, truly, I was afraid that they would
+think I had something to do with the--with Uncle Joseph's death. And as
+I didn't think it could do any good to tell of my little visit to him,
+I just said I didn't come down. Oh, I know it was a lie--I know it was
+wicked--but I was so frightened, and it was such an easy way out of it,
+just to deny it.”
+
+“And why have you confessed it to me now?”
+
+Her eyes opened wide in astonishment.
+
+“I told you why,” she said: “so you would know where the rose leaves
+came from, and not suspect Gregory.”
+
+“Do you suspect him?”
+
+“N-no, of course not. But others might.”
+
+It is impossible to describe the dismay that smote my heart at the
+hesitation of this answer. It was more than hesitation. It was a
+conflict of unspoken impulses, and the words, when they were uttered,
+seemed to carry hidden meanings, and to my mind they carried the worst
+and most sinister meaning conceivable.
+
+To me, it seemed to point unmistakably to collusion between Florence
+Lloyd, whom I already loved, and Gregory Hall, whom I already distrusted
+and disliked. Guilty collusion between these two would explain
+everything. Theirs the motive, theirs the opportunity, theirs
+the denials and false witnessing. The gold bag, as yet, remained
+unexplained, but the yellow rose petals and the late newspaper could be
+accounted for if Hall had come out on the midnight train, and Florence
+had helped him to enter and leave the house unseen.
+
+Bah! it was impossible. And, any way, the gold bag remained as proof
+against this horrid theory. I would pin my faith to the gold bag, and
+through its presence in the room, I would defy suspicions of the two
+people I had resolved to protect.
+
+“What do you think about the gold bag?” I asked.
+
+“I don't know what to think. I hate to accuse Uncle Joseph of such a
+thing, but it seems as if some woman friend of his must have come to the
+office after I left. The long French windows were open--it was a warm
+night, you know--and any one could have come and gone unseen.”
+
+“The bag wasn't there when you were there?”
+
+“I'm sure it was not! That is, not in sight, and Uncle Joseph was not
+the sort of man to have such a thing put away in his desk as a souvenir,
+or for any other reason.”
+
+“Forgive the insinuation, but of course you could not know positively
+that Mr. Crawford would not have a feminine souvenir in his desk.”
+
+She looked up surprised. “Of course I could not be positive,” she said,
+“but it is difficult to imagine anything sentimental connected with
+Uncle Joseph.”
+
+She almost smiled as she said this, for apparently the mere idea was
+amusing, and I had a flashing glimpse of what it must be to see Florence
+Lloyd smile! Well it should not be my fault, or due to my lack of
+exertion, if the day did not come when she should smile again, and
+I promised myself I should be there to see it. But stifling these
+thoughts, I brought my mind back to duty. Drawing from my pocket the
+photograph I had found in Mr. Crawford's desk, I showed it to her.
+
+“In Uncle's desk!” she exclaimed. “This does surprise me. I had no idea
+Uncle Joseph had received a photograph from a lady with an affectionate
+message, too. Are you quite sure it belonged to him?”
+
+“I only know that we found it in his desk, hidden beneath some old
+letters and papers.”
+
+“Were the letters from this lady?”
+
+“No; in no case could we find a signature that agreed with these
+initials.”
+
+“Here's your chance, Mr. Burroughs,” and again Florence Lloyd's dimples
+nearly escaped the bondage which held them during these sad days. “If
+you're a detective, you ought to gather at once from this photograph and
+signature all the details about this lady; who she is, and what she had
+to do with Uncle Joseph.”
+
+“I wish I could do so,” I replied, “but you see, I'm not that kind of
+detective. I have a friend, Mr. Stone, who could do it, and would tell
+you, as you say, everything about that lady, merely by looking at her
+picture.”
+
+As a case in point, I told her then and there the story of Fleming
+Stone's wonderful deductions from the pair of muddy shoes we had seen in
+a hotel one morning.
+
+“But you never proved that it was true?” she asked, her dark eyes
+sparkling with interest, and her face alight with animation.
+
+“No, but it wasn't necessary. Stone's deductions are always right, and
+if not, you know it is the exception that proves the rule.”
+
+“Well, let us try to deduce a little from this picture. I don't believe
+for a moment, that Uncle Joseph had a romantic attachment for any lady,
+though these words on the back of the picture do seem to indicate it.”
+
+“Well, go on,” said I, so carried away by the fascination of the girl,
+when she had for a moment seemed to forget her troubles, that I wanted
+to prolong the moment. “Go ahead, and see what inferences you can draw
+from the photograph.”
+
+“I think she is about fifty years old,” Florence began, “or perhaps
+fifty-five. What do you think?”
+
+“I wouldn't presume to guess a lady's age,” I returned, “and beside,
+I want you to try your powers on this. You may be better at deductions
+than I am. I have already confessed to you my inability in that
+direction.”
+
+“Well,” she went on, “I think this lady is rather good-looking, and I
+think she appreciates the fact.”
+
+“The first is evident on the face of it, and the second is a universal
+truth, so you haven't really deduced much as yet.”
+
+“No, that's so,” and she pouted a little. “But at any rate, I can deduce
+more about her dress than you can. The picture was taken, or at least
+that costume was made, about a year ago, for that is the style that was
+worn then.”
+
+“Marvellous, Holmes, marvellous!”
+
+She flashed me a glance of understanding and appreciation, but
+undaunted, went on: “The gown also was not made by a competent modiste,
+but was made by a dressmaker in the house, who came in by the day. The
+lady is of an economical turn of mind, because the lace yoke of the gown
+is an old one, and has even been darned to make it presentable to use in
+the new gown.”
+
+“Now that is deduction,” I said admiringly; “the only trouble is,
+that it doesn't do us much good. Somehow I can't seem to fancy this
+good-looking, economical, middle-aged lady, who has her dressmaking
+done at home, coming here in the middle of the night and killing Mr.
+Crawford.”
+
+“No, I can't, either,” said Florence gravely; “but then, I can't imagine
+any one else doing that, either. It seems like a horrible dream, and I
+can't realize that it really happened to Uncle Joseph.”
+
+“But it did happen, and we must find the guilty person. I think with
+you, that this photograph is of little value as a clue, and yet it may
+turn out to be. And yet I do think the gold bag is a clue. You are quite
+sure it isn't yours?”
+
+Perhaps it was a mean way to put the question, but the look of
+indignation she gave me helped to convince me that the bag was not hers.
+
+“I told you it was not,” she said, “but,” and her eyes fell, “since
+I have confessed to one falsehood, of course you cannot believe my
+statement.”
+
+“But I do believe it,” I said, and I did, thoroughly.
+
+“At any rate, it is a sort of proof,” she said, smiling sadly, “that any
+one who knows anything about women's fashions can tell you that it is
+not customary to carry a bag of that sort when one is in the house and
+in evening dress. Or rather, in a negligee costume, for I had taken
+off my evening gown and wore a tea-gown. I should not think of going
+anywhere in a tea-gown, and carrying a gold bag.”
+
+The girl had seemingly grown almost lighthearted. Her speech was
+punctuated by little smiles, and her half sad, half gay demeanor
+bewitched me. I felt sure that what little suggestion of
+lightheartedness had come into her mood had come because she had at last
+confessed the falsehood she had told, and her freed conscience gave her
+a little buoyancy of heart.
+
+But there were still important questions to be asked, so, though
+unwillingly, I returned to the old subject.
+
+“Did you see your uncle's will while you were there?”
+
+“No; he talked about it, but did not show it to me.”
+
+“Did he talk about it as if it were still in his possession?”
+
+“Why, yes; I think so. That is, he said he would make a new one unless
+I gave up Gregory. That implied that the old one was still in existence,
+though he didn't exactly say so.”
+
+“Miss Lloyd, this is important evidence. I must tell you that I shall be
+obliged to repeat much of it to the district attorney. It seems to me to
+prove that your uncle did not himself destroy the will.”
+
+“He might have done so after I left him.”
+
+“I can't think it, for it is not in scraps in the waste-basket, nor are
+there any paper-ashes in the grate.”
+
+“Well, then,” she rejoined, “if he didn't destroy it, it may yet be
+found.”
+
+“You wish that very much?” I said, almost involuntarily.
+
+“Oh, I do!” she exclaimed, clasping her hands. “Not so much for myself
+as--”
+
+She paused, and I finished the sentence for her “For Mr. Hall.”
+
+She looked angry again, but said nothing.
+
+“Well, Miss Lloyd,” I said, as I rose to go, “I am going to do
+everything in my power in your behalf and in behalf of Mr. Hall. But I
+tell you frankly, unless you will both tell me the truth, and the whole
+truth, you will only defeat my efforts, and work your own undoing.”
+
+I had to look away from her as I said this, for I could not look on that
+sweet face and say anything even seemingly harsh or dictatorial.
+
+Her lip quivered. “I will do my best,” she said tremblingly. “I will
+try to make Mr. Hall tell where he was that night. I will see you again
+after I have talked with him.”
+
+More collusion! I said good-by rather curtly, I fear, and went quickly
+away from that perilous presence.
+
+Truly, a nice detective, I! Bowled over by a fair face, I was unable to
+think clearly, to judge logically, or to work honestly!
+
+Well, I would go home and think it out by myself. Away from her
+influence I surely would regain my cool-headed methods of thought.
+
+When I reached the inn, I found Mr. Lemuel Porter there waiting for me.
+
+“How do you do, Mr. Burroughs?” he said pleasantly. “Have you time for a
+half-hour's chat?”
+
+It was just what I wanted. A talk with this clear-thinking man would
+help me, indeed, and I determined to get his opinions, even as I was
+ready to give him mine.
+
+“Well, what do you think about it all?” I inquired, after we were
+comfortably settled at a small table on the shaded veranda, which was
+a popular gathering-place at this hour. But in our corner we were in no
+danger from listening ears, and I awaited his reply with interest.
+
+His eyes smiled a little, as he said,
+
+“You know the old story of the man who said he wouldn't hire a dog and
+then do his own barking. Well, though I haven't 'hired' you, I would
+be quite ready to pay your honorarium if you can ferret out our West
+Sedgwick mystery. And so, as you are the detective in charge of the
+case, I ask you, what do you think about it all?”
+
+But I was pretty thoroughly on my guard now.
+
+“I think,” I began, “that much hinges on the ownership of that gold
+bag.”
+
+“And you do not think it is Miss Lloyd's?”
+
+“I do not.”
+
+“It need not incriminate her, if it were hers,” said Mr. Porter,
+meditatively knocking the ash from said his cigar. “She might have left
+it in the office at any time previous to the day of the crime. Women
+are always leaving such things about. I confess it does not seem to me
+important.”
+
+“Was it on Mr. Crawford's desk when you were there?” I asked suddenly.
+
+He looked up at me quickly, and again that half-smile came into his
+eyes.
+
+“Am I to be questioned?” he said. “Well, I've no objections, I'm sure.
+No, I do not think it was there when I called on Mr. Crawford that
+evening. But I couldn't swear to this, for I am not an observant man,
+and the thing might have lain there in front of me and never caught
+my eye. If I had noticed it, of course I should have thought it was
+Florence's.”
+
+“But you don't think so now, do you?”
+
+“No; I can't say I think so. And yet I can imagine a girl untruthfully
+denying ownership under such circumstances.”
+
+I started at this. For hadn't Miss Lloyd untruthfully denied coming
+down-stairs to talk to her uncle?
+
+“But,” went on Mr. Porter, “if the bag is not Florence's, then I can
+think of but one explanation for its presence there.”
+
+“A lady visitor, late at night,” I said slowly.
+
+“Yes,” was the grave reply; “and though such an occurrence might have
+been an innocent one, yet, taken in connection with the crime, there is
+a dreadful possibility.”
+
+“Granting this,” I suggested, “we ought to be able to trace the owner of
+the bag.”
+
+“Not likely. If the owner of that bag--a woman, presumably--is
+the slayer of Joseph Crawford, and made her escape from the scene
+undiscovered, she is not likely to stay around where she may be found.
+And the bag itself, and its contents, are hopelessly unindividual.”
+
+“They are that,” I agreed. “Not a thing in it that mightn't be in any
+woman's bag in this country. To me, that cleaner's advertisement means
+nothing in connection with Miss Lloyd.”
+
+“I am glad to hear you say that, Mr. Burroughs. I confess I have had a
+half-fear that your suspicions had a trend in Florence's direction,
+and I assure you, sir, that girl is incapable of the slightest impulse
+toward crime.”
+
+“I'm sure of that,” I said heartily, my blood bounding in my veins at
+an opportunity to speak in defense of the woman I loved. “But how if her
+impulses were directed, or even coerced, by another?”
+
+“Just what do you mean by that?”
+
+“Oh, nothing. But sometimes the best and sweetest women will act against
+their own good impulses for those they love.”
+
+“I cannot pretend to misunderstand you,” said Mr. Porter. “But you are
+wrong. If the one you have in mind--I will say no name--was in any
+way guiltily implicated, it was without the knowledge or connivance of
+Florence Lloyd. But, man, the idea is absurd. The individual in question
+has a perfect alibi.”
+
+“He refuses to give it.”
+
+“Refuses the details, perhaps. And he has a right to, since they concern
+no one but himself. No, my friend, you know the French rule; well,
+follow that, and search for the lady with the gold-mesh bag.”
+
+“The lady without it, at present,” I said, with an apologetic smile for
+my rather grim jest.
+
+“Yes; and that's the difficulty. As she hasn't the bag, we can't
+discover her. So as a clue it is worthless.”
+
+“It seems to be,” I agreed.
+
+I thought best not to tell Mr. Porter of the card I had found in the
+bag, for I hoped soon to hear from headquarters concerning the lady
+whose name it bore. But I told him about the photograph I had found in
+Mr. Crawford's desk, and showed it to him. He did not recognize it as
+being a portrait of any one he had ever seen. Nor did he take it very
+seriously as a clue.
+
+“I'm quite sure,” he said, “that Joseph Crawford has not been interested
+in any woman since the death of his wife. He has always seemed devoted
+to her memory, and as one of his nearest friends, I think I would have
+known if he had formed any other attachment. Of course, in a matter
+like this, a man may well have a secret from his nearest friends, but
+I cannot think this mild and gentle-looking lady is at all concerned in
+the tragedy.”
+
+As a matter of fact, I agreed with Mr. Porter, for nothing I had
+discovered among the late Mr. Crawford's effects led me to think he had
+any secret romance.
+
+After Mr. Porter's departure I studied long over my puzzles, and I came
+to the conclusion that I could do little more until I should hear from
+headquarters.
+
+
+
+
+XV. THE PHOTOGRAPH EXPLAINED
+
+
+That evening I went to see Philip Crawford. As one of the executors of
+his late brother's estate, and as probable heir to the same, he was an
+important personage just now.
+
+He seemed glad to see me, and glad to discuss ways and means of running
+down the assassin. Like Mr. Porter, he attached little importance to the
+gold bag.
+
+“I can't help thinking it belongs to Florence,” he said. “I know the
+girl so well, and I know that her horrified fear of being in any way
+connected with the tragedy might easily lead her to, disown her own
+property, thinking the occasion justified the untruth. That girl has
+no more guilty knowledge of Joseph's death than I have, and that is
+absolutely none. I tell you frankly, Mr. Burroughs, I haven't even a
+glimmer of a suspicion of any one. I can't think of an enemy my brother
+had; he was the most easy-going of men. I never knew him to quarrel with
+anybody. So I trust that you, with your detective talent, can at least
+find a clue to lead us in the right direction.”
+
+“You don't admit the gold bag as a clue, then?” I asked.
+
+“Nonsense! No! If that were a clue, it would point to some woman who
+came secretly at night to visit Joseph. My brother was not that sort
+of man, sir. He had no feminine acquaintances that were unknown to his
+relatives.”
+
+“That is, you suppose so.”
+
+“I know it! We have been brothers for sixty years or more, and whatever
+Joseph's faults, they did not lie in that direction. No, sir; if that
+bag is not Florence's, then there is some other rational and commonplace
+explanation of its presence there.”
+
+“I'm glad to hear you speak so positively, Mr. Crawford, as to your
+brother's feminine acquaintances. And in connection with the subject, I
+would like to show you this photograph which I found in his desk.”
+
+I handed the card to Mr. Crawford, whose features broke into a smile as
+he looked at it.
+
+“Oh, that,” he said; “that is a picture, of Mrs. Patton.” He looked at
+the picture with a glance that seemed to be of admiring reminiscence,
+and he studied the gentle face of the photograph a moment without
+speaking.
+
+Then he said, “She was beautiful as a girl. She used to be a school
+friend of both Joseph and myself.”
+
+“She wrote rather an affectionate message on the back,” I observed.
+
+Mr. Crawford turned the picture over.
+
+“Oh, she didn't send this picture to Joseph. She sent it to my wife last
+Christmas. I took it over to show it to Joseph some months ago, and left
+it there without thinking much about it. He probably laid it in his desk
+without thinking much about it, either. No, no, Burroughs, there is
+no romance there, and you can't connect Mrs. Patton with any of your
+detective investigations.”
+
+“I rather thought that, Mr. Crawford; for this is evidently a sweet,
+simple-minded lady, and more over nothing has turned up to indicate that
+Mr. Crawford had a romantic interest of any kind.”
+
+“No, he didn't. I knew Joseph as I know myself. No; whoever killed my
+brother, was a man; some villain who had a motive that I know nothing
+about.”
+
+“But you were intimately acquainted with your brother's affairs?”
+
+“Yes, that is what proves to me that whoever this assassin was, it was
+some one of whose motive I know nothing. The fact that my brother was
+murdered, proves to me that my brother had an enemy, but I had never
+suspected it before.”
+
+“Do you know a Mrs. Egerton Purvis?”
+
+I flung the question at him, suddenly, hoping to catch him unawares. But
+he only looked at me with the blank expression of one who hears a name
+for the first time.
+
+“No,” he answered, “I never heard of her. Who is she?”
+
+“Well, when I was hunting through that gold-mesh bag, I discovered a
+lady's visiting card with that name on it. It had slipped between the
+linings, and so had not been noticed before.”
+
+To my surprise, this piece of information seemed to annoy Mr. Crawford
+greatly.
+
+“No!” he exclaimed. “In the bag? Then some one has put it there! for I
+looked over all the bag's contents myself.”
+
+“It was between the pocket and the lining,” said I; “it is there still,
+for as I felt sure no one else would discover it, I left it there. Mr.
+Goodrich has the bag.”
+
+“Oh, I don't want to see it,” he exclaimed angrily. “And I tell you
+anyway, Mr. Burroughs, that bag is worthless as a clue. Take my advice,
+and pay no further attention to it.”
+
+I couldn't understand Mr. Crawford's decided attitude against the bag as
+a clue, but I dropped the subject, for I didn't wish to tell him I had
+made plans to trace up that visiting card.
+
+“It is difficult to find anything that is a real clue,” I said.
+
+“Yes, indeed. The whole affair is mysterious, and, for my part, I
+cannot form even a conjecture as to who the villain might have been. He
+certainly left no trace.”
+
+“Where is the revolver?” I said, picturing the scene in imagination.
+
+Philip Crawford started as if caught unawares.
+
+“How do I know?” he cried, almost angrily. “I tell you, I have no
+suspicions. I wish I had! I desire, above all things, to bring my
+brother's murderer to justice. But I don't know where to look. If the
+weapon were not missing, I should think it a suicide.”
+
+“The doctor declares it could not have been suicide, even if the weapon
+had been found near him. This they learned from the position of his arms
+and head.”
+
+“Yes, yes; I know it. It was, without doubt, murder. But who--who would
+have a motive?”
+
+“They say,” I observed, “motives for murder are usually love, revenge,
+or money.”
+
+“There is no question of love or revenge in this instance. And as for
+money, as I am the one who has profited financially, suspicion should
+rest on me.”
+
+“Absurd!” I said.
+
+“Yes, it is absurd,” he went on, “for had I desired Joseph's fortune,
+I need not have killed him to acquire it. He told me the day before
+he died that he intended to disinherit Florence, and make me his heir,
+unless she broke with that secretary of his. I tried to dissuade him
+from this step, for we are not a mercenary lot, we Crawfords, and I
+thought I had made him reconsider his decision. Now, as it turns out, he
+persisted in his resolve, and was only prevented from carrying it out by
+this midnight assassin. We must find that villain, Mr. Burroughs! Do not
+consider expense; do anything you can to track him down.”
+
+“Then, Mr. Crawford,” said I, “if you do not mind the outlay, I advise
+that we send for Fleming Stone. He is a detective of extraordinary
+powers, and I am quite willing to surrender the case to him.”
+
+Philip Crawford eyed me keenly.
+
+“You give up easily, young man,” he said banteringly.
+
+“I know it seems so,” I replied, “but I have my reasons. One is, that
+Fleming Stone makes important deductions from seemingly unimportant
+clues; and he holds that unless these clues are followed immediately,
+they are lost sight of and great opportunities are gone.”
+
+“H'm,” mused Philip Crawford, stroking his strong, square chin. “I don't
+care much for these spectacular detectives. Your man, I suppose, would
+glance at the gold bag, and at once announce the age, sex, and previous
+condition of servitude of its owner.”
+
+“Just what I have thought, Mr. Crawford. I'm sure he could do just
+that.”
+
+“And that's all the good it would do! That bag doesn't belong to the
+criminal.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“By common-sense. No woman came to the house in the dead of night and
+shot my brother, and then departed, taking her revolver with her. And
+again, granting a woman did have nerve and strength enough to do
+that, such a woman is not going off leaving her gold bag behind her as
+evidence!”
+
+This speech didn't affect me much. It was pure conjecture. Women are
+uncertain creatures, at best; and a woman capable of murder would be
+equally capable of losing her head afterward, and leaving circumstantial
+evidence behind her.
+
+I was sorry Mr. Crawford didn't seem to take to the notion of sending
+for Stone. I wasn't weakening in the case so far as my confidence in my
+own ability was concerned; but I could see no direction to look except
+toward Florence Lloyd or Gregory Hall, or both. And so I was ready to
+give up.
+
+“What do you think of Gregory Hall?” I said suddenly.
+
+“As a man or as a suspect?” inquired Mr. Crawford.
+
+“Both.”
+
+“Well, as a man, I think he's about the average, ordinary young
+American, of the secretary type. He has little real ambition, but he has
+had a good berth with Joseph, and he has worked fairly hard to keep it.
+As a suspect, the notion is absurd. He wasn't even in West Sedgwick.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+“Because he went away at six that evening, and was in New York until
+nearly noon the next day.”
+
+“How do you know?”
+
+Philip Crawford stared at me.
+
+“He says so,” I went on; “but no one can prove his statement. He refuses
+to say where he was in New York, or what he did. Now, merely as a
+supposition, why couldn't he have come out here--say on the midnight
+train--called on Mr. Joseph Crawford, and returned to New York before
+daylight?”
+
+“Absurd! Why, he had no motive for killing Joseph.”
+
+“He had the same motive Florence would have. He knew of Mr. Crawford's
+objection to their union, and he knew of his threat to change his will.
+Mr. Hall is not blind to the advantages of a fortune.”
+
+“Right you are, there! In fact, I always felt he was marrying Florence
+for her money. I had no real reason to think this, but somehow he gave
+me that impression.”
+
+“Me, too. Moreover, I found a late extra of a New York paper in Mr.
+Crawford's office. This wasn't on sale until about half past eleven that
+night, so whoever left it there must have come out from the city on that
+midnight train, or later.”
+
+A change came over Philip Crawford's face. Apparently he was brought to
+see the whole matter in a new light.
+
+“What? What's that?” he cried excitedly, grasping his chair-arms and
+half rising. “A late newspaper! An extra!”
+
+“Yes; the liner accident, you know.”
+
+“But--but--Gregory Hall! Why man, you're crazy! Hall is a good fellow.
+Not remarkably clever, perhaps, and a fortune-hunter, maybe, but
+not--surely not a murderer!”
+
+“Don't take it so hard, Mr. Crawford,” I broke in. “Probably. Mr. Hall
+is innocent. But the late paper must have been left there by some one,
+after, say, one o'clock.”
+
+“This is awful! This is terrible!” groaned the poor man, and I couldn't
+help wondering if he had some other evidence against Hall that this
+seemed to corroborate.
+
+Then, by an effort, he recovered himself, and began to talk in more
+normal tones.
+
+“Now, don't let this new idea run away with you, Mr. Burroughs,” he
+said. “If Hall had an interview with my brother that night, he would
+have learned from him that he intended to make a new will, but hadn't
+yet done so.”
+
+“Exactly; and that would constitute a motive for putting Mr. Crawford
+out of the way before he could accomplish his purpose.”
+
+“But Joseph had already destroyed the will that favored Florence.”
+
+“We don't know that,” I responded gravely. “And, anyway, if he had done
+so, Mr. Hall didn't know it. This leaves his motive unchanged.”
+
+“But the gold bag,” said Mr. Crawford, apparently to get away--from the
+subject of Gregory Hall.
+
+“If, as you say,” I began, “that is Florence's bag--”
+
+I couldn't go on. A strange sense of duty had forced those words from
+me, but I could say no more.
+
+Fleming Stone might take the case if they wanted him to; or they
+might get some one else. But I could not go on, when the only clues
+discoverable pointed in a way I dared not look.
+
+Philip Crawford was ghastly now. His face was working and he breathed
+quickly.
+
+“Nonsense, Dad!” cried a strong, young voice, and his son, Philip, Jr.,
+bounded into the room and grasped his father's hands. “I overheard a
+few of your last words, and you two are on the wrong track. Florrie's no
+more mixed up in that horrible business than I am. Neither is Hall.
+He's a fool chap, but no villain. I heard what you said about the late
+newspaper, but lots of people come out on that midnight train. You may
+as well suspect some peaceable citizen coming home from the theatre, as
+to pick out poor Hall, without a scrap of evidence to point to him.”
+
+I was relieved beyond all words at the hearty assurance of the boy, and
+I plucked up new courage. Apprehension had made me faint-hearted, but
+if he could show such flawless confidence in Florence and her betrothed,
+surely I could do as much.
+
+“Good for you, young man!” I cried, shaking his hand. “You've cheered me
+up a lot. I'll take a fresh start, and surely we'll find out something.
+But I'd like to send for Stone.”
+
+“Wait a bit, wait a bit,” said Mr. Crawford. “Phil's right; there's no
+possibility of Florrie or Hall in the matter. Leave the gold bag, the
+newspapers, and the yellow posies out of consideration, and go to work
+in some sensible way.”
+
+“How about Mr. Joseph's finances?” I asked. “Are they in satisfactory
+shape?”
+
+“Never finer,” said Philip Crawford. “Joseph was a very rich man,
+and all due to his own clever and careful investments. A bit of a
+speculator, but always on the right side of the market. Why, he fairly
+had a corner in X.Y. stock. Just that deal--and it will go through in a
+few days--means a fortune in itself. I shall settle that on Florence.”
+
+“Then you think the will will never be found?” I said.
+
+Mr. Crawford looked a little ashamed, as well he might, but he only said,
+
+“If it is, no one will be more glad than I to see Florrie reinstated in
+her own right. If no will turns up, Joe's estate is legally mine, but I
+shall see that Florence is amply provided for.”
+
+He spoke with a proud dignity, and I was rather sorry I had caught him
+up so sharply.
+
+I went back to the inn, and, after vainly racking my brain over it all
+for a time, I turned in, but to a miserably broken night's rest.
+
+
+
+
+XVI. A CALL ON MRS. PURVIS
+
+
+The next morning I received information from headquarters. It was a
+long-code telegram, and I eagerly deciphered it, to learn that Mrs.
+Egerton Purvis was an English lady who was spending a few months in
+New York City. She was staying at the Albion Hotel, and seemed to be in
+every way above suspicion of any sort.
+
+Of course I started off at once to see Mrs. Purvis.
+
+Parmalee came just as I was leaving the inn, and was of course anxious
+and inquisitive to know where I was going, and what I was going to do.
+
+At first I thought I would take him into my confidence, and I even
+thought of taking him with me. But I felt sure I could do better work
+alone. It might be that Mrs. Egerton Purvis should turn out to be an
+important factor in the case, and I suppose it was really an instinct of
+vanity that made me prefer to look her up without Parmalee by my side.
+
+So I told him that I was going to New York on a matter in connection
+with the case, but that I preferred to go alone, but I would tell him
+the entire result of my mission as soon as I returned. I think he was
+a little disappointed, but he was a good-natured chap, and bade me a
+cheerful goodby, saying he would meet me on my return.
+
+I went to New York and went straight to the Albion Hotel.
+
+Learning at the desk that the lady was really there, I sent my card up
+to her with a request for an immediate audience, and very soon I was
+summoned to her apartment.
+
+She greeted me with that air of frigid reserve typical of an English
+woman. Though not unattractive to look at, she possessed the high
+cheekbones and prominent teeth which are almost universal in the women
+of her nation. She was perhaps between thirty and forty years old, and
+had the air of a grande dame.
+
+“Mr. Burroughs?” she said, looking through her lorgnon at my card, which
+she held in her hand.
+
+“Yes,” I assented, and judging from her appearance that she was a woman
+of a decided and straightforward nature I came at once to the point.
+
+“I'm a detective, madam,” I began, and the remark startled her out of
+her calm.
+
+“A detective!” she cried out, with much the same tone as if I had said a
+rattlesnake.
+
+“Do not be alarmed, I merely state my profession to explain my errand.”
+
+“Not be alarmed! when a detective comes to see me! How can I help it?
+Why, I've never had such an experience before. It is shocking! I've met
+many queer people in the States, but not a detective! Reporters are bad
+enough!”
+
+“Don't let it disturb you so, Mrs. Purvis. I assure you there is nothing
+to trouble you in the fact of my presence here, unless it is trouble of
+your own making.”
+
+“Trouble of my own making!” she almost shrieked. “Tell me at once what
+you mean, or I shall ring the bell and have you dismissed.”
+
+Her fear and excitement made me think that perhaps I was on the track
+of new developments, and lest she should carry out her threat of ringing
+the bell, I plunged at once into the subject.
+
+“Mrs. Purvis, have you lost a gold-mesh bag?” I said bluntly.
+
+“No, I haven't,” she snapped, “and if I had, I should take means to
+recover it, and not wait for a detective to come and ask me about it.”
+
+I was terribly disappointed. To be sure she might be telling a falsehood
+about the bag, but I didn't think so. She was angry, annoyed, and a
+little frightened at my intrusion, but she was not at all embarrassed at
+my question.
+
+“Are you quite sure you have not lost a gold-link bag?” I insisted, as
+if in idiotic endeavor to persuade her to have done so.
+
+“Of course I'm sure,” she replied, half laughing now; “I suppose I
+should know it if I had done so.”
+
+“It's a rather valuable bag,” I went on, “with a gold frame-work and
+gold chain.”
+
+“Well, if it's worth a whole fortune, it isn't my bag,” she declared;
+“for I never owned such a one.”
+
+“Well,” I said, in desperation, “your visiting card is in it.”
+
+“My visiting card!” she said, with an expression of blank wonderment.
+“Well, even if that is true, it doesn't make it my bag. I frequently
+give my cards to other people.”
+
+This seemed to promise light at last. Somehow I couldn't doubt her
+assertion that it was not her bag, and yet the thought suddenly occurred
+to me if she were clever enough to be implicated in the Crawford
+tragedy, and if she had left her bag there, she would be expecting this
+inquiry, and would probably be clever enough to have a story prepared.
+
+“Mrs. Purvis, since you say it is not your bag, I'm going to ask you, in
+the interests of justice, to help me all you can.”
+
+“I'm quite willing to do so, sir. What is it you wish to know?”
+
+“A crime has been committed in a small town in New Jersey. A gold-link
+bag was afterward discovered at the scene of the crime, and though none
+of its other contents betokened its owner, a visiting card with your
+name on it was in the bag.”
+
+Becoming interested in the story, Mrs. Purvis seemed to get over her
+fright, and was exceedingly sensible for a woman.
+
+“It certainly is not my bag, Mr. Burroughs, and if my card is in it, I
+can only say that I must have given that card to the lady who owns the
+bag.”
+
+This seemed distinctly plausible, and also promised further information.
+
+“Do you remember giving your card to any lady with such a bag?”
+
+Mrs. Purvis smiled. “So many of your American women carry those bags,”
+ she said; “they seem to be almost universal this year. I have probably
+given my card to a score of ladies, who immediately put it into just
+such a bag.”
+
+“Could you tell me who they are?”
+
+“No, indeed;” and Mrs. Purvis almost laughed outright, at what was
+doubtless a foolish question.
+
+“But can't you help me in any way?” I pleaded.
+
+“I don't really see how I can,” she replied. “You see I have so many
+friends in New York, and they make little parties for me, or afternoon
+teas. Then I meet a great many American ladies, and we often exchange
+cards. But we do it so often that of course I can't remember every
+particular instance. Have you the card you speak of?”
+
+I thanked my stars that I had been thoughtful enough to obtain the card
+before leaving West Sedgwick, and taking it from my pocket-book, I gave
+it to her.
+
+“Oh, that one!” she said; “perhaps I can help you a little, Mr.
+Burroughs. That is an old-fashioned card, one of a few left over from an
+old lot. I have been using them only lately, because my others gave
+out. I have really gone much more into society in New York than I had
+anticipated, and my cards seemed fairly to melt away. I ordered some new
+ones here, but before they were sent to me I was obliged to use a few of
+these old-fashioned ones. I don't know that this would help you, but I
+think I can tell pretty nearly to whom I gave those cards.”
+
+It seemed a precarious sort of a chance, but as I talked with Mrs.
+Purvis, I felt more and more positive that she herself was not
+implicated in the Crawford case. However, it was just as well to make
+certain. She had gone to her writing-desk, and seemed to be looking over
+a diary or engagement book.
+
+“Mrs. Purvis,” I said, “will you tell me where you were on Tuesday
+evening of last week?”
+
+“Certainly;” and she turned back the leaves of the book. “I went to a
+theatre party with my friends, the Hepworths; and afterward, we went to
+a little supper at a restaurant. I returned here about midnight. Must I
+prove this?” she added, smiling; “for I can probably do so, by the hotel
+clerk and by my maid. And, of course, by my friends who gave the party.”
+
+“No, you needn't prove it,” I answered, certain now that she knew
+nothing of the Crawford matter; “but I hope you can give me more
+information about your card.”
+
+“Why, I remember that very night, I gave my cards to two ladies who were
+at the theatre with us; and I remember now that at that time I had only
+these old-fashioned cards. I was rather ashamed of them, for Americans
+are punctilious in such matters; and now that I think of it, one of the
+ladies was carrying a gold-mesh bag.”
+
+“Who was she?” I asked, hardly daring to hope that I had really struck
+the trail.
+
+“I can't seem to remember her name, but perhaps it will come to me. It
+was rather an English type of name, something like Coningsby.”
+
+“Where did she live?”
+
+“I haven't the slightest idea. You see I meet these ladies so casually,
+and I really never expect to see any of them again. Our exchange of
+cards is a mere bit of formal courtesy. No, I can't remember her name,
+or where she was from. But I don't think she was a New Yorker.”
+
+Truly it was hard to come so near getting what might be vital
+information, and yet have it beyond my grasp! It was quite evident that
+Mrs. Purvis was honestly trying to remember the lady's name, but could
+not do so.
+
+And then I had what seemed to me an inspiration. “Didn't she give you
+her card?” I asked.
+
+A light broke over Mrs. Purvis's face. “Why, yes, of course she did! And
+I'm sure I can find it.”
+
+She turned to a card-tray, and rapidly running over the bits of
+pasteboard, she selected three or four.
+
+“Here they are,” she exclaimed, “all here together. I mean all the cards
+that were given me on that particular evening. And here is the name I
+couldn't think of. It is Mrs. Cunningham. I remember distinctly that
+she carried a gold bag, and no one else in the party did, for we were
+admiring it. And here is her address on the card; Marathon Park, New
+Jersey.”
+
+I almost fainted, myself, with the suddenness of the discovery. Had
+I really found the name and address of the owner of the gold bag? Of
+course there might be a slip yet, but the evidence seemed clear that
+Mrs. Cunningham, of Marathon Park, owned the bag that had been the
+subject of so much speculation.
+
+I had no idea where Marathon Park might be, but that was a mere detail.
+I thanked Mrs. Purvis sincerely for the help she had given me, and I
+was glad I had not told her that her casual acquaintance was perhaps
+implicated in a murder mystery.
+
+I made my adieux and returned at once to West Sedgwick.
+
+As he had promised, Parmalee met me at the station, and I told him the
+whole story, for I thought him entitled to the information at once.
+
+“Why, man alive!” he exclaimed, “Marathon Park is the very next station
+to West Sedgwick!”
+
+“So it is!” I said; “I knew I had a hazy idea of having seen the name,
+but the trains I have taken to and from New York have been expresses,
+which didn't stop there, and I paid no attention to it.”
+
+“It's a small park,” went on Parmalee, “of swagger residences; very
+exclusive and reserved, you know. You've certainly unearthed startling
+news, but I can't help thinking that it will be a wild goose chase that
+leads us to look for our criminal in Marathon Park!”
+
+“What do you think we'd better do?” said I. “Go to see Mrs. Cunningham?”
+
+“No, I wouldn't do that,” said Parmalee, who had a sort of plebeian
+hesitancy at the thought of intruding upon aristocratic strangers.
+“Suppose you write her a letter and just ask her if she has lost her
+bag.”
+
+“All right,” I conceded, for truth to tell, I greatly preferred to stay
+in West Sedgwick than to go out of it, for I had always the undefined
+hope of seeing Florence Lloyd.
+
+So I wrote a letter, not exactly curt, but strictly formal, asking Mrs.
+Cunningham if she had recently lost a gold-mesh bag, containing her
+gloves and handkerchief.
+
+Then Parmalee and I agreed to keep the matter a secret until we should
+get a reply to this, for we concluded there was no use in stirring up
+public curiosity on the matter until we knew ourselves that we were on
+the right trail.
+
+
+
+
+XVII. THE OWNER OF THE GOLD BAG
+
+
+The next day I received a letter addressed in modish, angular
+penmanship, which, before I opened it, I felt sure had come from Mrs.
+Cunningham. It ran as follows,
+
+Mr. HERBERT Burroughs,
+
+Dear Sir: Yes, I have lost a gold bag, and I have known all along that
+it is the one the newspapers are talking so much about in connection
+with the Crawford case. I know, too, that you are the detective on the
+case, and though I can't imagine how you did it, I think it was awfully
+clever of you to trace the bag to me, for I'm sure my name wasn't in it
+anywhere. As I say, the bag is mine, but I didn't kill Mr. Crawford, and
+I don't know who did. I would go straight to you, and tell you all about
+it, but I am afraid of detectives and lawyers, and I don't want to be
+mixed up in the affair anyway. But I am going to see Miss Lloyd, and
+explain it all to her, and then she can tell you. Please don't let my
+name get in the papers, as I hate that sort of prominence.
+
+Very truly yours,
+
+ELIZABETH CUNNINGHAM.
+
+I smiled a little over the femininity of the letter, but as Parmalee
+had prophesied, Marathon Park was evidently no place to look for our
+criminal.
+
+The foolish little woman who had written that letter, had no guilty
+secret on her conscience, of that I was sure.
+
+I telephoned for Parmalee and showed him the letter.
+
+“It doesn't help us in one way,” he said, “for of course, Mrs.
+Cunningham is not implicated. But the bag is still a clue, for how did
+it get into Mr. Crawford's office?”
+
+“We must find out who Mr. Cunningham is,” I suggested.
+
+“He's not the criminal, either. If he had left his wife's bag there, he
+never would have let her send this letter.”
+
+“Perhaps he didn't know she wrote it.”
+
+“Oh, perhaps lots of things! But I am anxious to learn what Mrs.
+Cunningham tells Miss Lloyd.”
+
+“Let us go over to the Crawford house, and tell Miss Lloyd about it.”
+
+“Not this morning; I've another engagement. And besides, the little lady
+won't get around so soon.”
+
+“Why a little lady?” I asked, smiling.
+
+“Oh, the whole tone of the letter seems to imply a little yellow-haired
+butterfly of a woman.”
+
+“Just the reverse of Florence Lloyd,” I said musingly.
+
+“Yes; no one could imagine Miss Lloyd writing a letter like that.
+There's lots of personality in a woman's letter. Much more than in a
+man's.”
+
+Parmalee went away, and prompted by his suggestions, I studied the
+letter I had just received. It was merely an idle fancy, for if Mrs.
+Cunningham was going to tell Miss Lloyd her story, it made little
+difference to me what might be her stature or the color of her hair.
+But, probably because of Parmalee's suggestion, I pictured her to
+myself as a pretty young woman with that air of half innocence and half
+ignorance which so well becomes the plump blonde type.
+
+The broad veranda of the Sedgwick Arms was a pleasant place to sit, and
+I had mused there for some time, when Mr. Carstairs came out to tell
+me that I was asked for on the telephone. The call proved to be from
+Florence Lloyd asking me to come to her at once.
+
+Only too glad to obey this summons, I went directly to the Crawford
+house, wondering if any new evidence had been brought to light.
+
+Lambert opened the door for me, and ushered me into the library, where
+Florence was receiving a lady caller.
+
+“Mrs. Cunningham,” said Florence, as I entered, “may I present Mr.
+Burroughs--Mr. Herbert Burroughs. I sent for you,” she added, turning
+to me, “because Mrs. Cunningham has an important story to tell, and I
+thought you ought to hear it at once.”
+
+I bowed politely to the stranger, and awaited her disclosures.
+
+Mrs. Cunningham was a pretty, frivolous-looking woman, with appealing
+blue eyes, and a manner half-childish, half-apologetic.
+
+I smiled involuntarily to see how nearly her appearance coincided
+with the picture in my mind, and I greeted her almost as if she were a
+previous acquaintance.
+
+“I know I've done very wrong,” she began, with a nervous little flutter
+of her pretty hands; “but I'm ready now to 'fess up, as the children
+say.”
+
+She looked at me, so sure of an answering smile, that I gave it, and
+said,
+
+“Let us hear your confession, Mrs. Cunningham; I doubt if it's a very
+dreadful one.”
+
+“Well, you see,” she went on, “that gold bag is mine.”
+
+“Yes,” I said; “how did it get here?”
+
+“I've no idea,” she replied, and I could see that her shallow nature
+fairly exulted in the sensation she was creating. “I went to New York
+that night, to the theatre, and I carried my gold bag, and I left it in
+the train when I got out at the station.”
+
+“West Sedgwick?” I asked.
+
+“No; I live at Marathon Park, the next station to this.”
+
+“Next on the way to New York?”
+
+“Yes. And when I got out of the train--I was with my husband and some
+other people--we had been to a little theatre party--I missed the
+bag. But I didn't tell Jack, because I knew he'd scold me for being so
+careless. I thought I'd get it back from the Lost and Found Department,
+and then, the very next day, I read in the paper about the--the--awful
+accident, and it told about a gold bag being found here.”
+
+“You recognized it as yours?”
+
+“Of course; for the paper described everything in it--even to the
+cleaner's advertisement that I'd just cut out that very day.”
+
+“Why didn't you come and claim it at once?”
+
+“Oh, Mr. Burroughs, you must know why I didn't! Why, I was scared 'most
+to death to read the accounts of the terrible affair; and to mix in it,
+myself--ugh! I couldn't dream of anything so horrible.”
+
+It was absurd, but I had a desire to shake the silly little bundle of
+femininity who told this really important story, with the twitters and
+simpers of a silly school-girl.
+
+“And you would not have come, if I had not written you?”
+
+She hesitated. “I think I should have come soon, even without your
+letter.”
+
+“Why, Mrs. Cunningham?”
+
+“Well, I kept it secret as long as I could, but yesterday Jack saw that
+I had something on my mind. I couldn't fool him any longer.”
+
+“As to your having a mind!” I said to myself, but I made no comment
+aloud.
+
+“So I told him all about it, and he said I must come at once and tell
+Miss Lloyd, because, you see, they thought it was her bag all the time.”
+
+“Yes,” I said gravely; “it would have been better if you had come at
+first, with your story. Have you any one to substantiate it, or any
+proofs that it is the truth?”
+
+The blue eyes regarded me with an injured expression. Then she
+brightened again.
+
+“Oh, yes, I can `prove property'; that's what you mean, isn't it? I can
+tell you which glove finger is ripped, and just how much money is in the
+bag, and--and here's a handkerchief exactly like the one I carried that
+night. Jack said if I told you all these things, you'd know it's my bag,
+and not Miss Lloyd's.”
+
+“And then, there was a card in it.”
+
+“A card? My card?”
+
+“No, not your card; a card with another name on it. Don't you know
+whose?”
+
+Mrs. Cunningham thought for a moment. Then, “Oh, yes!” she exclaimed.
+“Mrs. Purvis gave me her card, and I tucked it in the pocket of the bag.
+Was that the way you discovered the bag was mine? And how did that make
+you know it.”
+
+“I'll tell you about that some other time if you wish, Mrs. Cunningham;
+but just now I want to get at the important part of your story. How did
+your gold bag get in Mr. Crawford's office?”
+
+“Ah, how did it?” The laughing face was sober now and she seemed
+appalled at the question. “Jack says some one must have found it in the
+car-seat where I left it, and he”--she lowered her voice--“he must be
+the--”
+
+“The murderer,” I supplied calmly. “It does look that way. You have
+witnesses, I suppose, who saw you in that train?”
+
+“Mercy, yes! Lots of them. The train reaches Marathon Park at 12: 50,
+and is due here at one o'clock. Ever so many people got out at our
+station. There were six in our own party, and others besides. And the
+conductor knows me, and everybody knows Jack. He's Mr. John Le Roy
+Cunningham.”
+
+It was impossible to doubt all this. Further corroboration it might be
+well to get, but there was not the slightest question in my mind as to
+the little lady's truthfulness.
+
+“I thank you, Mrs. Cunningham,” I said, “for coming to us with your
+story. You may not be able to get your bag to-day, but I assure you it
+will, be sent to you as soon as a few inquiries can be made. These
+are merely for the sake of formalities, for, as you say, your fellow
+townspeople can certify to your presence on the train, and your leaving
+it at the Marathon Park station.”
+
+“Yes,” she replied; “and”--she handed me a paper--“there's my husband's
+address, and his lawyer's address, and the addresses of all the people
+that were in our party that night. Jack said you might like to have the
+list. He would have come himself to-day, only he's fearfully busy. And I
+said I didn't mind coming alone, just to see Miss Lloyd. I wouldn't
+have gone to a jury meeting, though. And I'm in no hurry for the bag.
+In fact, I don't care much if I never get it. It wasn't the value of
+the thing that made me come at all, but the fear that my bag might make
+trouble for Miss Lloyd. Jack said it might. I don't see how, myself,
+but I'm a foolish little thing, with no head for business matters.” She
+shook her head, and gurgled an absurd little laugh, and then, after a
+loquacious leave-taking, she went away.
+
+“Well?” I said to Florence, and then, “Well?” Florence said to me.
+
+It was astonishing how rapidly our acquaintance had progressed. Already
+we had laid aside all formality of speech and manner, and if the girl
+had not really discovered my mental attitude toward her, at least I
+think she must have suspected it.
+
+“Of course,” I began, “I knew it wasn't your bag, because you said it
+wasn't. But I did incline a little to the `woman visitor' theory, and
+now that is destroyed. I think we must conclude that the bag was brought
+here by the person who found it on that midnight train.”
+
+“Why didn't that person turn it over to the conductor?” she said, more
+as if thinking to herself than speaking to me.
+
+“Yes, why, indeed?” I echoed. “And if he brought it here, and committed
+a criminal act, why go away and leave it here?”
+
+I think it was at the same moment that the minds of both of us turned
+to Gregory Hall. Her eyes fell, and as for me, I was nearly stunned with
+the thoughts that came rushing to my brain.
+
+If the late newspaper had seemed to point to Hall's coming out on that
+late train, how much more so this bag, which had been left on that very
+train.
+
+We were silent for a time, and then, lifting her sweet eyes bravely to
+mine, Florence said,
+
+“I have something to tell you.”
+
+“Yes,” I replied, crushing down the longing to take her in my arms and
+let her tell it there.
+
+“Mr. Hall had a talk with me this morning. He says that he and the
+others have searched everywhere possible for the will, and it cannot
+be found. He says Uncle Joseph must have destroyed it, and that it is
+practically settled that Uncle Philip is the legal heir. Of course, Mr.
+Philip Crawford isn't my uncle, but I have always called him that, and
+Phil and I have been just like cousins.”
+
+“What else did Mr. Hall say?” I asked, for I divined that the difficult
+part of her recital was yet to come.
+
+“He said,” she went on, with a rising color, “that he wished me to break
+our engagement.”
+
+I will do myself the justice to say that although my first
+uncontrollable thought was one of pure joy at this revelation, yet it
+was instantly followed by sympathy and consideration for her.
+
+“Why?” I asked in a voice that I tried to keep from being hard.
+
+“He says,” she continued, with a note of weariness in her voice, “that
+he is not a rich man, and cannot give me the comforts and luxuries to
+which I have been accustomed, and that therefore it is only right for
+him to release me.”
+
+“Of course you didn't accept his generous sacrifice,” I said; and my own
+hopes ran riot as I listened for her answer.
+
+“I told him I was willing to share poverty with him,” she said, with a
+quiet dignity, as if telling an impersonal tale, “but he insisted that
+the engagement should be broken.”
+
+“And is it?” I asked eagerly, almost breathlessly.
+
+She gave me that look which always rebuked me--always put me back in my
+place--but which, it seemed to me, was a little less severe than ever
+before. “It's left undecided for a day or two,” she said. Then she added
+hurriedly,
+
+“I must see if he needs me. Do you suppose this story of Mrs.
+Cunningham's will in any way--well, affect him?”
+
+“It may,” I replied truthfully. “At any rate, he must be made to tell
+where he was and what he was doing Tuesday night. You have no idea, have
+you?”
+
+Florence hesitated a moment, looked at me in a way I could not fathom,
+and then, but only after a little choking sound in her throat, she said,
+
+“No, I have no idea.”
+
+It was impossible to believe her. No one would show such emotion, such
+difficulty of speech, if telling a simple truth. Yet when I looked in
+her troubled eyes, and read there anxiety, uncertainty, and misery, I
+only loved her more than ever. Truly it was time for me to give up this
+case. Whatever turn it took, I was no fit person to handle clues or
+evidence which filled me with deadly fear lest they turn against the one
+I loved.
+
+And yet that one, already suspected by many, had been proved to have
+both motive and opportunity.
+
+And I, I who loved her, knew that, in one instance, at least, she had
+been untruthful.
+
+Yes, it was high time for me to give this case into other hands.
+
+I looked at her again, steadily but with a meaning in my glance that I
+hoped she would understand. I wanted her to know, that though of course
+justice was my end and aim, yet I was sure the truth could not implicate
+her, and if it did implicate Mr. Hall, the sooner we discovered it the
+better.
+
+I think she appreciated my meaning, for the troubled look in her own
+eyes disappeared, and she seemed suddenly almost willing to give me her
+full confidence.
+
+I resolved to make the most of my opportunity.
+
+“Of course you know,” I said gently, “that I want to believe all you say
+to me. But, Miss Lloyd, your naturally truthful nature so rebels at
+your unveracity, that it is only too plain to be seen when you are not
+telling the truth. Now, I do not urge you, but I ask you to tell me,
+confidentially if you choose, what your surmise is as to Mr. Hall's
+strange reticence.”
+
+“It is only a surmise,” she said, and though the troubled look came back
+to her eyes, she looked steadily at me. “And I have no real reason even
+to think it, but I can't help feeling that Gregory is interested in some
+other woman beside myself.”
+
+Again I felt that uncontrollable impulse of satisfaction at this
+disclosure, and again I stifled it. I endeavored to treat the matter
+lightly. “Is that all?” I asked; “do you mean that perhaps Mr. Hall was
+calling on some other lady acquaintance that evening?”
+
+“Yes, that is what I do mean. And, as I say, I have no real reason to
+think it. But still, Mr. Burroughs, if it were true, I cannot agree with
+you that it is unimportant. Surely a man is not expected to call on one
+woman when he is betrothed to another, or at least, not to make a secret
+of it.”
+
+I thoroughly agreed with her, and my opinion that Hall was a cad
+received decided confirmation.
+
+“My treating it as a light matter, Miss Lloyd, was not quite sincere.
+Indeed, I may as well confess that it was partly to cover the too
+serious interest I take in the matter.”
+
+She looked up, startled at this, but as my eyes told her a certain
+truth I made no effort to conceal, she looked down again, and her lip
+quivered.
+
+I pulled myself together. “Don't think I am taking advantage of your
+confidence,” I said gently; “I want only to help you. Please consider me
+an impersonal factor, and let me do all I can for you. For the moment,
+let us suppose your surmise is correct. This would, of course, free Mr.
+Hall from any implication of crime.”
+
+“Yes, and while I can't suspect him of anything like crime, I hate,
+also, to suspect him of disloyalty to me.”
+
+Her head went up with a proud gesture, and I suddenly knew that the
+thought of Hall's interest in another woman, affected her pride and her
+sense of what was due her, far more than it did her heart. Her fear was
+not so much that Hall loved another woman, as that his secrecy in the
+matter meant a slight to her own dignified position.
+
+“I understand, Miss Lloyd, and I hope for the sake of all concerned,
+your surmise is not correct. But, with your permission, I feel it my
+duty to discover where Mr. Hall was that evening, even if to do this it
+is necessary to have professional assistance from headquarters.”
+
+She shuddered at this. “It is so horrid,” she said, “to spy upon a
+gentleman's movements, if he is only engaged in his personal affairs.”
+
+“If we were sure of that, we need not spy upon him. But to the eye
+of justice there is always the possibility that he was not about his
+personal affairs that evening, but was here in West Sedgwick.”
+
+“You don't really suspect him, do you?” she said; and she looked at me
+as if trying to read my very soul.
+
+“I'm afraid I do,” I answered gravely; “but not so much from evidence
+against him, as because I don't know where else to look. Do you?”
+
+“No,” said Florence Lloyd.
+
+
+
+
+XVIII. IN Mr. GOODRICH'S OFFICE
+
+
+As was my duty I went next to the district attorney's office to tell
+him about Mrs. Cunningham and the gold bag, and to find out from him
+anything I could concerning Gregory Hall. I found Mr. Porter calling
+there, and both he and Mr. Goodrich welcomed me as a possible bringer of
+fresh news. When I said that I did know of new developments, Mr. Porter
+half rose from his chair.
+
+“I dare say I've no business here,” he said; “but you know the deep
+interest I take in this whole matter. Joseph Crawford was my lifelong
+friend and near neighbor, and if I can be in any way instrumental in
+freeing Florence from this web of suspicion--”
+
+I turned on him angrily, and interrupted him by saying,
+
+“Excuse me, Mr. Porter; no one has as yet voiced a suspicion against
+Miss Lloyd. For you to put such a thought into words, is starting a mine
+of trouble.”
+
+The older man looked at me indulgently, and I think his shrewd
+perceptions told him at once that I was more interested in Miss Lloyd
+than a mere detective need be.
+
+“You are right,” he said; “but I considered this a confidential
+session.”
+
+“It is,” broke in Mr. Goodrich, “and if you will stay, Mr. Porter, I
+shall be glad to have you listen to whatever Mr. Burroughs has to tell
+us, and then give us the benefit of your advice.”
+
+I practically echoed the district attorney's words, for I knew Lemuel
+Porter to be a clear-headed and well-balanced business man, and his
+opinions well worth having.
+
+So it was to two very interested hearers that I related first the story
+of Florence's coming downstairs at eleven o'clock on the fatal night,
+for a final endeavor to gain her uncle's consent to her betrothal.
+
+“Then it was her bag!” exclaimed Mr. Porter. “I thought so all the
+time.”
+
+I said nothing at the moment and listened for Mr. Goodrich's comment.
+
+“To my mind,” said the district attorney slowly, “this story, told now
+by Miss Lloyd, is in her favor. If the girl were guilty, or had any
+guilty knowledge of the crime, she would not have told of this matter
+at all. It was not forced from her; she told it voluntarily, and I, for
+one, believe it.”
+
+“She told it,” said I, “because she wished to take the responsibility
+of the fallen rose petals upon herself. Since we are speaking plainly,
+I may assure you, gentlemen, that she told of her later visit to the
+office because I hinted to her that the yellow leaves might implicate
+Gregory Hall.”
+
+“Then,” said Mr. Goodrich triumphantly, “she herself suspects Mr. Hall,
+which proves that she is innocent.”
+
+“It doesn't prove her innocent of collusion,” observed Mr. Porter.
+
+“Nor does it prove that she suspects Mr. Hall,” I added. “It merely
+shows that she fears others may suspect him.”
+
+“It is very complicated,” said the district attorney.
+
+“It is,” I agreed, “and that is why I wish to send for the famous
+detective, Fleming Stone.”
+
+“Stone! Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Goodrich. “I have every confidence in
+your skill, Mr. Burroughs; I would not insult you by calling in another
+detective.”
+
+“Surely not,” agreed Mr. Porter. “If you need help, Mr. Burroughs,
+confer with our local man, Mr. Parmalee. He's a pretty clever chap, and
+I don't know why you two don't work more together.”
+
+“We do work together,” said I. “Mr. Parmalee is both clever and
+congenial, and we have done our best in the matter. But the days are
+going by and little of real importance has been discovered. However,
+I haven't told you as yet, the story of the gold bag. I have found its
+owner.”
+
+Of course there were exclamations of surprise at this, but realizing its
+importance they quietly listened to my story.
+
+With scarcely a word of interruption from my hearers, I told them how I
+had found the card in the bag, how I had learned about Mrs. Purvis from
+headquarters, how I had gone to see her, and how it had all resulted in
+Mrs. Cunningham's visit to Miss Lloyd that morning.
+
+“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Porter, as I concluded the narrative. “Well!
+Of all things! Well, I am amazed! Why, this gives a wide scope of
+possibilities. Scores of our people come out on that theatre train every
+night.”
+
+“But not scores of people would have a motive for putting Joseph
+Crawford out of the way,” said Mr. Goodrich, who sat perplexedly
+frowning.
+
+Then, by way of a trump card, I told them of the “extra” edition of the
+evening paper I had found in the office.
+
+The district attorney stared at me, but still sat frowning and silent.
+
+But Mr. Porter expressed his wonderment.
+
+“How it all fits in!” he cried. “The bag, known to be from that late
+train; the paper, known to have been bought late in New York! Burroughs,
+you're a wonder! Indeed, we don't want any Fleming Stone, when you can
+do such clever sleuthing as this.”
+
+I stared at him. Nothing I had done seemed to me “clever sleuthing,” nor
+did my simple discoveries seem to me of any great significance.
+
+“I don't like it,” said Mr. Goodrich, at last. “Everything so far known,
+both early and late information, seems to me to point to Gregory Hall
+and Florence Lloyd in collusion.”
+
+“But you said,” I interrupted, “that Miss Lloyd's confession that she
+did go down-stairs late at night was in her favor.”
+
+“I said that before I knew about this bag story. Now I think the case is
+altered, and the two who had real motive are undoubtedly the suspects.”
+
+“But they had no motive,” said Mr. Porter, “since Florence doesn't
+inherit the fortune.”
+
+“But they thought she did,” explained the district attorney, “and so the
+motive was just as strong. Mr. Burroughs, I wish you would confer with
+Mr. Parmalee, and both of you set to work on the suggestions I
+have advanced. It is a painful outlook, to be sure, but justice is
+inexorable. You agree with me, Mr. Porter?”
+
+Mr. Porter started, as if he, too, had been in a brown study.
+
+“I do and I don't,” he said. “Personally, I think both those young
+people are innocent, but if I am correct, no harm will be done by a
+further investigation of their movements on Tuesday night. I think Mr.
+Hall ought to tell where he was that night, if only in self-defense.
+If he proves he was in New York, and did not come out here, it will not
+only clear him, but also Florence. For I think no one suspects her of
+anything more than collusion with him.”
+
+Of course I had no mind to tell these men what Florence had told me
+confidentially about Mr. Hall's possible occupation Tuesday evening.
+They were determined to investigate that very question, and so, if her
+surmise were correct, it would disclose itself.
+
+“Very well,” I said, after listening to a little further discussion,
+which was really nothing but repetition, “then I will consult with Mr.
+Parmalee, and we will try to make further investigation of Mr. Hall's
+doings. But I'm ready to admit that it does not look easy to me to
+discover anything of importance. Mr. Hall is a secretive man, and unless
+we have a definite charge against him it is difficult to make him talk.”
+
+“Well, you can certainly learn something,” said Mr. Goodrich. “At any
+rate devote a few days to the effort. I have confidence in you, Mr.
+Burroughs, and I don't think you need call in a man whom you consider
+your superior. But if you'll excuse me for making a suggestion, let
+me ask you to remember that a theory of Hall's guilt also possibly
+implicates Miss Lloyd. You will probably discover this for yourself, but
+don't let your natural chivalry toward a woman, and perhaps a personal
+element in this case, blind you to the facts.”
+
+Although he put it delicately, I quite understood that he had noticed
+my personal interest in Florence Lloyd, and so, as it was my duty to
+disregard that interest in my work, I practically promised to remember
+his injunction.
+
+It was then that I admitted to myself the true state of my mind. I felt
+sure Florence was innocent, but I knew appearances were strongly against
+her, and I feared I should bungle the case because of the very intensity
+of my desire not to. And I thought that Fleming Stone, in spite of
+evidence, would be able to prove what I felt was the truth, that
+Florence was guiltless of all knowledge of or complicity in her uncle's
+death.
+
+However, I had promised to go on with the quest, and I urged myself on,
+with the hope that further developments might clear Florence, even if
+they more deeply implicated Gregory Hall.
+
+I went back to the inn, and spent some time in thinking over the matter,
+and methodically recording my conclusions. And, while I thought, I
+became more and more convinced that, whether Florence connived or
+not, Hall was the villain, and that he had actually slain his employer
+because he had threatened to disinherit his niece.
+
+Perhaps when Hall came to the office, late that night, Mr. Crawford was
+already engaged in drawing up the new will, and in order to purloin
+it Hall had killed him, not knowing that the other will was already
+destroyed. And destroyed it must be, for surely Hall had no reason to
+steal or suppress the will that favored Florence.
+
+As a next move, I decided to interview Mr. Hall.
+
+Such talks as I had had with him so far, had been interrupted and
+unsatisfactory. Now I would see him alone, and learn something from his
+manner and appearance.
+
+I found him, as I had expected, in the office of his late employer. He
+was surrounded with papers, and was evidently very busy, but he greeted
+me with a fair show of cordiality, and offered me a chair.
+
+“I want to talk to you plainly, Mr. Hall,” I said, “and as I see you're
+busy, I will be as brief as possible.”
+
+“I've been expecting you,” said he calmly. “In fact, I'm rather
+surprised that you haven't been here before.”
+
+“Why?” said I, eying him closely.
+
+“Only because the inquiries made at the inquest amounted to very little,
+and I assumed you would question all the members of the household
+again.”
+
+“I'm not sure that's necessary,” I responded, following his example in
+adopting a light, casual tone. “I have no reason to suspect that the
+servants told other than the exact truth. I have talked to both the
+ladies, and now I've only a few questions to put to you.”
+
+He looked up, surprised at my self-satisfied air.
+
+“Have you nailed the criminal?” he asked, with a greater show of
+interest than he had before evinced.
+
+“Not exactly nailed him, perhaps. But we fancy we are on the scent.”
+
+“Resent what?” he asked, looking blank.
+
+“I didn't say `resent.' I said, we are on the scent.”
+
+“Oh, yes. And in what direction does it lead you?”
+
+“In your direction,” I said, willing to try what effect bluntness might
+have upon this composed young man.
+
+“I beg your pardon?” he said, as if he hadn't heard me.
+
+“Evidences are pointing toward you as the criminal,” I said, determined
+to disturb his composure if I could.
+
+Instead of showing surprise or anger, he gave a slight smile, as one
+would at an idea too ridiculous to be entertained for an instant.
+Somehow, that smile was more convincing to me than any verbal
+protestation could have been.
+
+Then I realized that the man was doubtless a consummate actor, and
+he had carefully weighed the value of that supercilious smile against
+asseverations of innocence. So I went on:
+
+“When did you first learn of the accident to the Atlantic liner, the
+North America?”
+
+“I suppose you mean that question for a trap,” he said coolly; “but I
+haven't the least objection to answering it. I bought a late 'extra' in
+New York City the night of the disaster.”
+
+“At what hour did you buy it?”
+
+“I don't know exactly. It was some time after midnight.”
+
+Really, there was little use in questioning this man. If he had bought
+his paper at half-past eleven, as I felt positive he did, and if he had
+come out to Sedgwick on the twelve o'clock train, he was quite capable
+of answering me in this casual way, to throw me off the track.
+
+Well, I would try once again.
+
+“Excuse me, Mr. Hall, but I am obliged to ask you some personal
+questions now. Are you engaged to Miss Lloyd?”
+
+“I beg your pardon?”
+
+His continued requests for me to repeat my questions irritated me beyond
+endurance. Of course it was a bluff to gain time, but he did it so
+politely, I couldn't rebuke him.
+
+“Are you engaged to Miss Lloyd?” I repeated.
+
+“No, I think not,” he said slowly. “She wants to break it off, and I,
+as a poor man, should not stand in the way of her making a brilliant
+marriage. She has many opportunities for such, as her uncle often told
+me, and I should be selfish indeed, now that she herself is poor, to
+hold her to her promise to me.”
+
+The hypocrite! To lay on Florence the responsibility for breaking the
+engagement. Truly, she was well rid of him, and I hoped I could convince
+her of the fact.
+
+“But she is not so poor,” I said. “Mr. Philip Crawford told me he
+intends to provide for her amply. And I'm sure that means a fair-sized
+fortune, for the Crawfords are generous people.”
+
+Gregory Hall's manner changed.
+
+“Did Philip Crawford say that?” he cried. “Are you sure?”
+
+“Of course I'm sure, as he said it to me.”
+
+“Then Florence and I may be happy yet,” he said; and as I looked him
+straight in the eye, he had the grace to look ashamed of himself,
+and, with a rising color, he continued: “I hope you understand me, Mr.
+Burroughs. No man could ask a girl to marry him if he knew that meant
+condemning her to comparative poverty.”
+
+“No, of course not,” said I sarcastically. “Then I assume that, so far
+as you are concerned, your engagement with Miss Lloyd is not broken?”
+
+“By no means. In fact, I could not desert her just now, when there is
+a--well, a sort of a cloud over her.”
+
+“What do you mean?” I thundered. “There is no cloud over her.”
+
+“Well, you know, the gold bag and the yellow rose leaves...”
+
+“Be silent! The gold bag has been claimed by its owner. But you are
+responsible for its presence in this room! You, who brought it from
+the midnight train, and left it here! You, who also left the late city
+newspaper here! You, who also dropped two yellow petals from the rose in
+your buttonhole.”
+
+Gregory Hall seemed to turn to stone as he listened to my words. He
+became white, then ashen gray. His hands clinched his chair-arms, and
+his eyes grew glassy and fixed.
+
+I pushed home my advantage. “And therefore, traced by these undeniable
+evidences, I know that you are the slayer of Joseph Crawford. You killed
+your friend, your benefactor, your employer, in order that he might not
+disinherit the girl whose fortune you wish to acquire by marrying her!”
+
+Though I had spoken in low tones, my own intense emotion made my words
+emphatic, and as I finished I was perhaps the more excited of the two.
+
+For Hall's composure had returned; his face resumed its natural color;
+his eyes their normal expression--that of cold indifference.
+
+“Mr. Burroughs,” he said quietly, “you must be insane.”
+
+“That is no answer to my accusations,” I stormed. “I tell you of the
+most conclusive evidence against yourself, and instead of any attempt to
+refute it you mildly remark, `you are insane.' It is you who are insane,
+Mr. Hall, if you think you can escape arrest and trial for the murder of
+Joseph Crawford.”
+
+“Oh, I think I can,” was his only answer, with that maddening little
+smile of his.
+
+“Then where were you on Tuesday night?”
+
+“Excuse me?”
+
+“Where were you on Tuesday night?”
+
+“That I refuse to tell--as I have refused before, and shall always
+refuse.”
+
+“Because you were here, and because you have too much wisdom to try to
+prove a false alibi.”
+
+He looked at me half admiringly. “You are right in that,” he said. “It
+is extremely foolish for any one to fake an alibi, and I certainly never
+should try to do so.”
+
+“That's how I know you were here,” I replied triumphantly.
+
+“You do, do you? Well, Mr. Burroughs, I don't pretend to misunderstand
+you--for Miss Lloyd has told me all about Mrs. Cunningham and her bag
+that she left in the train. But I will say this if you think I came out
+on that midnight train, go and ask the conductor. He knows me, and as
+I often do come out on that train, he may remember that I was not on it
+that night. And while you're about it, and since you consider that late
+newspaper a clue, also ask him who was on the train that might have come
+here afterward.”
+
+If this was bluffing, it was a very clever bluff, and magnificently
+carried out. Probably his hope was that the conductor could not say
+definitely as to Hall's presence on the late train, and any other names
+he might mention would only complicate matters.
+
+But before I left I made one more attempt to get at this man's secret.
+
+“Mr. Hall,” I began, “I am not unfriendly. In fact, for Miss Lloyd's
+sake as well as your own, I should like to remove every shadow of
+suspicion that hovers near either or both of you.”
+
+“I know that,” he said quickly. “Don't think I can't see through your
+`friendliness' to Miss Lloyd! But be careful there, Mr. Burroughs. A man
+does not allow too many `friendly' glances toward the girl he is engaged
+to.”
+
+So he had discovered my secret! Well, perhaps it was a good thing. Now I
+could fight for Florence more openly if necessary.
+
+“You are right, Mr. Hall,” I went on. “I hold Miss Lloyd in very high
+esteem, and I assure you, as man to man, that so long as you and she are
+betrothed, neither of you will have cause to look on me as other than a
+detective earnest in his work in your behalf.”
+
+“Thank you,” said Hall, a little taken aback by my frankness.
+
+I went away soon after that, and without quizzing him any further,
+for, though I still suspected him, I realized that he would never say
+anything to incriminate himself.
+
+The theory that the criminal was some one who came in on that midnight
+train was plausible indeed; but what a scope it offered!
+
+Why, a total stranger to Sedgwick might have come and gone, entirely
+unobserved, in the crowd.
+
+It was with little hope, therefore, that I arranged for an interview
+with the conductor of the train.
+
+He lived in Hunterton, a few stations from West Sedgwick, and, after
+ascertaining by telephone that he could see me the next day, I went to
+his house.
+
+“Well, no,” he replied, after thinking over my query a bit; “I don't
+think Mr. Hall came out from New York that night. I'm 'most sure he
+didn't, because he usually gives me his newspaper as he steps off the
+train, and I didn't get any `extra' that night.”
+
+Of course this wasn't positive proof that Hall wasn't there, so I asked
+him to tell me all the West Sedgwick people that he did remember as
+being on his train that night.
+
+He mentioned a dozen or more, but they were nearly all names unknown to
+me.
+
+“Do you remember the Cunninghams being on the train?” I asked.
+
+“Those Marathon Park people? Oh, yes. They were a gay party,--coming
+back from a theatre supper, I suppose. And that reminds me: Philip
+Crawford sat right behind the Cunninghams. I forgot him before. Well, I
+guess that's all the West Sedgwick people I can remember.”
+
+I went away not much the wiser, but with a growing thought that buzzed
+in my brain.
+
+It was absurd, of course. But he had said Philip Crawford had sat right
+behind Mrs. Cunningham. How, then, could he help seeing the gold bag she
+left behind, when she got out at the station just before West Sedgwick?
+Indeed, who else could have seen it but the man in the seat directly
+behind? Even if some one else had picked it up and carried it from the
+car, Mr. Crawford must have seen it.
+
+Moreover, why hadn't he said he was on that train? Why conceal such a
+simple matter? Again, who had profited by the whole affair? And why had
+Gregory Hall said: “Ask the conductor who did get off that train?”
+
+The rose petals were already explained by Florence. If, then, Philip
+Crawford had, much later, come to his brother's with the gold bag and
+the late newspaper, and had gone away and left them there, and had never
+told of all this, was there not a new direction in which to look?
+
+But Philip Crawford! The dead man's own brother!
+
+
+
+
+XIX. THE MIDNIGHT TRAIN
+
+
+The enormity of suspecting Philip Crawford was so great, to my mind,
+that I went at once to the district attorney's office for consultation
+with him.
+
+Mr. Goodrich listened to what I had to say, and then, when I waited for
+comment, said quietly:
+
+“Do you know, Mr. Burroughs, I have thought all along that Philip
+Crawford was concealing something, but I didn't think, and don't think
+now, that he has any guilty secret of his own. I rather fancied he
+might know something that, if told, would be detrimental to Miss Lloyd's
+cause.”
+
+“It may be so,” I returned, “but I can't see how that would make him
+conceal the fact of his having been on that late train Tuesday night.
+Why, I discussed with him the possibility of Hall's coming out on it,
+and it would have been only natural to say he was on it, and didn't see
+Hall.”
+
+“Unless he did see him,” remarked the district attorney.
+
+“Yes; there's that possibility. He may be shielding Hall for Miss
+Lloyd's sake--and--”
+
+“Let's go to see him,” suggested Mr. Goodrich. “I believe in the
+immediate following up of any idea we may have.”
+
+It was about five in the afternoon, an hour when we were likely to find
+Mr. Crawford at home, so we started off at once, and on reaching his
+house we were told that Mr. Randolph was with him in the library, but
+that he would see us. So to the library we went, and found Mr. Crawford
+and his lawyer hard at work on the papers of the Joseph Crawford estate.
+
+Perhaps it was imagination, but I thought I detected a look of
+apprehension on Philip Crawford's face, as we entered, but he greeted us
+in his pleasant, simple way, and asked us to be seated.
+
+“To come right to the point, Mr. Crawford,” said the district attorney,
+“Mr. Burroughs and I are still searching for new light on the tragedy of
+your brother's death. And now Mr. Burroughs wants to put a few questions
+to you, which may help him in his quest.”
+
+Philip Crawford looked straight at me with his piercing eyes, and it
+seemed to me that he straightened himself, as for an expected blow.
+
+“Yes, Mr. Burroughs,” he said courteously. “What is it you want to ask?”
+
+So plain and straightforward was his manner, that I decided to be
+equally direct.
+
+“Did you come out in that midnight train from New York last Tuesday
+night?” I began.
+
+“I did,” he replied, in even tones.
+
+“While on the train did you sit behind a lady who left a gold bag in the
+seat when she got out?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“Did you pick up that bag and take it away with you?”
+
+“I did.”
+
+“Then, Mr. Crawford, as that is the gold bag that was found in your
+brother's office, I think you owe a more detailed explanation.”
+
+To say that the lawyer and the district attorney, who heard these
+questions and answers, were astounded, is putting it too mildly. They
+were almost paralyzed with surprise and dismay.
+
+To hear these condemning assertions straight from the lips of the man
+they incriminated was startling indeed.
+
+“You are right,” said Philip Crawford. “I do owe an explanation, and I
+shall give it here and now.”
+
+Although what he was going to say was doubtless a confession, Mr.
+Crawford's face showed an unmistakable expression of relief. He seemed
+like a man who had borne a terrible secret around with him for the past
+week, and was now glad that he was about to impart it to some one else.
+
+He spoke very gravely, but with no faltering or hesitation.
+
+“This is a solemn confession,” he said, turning to his lawyer, “and
+is made to the district attorney, with yourself and Mr. Burroughs as
+witnesses.”
+
+Mr. Randolph bowed his head, in acknowledgment of this formal statement.
+
+“I am a criminal in the eyes of the law,” said Mr. Crawford, in an
+impersonal tone, which I knew he adopted to hide any emotion he might
+feel. “I have committed a dastardly crime. But I am not the murderer of
+my brother Joseph.”
+
+We all felt our hearts lightened of a great load, for it was impossible
+to disbelieve that calm statement and the clear gaze of those truthful,
+unafraid eyes.
+
+“The story I have to tell will sound as if I might have been my
+brother's slayer, and this is why I assert the contrary at the outset.”
+
+Pausing here, Mr. Crawford unlocked the drawer of a desk and took out a
+small pistol, which he laid on the table.
+
+“That,” he said, “is my revolver, and it is the weapon with which my
+brother was killed.”
+
+I felt a choking sensation. Philip Crawford's manner was so far
+removed from a sensational--or melodramatic effect, that it was doubly
+impressive. I believed his statement that he did not kill his brother,
+but what could these further revelations mean? Hall? Florence? Young
+Philip? Whom would Philip Crawford thus shield for a whole week, and
+then, when forced to do so, expose?
+
+“You are making strange declarations, Mr. Crawford,” said Lawyer
+Randolph, who was already white-faced and trembling.
+
+“I know it,” went on Philip Crawford, “and I trust you three men will
+hear my story through, and then take such measures as you see fit.
+
+“This pistol, as I said, is my property. Perhaps about a month ago,
+I took it over to my brother Joseph. He has always been careless of
+danger, and as he was in the habit of sitting in his office until very
+late, with the long windows open on a dark veranda, I often told him he
+ought to keep a weapon in his desk, by way of general protection. Then,
+after there had been a number of burglaries in West Sedgwick, I took
+this pistol to him, and begged him as a favor to me to let it stay in
+his desk drawer as a precautionary measure. He laughed at my solicitude,
+but put it away in a drawer, the upper right-hand one, among his
+business papers. So much for the pistol.
+
+“Last Tuesday night I came out from New York on that midnight train that
+reaches West Sedgwick station at one o'clock. In the train I did not
+notice especially who sat near me, but when I reached our station and
+started to leave the car, I noticed a gold bag in the seat ahead. I
+picked it up, and, with a half-formed intention of handing it to the
+conductor, I left the train. But as I stepped off I did not see the
+conductor, and, though I looked about for him, he did not appear, and
+the train moved on. I looked in the station, but the ticket agent was
+not visible, and as the hour was so late I slipped the bag into my
+pocket, intending to hand it over to the railroad authorities next
+morning. In fact, I thought little about it, for I was very much
+perturbed over some financial considerations. I had been reading my
+newspaper all the way out, from the city. It was an `extra,' with the
+account of the steamship accident.”
+
+Here Mr. Crawford looked at me, as much as to say, “There's your
+precious newspaper clue,” but his manner was indicative only of sadness
+and grief; he had no cringing air as of a murderer.
+
+“However, I merely skimmed the news about the steamer, so interested was
+I in the stock market reports. I needn't now tell the details, but
+I knew that Joseph had a `corner' in X.Y. stock. I was myself a heavy
+investor in it, and I began to realize that I must see Joseph at once,
+and learn his intended actions for the next day. If he threw his stock
+on the market, there would be a drop of perhaps ten points and I should
+be a large loser, if, indeed, I were not entirely wiped out. So I went
+from the train straight to my brother's home. When I reached the gate,
+I saw there was a low light in his office, so I went round that way,
+instead of to the front door. As I neared the veranda, and went up the
+steps, I drew from my overcoat pocket the newspaper, and, feeling the
+gold bag there also, I drew that out, thinking to show it to Joseph.
+As I look back now, I think it occurred to me that the bag might be
+Florence's; I had seen her carry one like it. But, as you can readily
+understand, I gave no coherent thought to the bag, as my mind was
+full of the business matter. The French window was open, and I stepped
+inside.”
+
+Mr. Crawford paused here, but he gave way to no visible emotion. He was
+like a man with an inexorable duty to perform, and no wish to stop until
+it was finished.
+
+But truth was stamped unmistakably in every word and every look.
+
+“Only the desk light was turned on, but that gave light enough for me to
+see my brother sitting dead in his chair. I satisfied myself that he
+was really dead, and then, in a sort of daze, I looked about the room.
+Though I felt benumbed and half unconscious, physically, my thoughts
+worked rapidly. On the desk before him I saw his will.”
+
+An irrepressible exclamation from Mr. Randolph was the only sound that
+greeted this astonishing statement.
+
+“Yes,” and Mr. Crawford took a document from the same drawer whence he
+had taken the pistol; “there is Joseph Crawford's will, leaving all his
+property to Florence Lloyd.”
+
+Mechanically, Mr. Randolph took the paper his client passed to him, and,
+after a glance at it, laid it on the table in front of him.
+
+“That was my crime,” said Philip Crawford solemnly, “and I thank God
+that I can confess it and make restitution. I must have been suddenly
+possessed of a devil of greed, for the moment I saw that will, I knew
+that if I took it away the property would be mine, and I would then run
+no danger of being ruined by my stock speculations. I had a dim feeling
+that I should eventually give all, or a large part, of the fortune to
+Florence, but at the moment I was obsessed by evil, and I--I stole my
+brother's will.”
+
+It was an honest confession of an awful crime. But under the spell
+of that strong, low voice, and the upright bearing of that impressive
+figure, we could not, at the moment, condemn; we could only listen and
+wait.
+
+“Then,” the speaker proceeded, “I was seized with the terrific,
+unreasoning fear that I dare say always besets a malefactor. I had but
+one thought, to get away, and leave the murder to be discovered by some
+one else. In a sort of subconscious effort at caution, I took my pistol,
+lest it prove incriminating evidence against me, but in my mad frenzy of
+fear, I gave no thought to the gold bag or the newspaper. I came home,
+secreted the will and the revolver, and ever since I have had no doubts
+as to the existence of a hell. A thousand times I have been on the point
+of making this confession, and even had it not been brought about as it
+has, I must have given way soon. No mortal could stand out long under
+the pressure of remorse and regret that has been on me this past week.
+Now, gentlemen, I have told you all. The action you may take in this
+matter must be of your own choosing. But, except for the stigma of past
+sin, I stand again before the world, with no unconfessed crime upon my
+conscience. I stole the will; I have restored it. But my hands are clean
+of the blood of my brother, and I am now free to add my efforts to yours
+to find the criminal and avenge the crime.”
+
+He had not raised his voice above those low, even tones in which he had
+started his recital; he had made no bid for leniency of judgment; but,
+to a man, his three hearers rose and held out friendly hands to him as
+he finished his story.
+
+“Thank you,” he said simply, as he accepted this mute token of our
+belief in his word. “I am gratified at your kindly attitude, but I
+realize, none the less, what this will all mean for me. Not only myself
+but my innocent family must share my disgrace. However, that is part of
+the wrongdoer's punishment--that results fall not only on his own head,
+but on the heads and hearts of his loved ones.”
+
+“Mr. Goodrich,” said Mr. Randolph, “I don't know how you look upon this
+matter from your official viewpoint, but unless you deem it necessary, I
+should think that this confidence of Mr. Crawford's need never be given
+to the public. May we not simply state that the missing will has been
+found, without any further disclosures?”
+
+“I am not asking for any such consideration,” said Philip Crawford.
+“If you decide upon such a course, it will be entirely of your own
+volition.”
+
+The district attorney hesitated.
+
+“Speaking personally,” he said, at last, “I may say that I place
+full credence in Mr. Crawford's story. I am entirely convinced of the
+absolute truth of all his statements. But, speaking officially, I may
+say that in a court of justice witnesses would be required, who could
+corroborate his words.”
+
+“But such witnesses are manifestly impossible to procure,” said Mr.
+Randolph.
+
+“Certainly they are,” I agreed, “and I should like to make this
+suggestion: Believing, as we do, in Mr. Crawford's story, it becomes
+important testimony in the case. Now, if it were made public, it would
+lose its importance, for it would set ignorant tongues wagging, and
+give rise to absurd and untrue theories, and result in blocking our
+best-meant efforts. So I propose that we keep the matter to ourselves
+for a time--say a week or a fortnight--keeping Mr. Crawford under
+surveillance, if need be. Then we can work on the case, with the benefit
+of the suggestions offered by Mr. Crawford's revelations; and I, for
+one, think such benefit of immense importance.”
+
+“That will do,” said Mr. Goodrich, whose troubled face had cleared at my
+suggestion. “You are quite right, Mr. Burroughs. And the `surveillance'
+will be a mere empty formality. For a man who has confessed as Mr.
+Crawford has done, is not going to run away from the consequences of his
+confession.”
+
+“I am not,” said Mr. Crawford. “And I am grateful for this respite from
+unpleasant publicity. I will take my punishment when it comes, but I
+feel with Mr. Burroughs that more progress can be made if what I have
+told you is not at once generally known.”
+
+“Where now does suspicion point?”
+
+It was Mr. Randolph who spoke. His legal mind had already gone ahead
+of the present occasion, and was applying the new facts to the old
+theories.
+
+“To Gregory Hall,” said the district attorney.
+
+“Wait,” said I. “If Mr. Crawford left the bag and the newspaper in the
+office, we have no evidence whatever that Mr. Hall came out on that late
+train.”
+
+“Nor did he need to,” said Mr. Goodrich, who was thinking rapidly. “He
+might have come on an earlier train, or, for that matter, not by train
+at all. He may have come out from town in a motor car.”
+
+This was possible; but it did not seem to me probable. A motor car was
+a conspicuous way for a man to come out from New York and return, if he
+wished to keep his visit secret. Still, he could have left the car at
+some distance from the house, and walked the rest of the way.
+
+“Did Mr. Hall know that a revolver was kept in Mr. Crawford's desk
+drawer?” I asked.
+
+“He did,” replied Philip Crawford. “He was present when I took my pistol
+over to Joseph.”
+
+“Then,” said Mr. Goodrich, “the case looks to me very serious against
+Mr. Hall. We have proved his motive, his opportunity, and his
+method, or, rather, means, of committing the crime. Add to this
+his unwillingness to tell where he was on Tuesday night, and I see
+sufficient justification for issuing a warrant for his arrest.”
+
+“I don't know,” said Philip Crawford, “whether such immediate measures
+are advisable. I don't want to influence you, Mr. Goodrich, but suppose
+we see Mr. Hall, and question him a little. Then, if it seems to you
+best, arrest him.”
+
+“That is a good suggestion, Mr. Crawford,” said the district attorney.
+“We can have a sort of court of inquiry by ourselves, and perhaps Mr.
+Hall will, by his own words, justify or relieve our suspicions.”
+
+I went away from Mr. Crawford's house, and went straight to Florence
+Lloyd's. I did this almost involuntarily. Perhaps if I had stopped to
+think, I might have realized that it did not devolve upon me to tell
+her of Philip Crawford's confession. But I wanted to tell her myself,
+because I hoped that from her manner of hearing the story I could learn
+something. I still believed that in trying to shield Hall, she had not
+yet been entirely frank with me, and at any rate, I wanted to be the one
+to tell her of the important recent discovery.
+
+When I arrived, I found Mr. Porter in the library talking with Florence.
+At first I hesitated about telling my story before him, and then
+I remembered that he was one of the best of Florence's friends and
+advisers, and moreover a man of sound judgment and great perspicacity.
+Needless to say, they were both amazed and almost stunned by the
+recital, and it was some time before they could take in the situation in
+all its bearings. We had a long, grave conversation, for the three of
+us were not influenced so much by the sensationalness of this new
+development, as by the question of whither it led. Of course the
+secret was as safe with these two, as with those of us who had heard it
+directly from Philip Crawford's lips.
+
+“I understand Philip Crawford's action,” said Mr. Porter, very
+seriously. “In the first place he was not quite himself, owing to the
+sudden shock of seeing his brother dead before his eyes. Also the sight
+of his own pistol, with which the deed had evidently been committed,
+unnerved him. It was an almost unconscious nervous action which made him
+take the pistol, and it was a sort of subconscious mental working that
+resulted in his abstracting the will. Had he been in full possession
+of his brain faculty, he could not have done either. He did wrong, of
+course, but he has made full restitution, and his wrong-doing should not
+only be forgiven but forgotten.”
+
+I looked at Mr. Porter in unfeigned admiration. Truly he had expressed
+noble sentiments, and his must be a broadly noble nature that could show
+such a spirit toward his fellow man.
+
+Florence, too, gave him an appreciative glance, but her mind seemed to
+be working on the possibilities of the new evidence.
+
+“Then it would seem,” she said slowly, “that as I, myself, was in
+Uncle's office at about eleven o'clock, and as Uncle Philip was there a
+little after one o'clock, whoever killed Uncle Joseph came and went away
+between those hours.”
+
+“Yes,” I said, and I knew that her thoughts had flown to Gregory Hall.
+“But I think there are no trains in and out again of West Sedgwick
+between those hours.”
+
+“He need not have come in a train,” said Florence slowly, as if simply
+voicing her thoughts.
+
+“Don't attempt to solve the mystery, Florence,” said Mr. Porter in
+his decided way. “Leave that for those who make it their business.
+Mr. Burroughs, I am sure, will do all he can, and it is not for you
+to trouble your already sad heart with these anxieties. Give it up, my
+girl, for it means only useless exertion on your part.”
+
+“And on my part too, I fear, Mr. Porter,” I said. “Without wishing to
+shirk my duty, I can't help feeling I'm up against a problem that to me
+is insoluble. It is my desire, since the case is baffling, to call in
+talent of a higher order. Fleming Stone, for instance.”
+
+Mr. Porter gave me a sudden glance, and it was a glance I could not
+understand. For an instant it seemed to me that he showed fear, and
+this thought was instantly followed by the impression that he feared for
+Florence. And then I chid myself for my foolish heart that made every
+thought that entered my brain lead to Florence Lloyd. With my mind in
+this commotion I scarcely heard Mr. Porter's words.
+
+“No, no,” he was saying, “we need no other or cleverer detective than
+you, Mr. Burroughs. If, as Florence says, the murderer was clever enough
+to come between those two hours, and go away again, leaving no sign, he
+is probably clever enough so to conceal his coming and going that he may
+not be traced.”
+
+“But, Mr. Porter,” I observed, “they say murder will out.”
+
+Again that strange look came into his eyes. Surely it was an expression
+of fear. But he only said, “Then you're the man to bring that result
+about, Mr. Burroughs. I have great confidence in your powers as a
+detective.”
+
+He took his leave, and I was not sorry, for I wanted an opportunity to
+see Florence alone.
+
+“I am so sorry,” she said, and for the first time I saw tears in her
+dear, beautiful eyes, “to hear that about Uncle Philip. But Mr. Porter
+was right, he was not himself, or he never could have done it.”
+
+“It was an awful thing for him to find his brother as he did, and go
+away and leave him so.”
+
+“Awful, indeed! But the Crawfords have always been strange in their
+ways. I have never seen one of them show emotion or sentiment upon any
+occasion.”
+
+“Now you are again an heiress,” I said, suddenly realizing the fact.
+
+“Yes,” she said, but her tone indicated that her fortune brought in its
+train many perplexing troubles and many grave questions.
+
+“Forgive me,” I began, “if I am unwarrantably intrusive, but I must
+say this. Affairs are so changed now, that new dangers and troubles may
+arise for you. If I can help you in any way, will you let me do so? Will
+you confide in me and trust me, and will you remember that in so doing
+you are not putting yourself under the slightest obligation?”
+
+She looked at me very earnestly for a moment, and then without replying
+directly to my questions, she said in a low tone, “You are the very best
+friend I have ever had.”
+
+“Florence!” I cried; but even as she had spoken, she had gone softly out
+of the room, and with a quiet joy in my heart, I went away.
+
+That afternoon I was summoned to Mr. Philip Crawford's house to be
+present at the informal court of inquiry which was to interrogate
+Gregory Hall.
+
+Hall was summoned by telephone, and not long after he arrived. He was
+cool and collected, as usual, and I wondered if even his arrest would
+disturb his calm.
+
+“We are pursuing the investigation of Mr. Joseph Crawford's death, Mr.
+Hall,” the district attorney began, “and we wish, in the course of our
+inquiries, to ask some questions of you.”
+
+“Certainly, sir,” said Gregory Hall, with an air of polite indifference.
+
+“And I may as well tell you at the outset,” went on Mr. Goodrich, a
+little irritated at the young man's attitude, “that you, Mr. Hall, are
+under suspicion.”
+
+“Yes?” said Hall interrogatively. “But I was not here that night.”
+
+“That's just the point, sir. You say you were not here, but you refuse
+to say where you were. Now, wherever you may have been that night, a
+frank admission of it will do you less harm than this incriminating
+concealment of the truth.”
+
+“In that case,” said Hall easily, “I suppose I may as well tell you.
+But first, since you practically accuse me, may I ask if any new
+developments have been brought to light?”
+
+“One has,” said Mr. Goodrich. “The missing will has been found.”
+
+“What?” cried Hall, unable to conceal his satisfaction at this
+information.
+
+“Yes,” said Mr. Goodrich coldly, disgusted at the plainly apparent
+mercenary spirit of the man; “yes, the will of Mr. Joseph Crawford,
+which bequeaths the bulk of his estate to Miss Lloyd, is safe in Mr.
+Randolph's possession. But that fact in no way affects your connection
+with the case, or our desire to learn where you were on Tuesday night.”
+
+“Pardon me, Mr. Goodrich; I didn't hear all that you said.”
+
+Bluffing again, thought I; and, truly, it seemed to me rather a clever
+way to gain time for consideration, and yet let his answers appear
+spontaneous.
+
+The district attorney repeated his question, and now Gregory Hall
+answered deliberately,
+
+“I still refuse to tell you where I was. It in no way affects the case;
+it is a private matter of my own. I was in New York City from the time
+I left West Sedgwick at six o'clock on Monday, until I returned the next
+morning. Further than that I will give no account of my doings.”
+
+“Then we must assume you were engaged in some occupation of which you
+are ashamed to tell.”
+
+Hall shrugged his shoulders. “You may assume what you choose,” he said.
+“I was not here, I had no hand in Mr. Crawford's death, and knew nothing
+of it until my return next day.”
+
+“You knew Mr. Crawford kept a revolver in his desk. You must know it is
+not there now.”
+
+Hall looked troubled.
+
+“I know nothing about that revolver,” he said. “I saw it the day Mr.
+Philip Crawford brought it there, but I have never seen it since.”
+
+This sounded honest enough, but if he were the criminal, he would, of
+course, make these same avowals.
+
+“Well, Mr. Hall,” said the district attorney, with an air of finality,
+“we suspect you. We hold that you had motive, opportunity, and means for
+this crime. Therefore, unless you can prove an alibi for Tuesday night,
+and bring witnesses to prove where you, were, we must arrest you, on
+suspicion, for the murder of Joseph Crawford.”
+
+Gregory Hall deliberated silently for a few moments, then he said:
+
+“I am innocent. But I persist in my refusal to allow intrusion on my
+private and personal affairs. Arrest me if you will, but you will yet
+learn your mistake.”
+
+I can never explain it, even to myself, but something in the man's tone
+and manner convinced me, even against my own will, that he spoke the
+truth.
+
+
+
+
+XX. FLEMING STONE
+
+
+The news of Gregory Hall's arrest flew through the town like wildfire.
+
+That evening I went to call on Florence Lloyd, though I had little hope
+that she would see me.
+
+To my surprise, however, she welcomed me almost eagerly, and, though I
+knew she wanted to see me only for what legal help I might give her, I
+was glad even of this.
+
+And yet her manner was far from impersonal. Indeed, she showed a slight
+embarrassment in my presence, which, if I had dared, I should have been
+glad to think meant a growing interest in our friendship.
+
+“You have heard all?” I asked, knowing from her manner that she had.
+
+“Yes,” she replied; “Mr. Hall was here for dinner, and then--then he
+went away to--”
+
+“To prison,” I finished quietly. “Florence, I cannot think he is the
+murderer of your uncle.”
+
+If she noticed this, my first use of her Christian name, she offered no
+remonstrance, and I went on,
+
+“To be sure, they have proved that he had motive, means, opportunity,
+and all that, but it is only indefinite evidence. If he would but tell
+where he was on Tuesday night, he could so easily free himself. Why will
+he not tell?”
+
+“I don't know,” she said, looking thoughtful. “But I cannot think he was
+here, either. When he said good-by to me to-night, he did not seem at
+all apprehensive. He only said he was arrested wrongfully, and that
+he would soon be set free again. You know his way of taking everything
+casually.”
+
+“Yes, I do. And now that you are your uncle's heiress, I suppose he no
+longer wishes to break the engagement between you and him.”
+
+I said this bitterly, for I loathed the nature that could thus turn
+about in accordance with the wheel of fortune.
+
+To my surprise, she too spoke bitterly.
+
+“Yes,” she said; “he insists now that we are engaged, and that he never
+really wanted to break it. He has shown me positively that it is my
+money that attracts him, and if it were not that I don't want to seem to
+desert him now, when he is in trouble--”
+
+She paused, and my heart beat rapidly. Could it be that at last she saw
+Gregory Hall as he really was, and that his mercenary spirit had killed
+her love for him? At least, she had intimated this, and, forcing myself
+to be content with that for the present, I said:
+
+“Would you, then, if you could, get him out of this trouble?”
+
+“Gladly. I do not think he killed Uncle Joseph, but I'm sure I do not
+know who did. Do you?”
+
+“I haven't the least idea,” I answered honestly, for there, in Florence
+Lloyd's presence, gazing into the depths of her clear eyes, my last,
+faint suspicion of her wrong-doing faded away. “And it is this total
+lack of suspicion that makes the case so simple, and therefore so
+difficult. A more complicated case offers some points on which to build
+a theory. I do not blame Mr. Goodrich for suspecting Mr. Hall, for there
+seems to be no one else to suspect.”
+
+Just then Mr. Lemuel Porter dropped in for an evening call. Of course,
+we talked over the events of the day, and Mr. Porter was almost vehement
+in his denunciation of the sudden move of the district attorney.
+
+“It's absurd,” he said, “utterly absurd. Gregory Hall never did the
+thing. I've known Hall for years, and he isn't that sort of a man. I
+believe Philip Crawford's story, of course, but the murderer, who came
+into the office after Florence's visit to her uncle, and before Philip
+arrived, was some stranger from out of town--some man whom none of us
+know; who had some grievance against Joseph, and who deliberately came
+and went during that midnight hour.”
+
+I agreed with Mr. Porter. I had thought all along it was some one
+unknown to the Sedgwick people, but some one well known to Joseph
+Crawford. For, had it been an ordinary burglar, the victim would at
+least have raised a protecting hand.
+
+“Of course Hall will be set free at once,” continued Mr. Porter, “but to
+arrest him was a foolish thing to do.”
+
+“Still, he ought to prove his alibi,” I said.
+
+“Very well, then; make him prove it. Give him the third degree, if
+necessary, and find out where he was on Tuesday night.”
+
+“I doubt if they could get it out of him,” I observed, “if he continues
+determined not to tell.”
+
+“Then he deserves his fate,” said Mr. Porter, a little petulantly.
+“He can free himself by a word. If he refuses to do so it's his own
+business.”
+
+“But I'd like to help him,” said Florence, almost timidly. “Is there no
+way I can do so, Mr. Burroughs?”
+
+“Indeed there is,” I said. “You are a rich woman now; use some of your
+wealth to employ the services of Fleming Stone, and I can assure you the
+truth will be discovered.”
+
+“Indeed I will,” said Florence. “Please send for him at once.”
+
+“Nonsense!” said Mr. Porter. “It isn't necessary at all. Mr. Burroughs
+here, and young Parmalee, are all the detectives we need. Get Hall to
+free himself, as he can easily do, and then set to work in earnest to
+run down the real villain.”
+
+“No, Mr. Porter,” said Florence, with firmness; “Gregory will not tell
+his secret, whatever it is. I know his stubborn nature. He'll stay in
+prison until he's freed, as he is sure he will be, but he won't tell
+what he has determined not to divulge. No, I am glad I can do something
+definite at last toward avenging Uncle Joseph's death. Please send for
+Mr. Stone, Mr. Burroughs, and I will gladly pay his fees and expenses.”
+ Mr. Porter expostulated further, but to no avail. Florence insisted on
+sending for the great detective.
+
+So I sent for him.
+
+He came two days later, and in the interval nothing further had been
+learned from Gregory Hall. The man was an enigma to me. He was calm
+and impassive as ever. Courteous, though never cordial, and apparently
+without the least apprehension of ever being convicted for the crime
+which had caused his arrest.
+
+Indeed, he acted just as an innocent man would act; innocent of the
+murder, that is, but resolved to conceal his whereabouts of Tuesday
+night, whatever that resolve might imply.
+
+To me, it did not imply crime. Something he wished to conceal,
+certainly; but I could not think a criminal would act so. A criminal is
+usually ready with an alibi, whether it can be proved or not.
+
+When Fleming Stone arrived I met him at the station and took him at once
+to the inn, where I had engaged rooms for him.
+
+We first had a long conversation alone, in which I told him, everything
+I knew concerning the murder.
+
+“When did it happen?” he asked, for, though he had read some of the
+newspaper accounts, the date had escaped him.
+
+I told him, and added, “Why, I was called here just after I left you at
+the Metropolis Hotel that morning. Don't you remember, you deduced a lot
+of information from a pair of shoes which were waiting to be cleaned?”
+
+“Yes, I remember,” said Stone, smiling a little at the recollection.
+
+“And I tried to make similar deductions from the gold bag and the
+newspaper, but I couldn't do it. I bungled matters every time. My
+deductions are mostly from the witnesses' looks or tones when giving
+evidence.”
+
+“On the stand?”
+
+“Not necessarily on the stand. I've learned much from talking to the
+principals informally.”
+
+“And where do your suspicions point?”
+
+“Nowhere. I've suspected Florence Lloyd and Gregory Hall, in turn, and
+in collusion; but now I suspect neither of them.”
+
+“Why not Hall?”
+
+“His manner is too frank and unconcerned.”
+
+“A good bluff for a criminal to use.”
+
+“Then he won't tell where he was that night.”
+
+“If he is the murderer, he can't tell. A false alibi is so easily
+riddled. It's rather clever to keep doggedly silent; but what does he
+say is his reason?”
+
+“He won't give any reason. He has determined to keep up that calm,
+indifferent pose, and though it is aggravating, I must admit it serves
+his purpose well.”
+
+“How did they find him the morning after the murder?”
+
+“Let me see; I believe the coroner said he telephoned first to Hall's
+club. But the steward said Hall didn't stay there, as there was no
+vacant room, and that he had stayed all night at a hotel.”
+
+“What hotel?”
+
+“I don't know. The coroner asked the steward, but he didn't know.”
+
+“Didn't he find out from Hall, afterward?”
+
+“I don't know, Stone; perhaps the coroner asked him, but if he did, I
+doubt if Hall told. It didn't seem to me important.”
+
+“Burroughs, my son, you should have learned every detail of Hall's
+doings that night.”
+
+“But if he were not in West Sedgwick, what difference could it possibly
+make where he was?”
+
+“One never knows what difference anything will make until the difference
+is made. That's oracular, but it means more than it sounds. However, go
+on.”
+
+I went on, and I even told him what Florence had told me concerning the
+possibility of Hall's interest in another woman.
+
+“At last we are getting to it,” said Stone; “why in the name of all good
+detectives, didn't you hunt up that other woman?”
+
+“But she is perhaps only a figment of Miss Lloyd's brain.”
+
+“Figments of the brains of engaged young ladies are apt to have a solid
+foundation of flesh and blood. I think much could be learned concerning
+Mr. Hall's straying fancy. But tell me again about his attitude toward
+Miss Lloyd, in the successive developments of the will question.”
+
+Fleming Stone was deeply interested as I rehearsed how, when Florence
+was supposed to be penniless, he wished to break the engagement. When
+Philip Crawford offered to provide for her, Mr. Hall was uncertain;
+but when the will was found, and Florence was known to inherit all her
+uncle's property, then Gregory Hall not only held her to the engagement,
+but said he had never wished to break it.
+
+“H'm,” said Stone. “Pretty clear that the young man is a
+fortune-hunter.”
+
+“He is,” I agreed. “I felt sure of that from the first.”
+
+“And he is now under arrest, calmly waiting for some one to prove his
+innocence, so he can marry the heiress.”
+
+“That's about the size of it,” I said. “But I don't think Florence is
+quite as much in love with him as she was. She seems to have realized
+his mercenary spirit.”
+
+Perhaps an undue interest in my voice or manner disclosed to this astute
+man the state of my own affections, for he gave me a quizzical glance,
+and said, “O-ho! sits the wind in that quarter?”
+
+“Yes,” I said, determined to be frank with him. “It does. I want you, to
+free Gregory Hall, if he's innocent. Then if, for any reason, Miss
+Lloyd sees fit to dismiss him, I shall most certainly try to win her
+affections. As I came to this determination when she was supposed to be
+penniless, I can scarcely be accused of fortune-hunting myself.”
+
+“Indeed, you can't, old chap. You're not that sort. Well, let's go to
+see your district attorney and his precious prisoner, and see what's to
+be done.”
+
+We went to the district attorney's office, and, later, accompanied by
+him and by Mr. Randolph, we visited Gregory Hall.
+
+As I had expected, Mr. Hall wore the same unperturbed manner he always
+showed, and when Fleming Stone was introduced, Hall greeted him coldly,
+with absolutely no show of interest in the man or his work.
+
+Fleming Stone's own kindly face took on a slight expression of hauteur,
+as he noticed his reception, but he said, pleasantly enough,
+
+“I am here in an effort to aid in establishing your innocence, Mr.
+Hall.”
+
+“I beg your pardon?” said Hall listlessly.
+
+I wondered whether this asking to have a remark repeated was merely a
+foolish habit of Hall's, or whether, as I had heretofore guessed, it was
+a ruse to gain time.
+
+Fleming Stone looked at him a little more sharply as he repeated his
+remark in clear, even tones.
+
+“Thank you,” said Hall, pleasantly enough. “I shall be glad to be free
+from this unjust suspicion.”
+
+“And as a bit of friendly advice,” went on Stone, “I strongly urge that
+you, reveal to us, confidentially, where you were on Tuesday night.”
+
+Hall looked the speaker straight in the eye.
+
+“That,” he said, “I must still refuse to do.”
+
+Fleming Stone rose and walked toward the window.
+
+“I think,” he said, “the proof of your innocence may depend upon this
+point.”
+
+Gregory Hall turned his head, and followed Stone with his eyes.
+
+“What did you say, Mr. Stone?” he asked quietly.
+
+The detective returned to his seat.
+
+“I said,” he replied, “that the proof of your innocence might depend on
+your telling this secret of yours. But I begin to think now you will be
+freed from suspicion whether you tell it or not.”
+
+Instead of looking glad at this assurance, Gregory Hall gave a start,
+and an expression of fear came into his eyes.
+
+“What do you mean?” he said,
+
+“Have you any letters in your pocket, Mr. Hall?” went on Fleming Stone
+in a suave voice.
+
+“Yes; several. Why?”
+
+“I do not ask to read them. Merely show me the lot.”
+
+With what seemed to be an unwilling but enforced movement, Mr. Hall drew
+four or five letters from his breast pocket and handed them to Fleming
+Stone.
+
+“They've all been looked over, Mr. Stone,” said the district attorney;
+“and they have no bearing on the matter of the crime.”
+
+“Oh, I don't want to read them,” said the detective.
+
+He ran over the lot carelessly, not taking the sheets from the
+envelopes, and returned them to their owner.
+
+Gregory Hall looked at him as if fascinated. What revelation was this
+man about to make?
+
+“Mr. Hall,” Fleming Stone began, “I've no intention of forcing your
+secret from you. But I shall ask you some questions, and you may do as
+you like about answering them. First, you refuse to tell where you were
+during the night last Tuesday. I take it, you mean you refuse to tell
+how or where you spent the evening. Now, will you tell us where you
+lodged that night?”
+
+“I fail to see any reason for telling you,” answered Hall, after a
+moment's thought. “I have said I was in New York City, that is enough.”
+
+“The reason you may as well tell us,” went on Mr. Stone, “is because it
+is a very simple matter for us to find out. You doubtless were at some
+hotel, and you went there because you could not get a room at your
+club. In fact, this was stated when the coroner telephoned for you, the
+morning after the murder. I mean, it was stated that the club bed-rooms
+were all occupied. I assume, therefore, that you lodged at some hotel,
+and, as a canvass of the city hotels would be a simple matter, you may
+as well save us that trouble.”
+
+“Oh, very well,” said Gregory Hall sullenly; “then I did spend the night
+at a hotel. It was the Metropolis Hotel, and you will find my name duly
+on the register.”
+
+“I have no doubt of it,” said Stone pleasantly. “Now that you have told
+us this, have you any objection to telling us at what time you returned
+to the hotel, after your evening's occupation, whatever it may have
+been?”
+
+“Eh?” said Hall abstractedly. He turned his head as he spoke, and
+Fleming Stone threw me a quizzical smile which I didn't in the least
+understand.
+
+“You may as well tell us,” said Stone, after he had repeated his
+question, “for if you withhold it, the night clerk can give us this
+information.”
+
+“Well,” said Hall, who now looked distinctly sulky, “I don't remember
+exactly, but I think I turned in somewhere between twelve and one
+o'clock.”
+
+“And as it was a late hour, you slept rather late next morning,”
+ suggested Stone.
+
+“Oh, I don't know. I was at Mr. Crawford's New York office by half-past
+ten.”
+
+“A strange coincidence, Burroughs,” said Fleming Stone, turning to me.
+
+“Eh? Beg pardon?” said Hall, turning his head also.
+
+“Mr. Hall,” said Stone, suddenly facing him again, “are you deaf? Why do
+you ask to have remarks repeated?”
+
+Hall looked slightly apologetic. “I am a little deaf,” he said; “but
+only in one ear. And only at times--or, rather, it's worse at times. If
+I have a cold, for instance.”
+
+“Or in damp weather?” said Stone. “Mr. Hall, I have questioned you
+enough. I will now tell these gentlemen, since you refuse to do so,
+where you were on the night of Mr. Crawford's murder. You were not in
+West Sedgwick, or near it. You are absolutely innocent of the crime or
+any part in it.”
+
+Gregory Hall straightened up perceptibly, like a man exonerated from all
+blame. But he quailed again, as Fleming Stone, looking straight at him,
+continued: “You left West Sedgwick at six that evening, as you have
+said. You registered at the Metropolis Hotel, after learning that you
+could not get a room at your club. And then--you went over to Brooklyn
+to meet, or to call on, a young woman living in that borough. You took
+her back to New York to the theatre or some such entertainment, and
+afterward escorted her back to her home. The young woman wore a street
+costume, by which I mean a cloth gown without a train. You did not have
+a cab, but, after leaving the car, you walked for a rather long distance
+in Brooklyn. It was raining, and you were both under one umbrella. Am I
+correct, so far?”
+
+At last Gregory Hall's calm was disturbed. He looked at Fleming Stone
+as at a supernatural being. And small wonder. For the truth of Stone's
+statements was evident from Hall's amazement at them.
+
+“You--you saw us!” he gasped.
+
+“No, I didn't see you; it is merely a matter of observation, deduction,
+and memory. You recollect the muddy shoes?” he added, turning to me.
+
+Did I recollect! Well, rather! And it certainly was a coincidence that
+we had chanced to examine those shoes that morning at the hotel.
+
+As for Mr. Randolph and the district attorney, they were quite as much
+surprised as Hall.
+
+“Can you prove this astonishing story, Mr. Stone?” asked Mr. Goodrich,
+with an incredulous look.
+
+“Oh, yes, in lots of ways,” returned Stone. “For one thing, Mr. Hall has
+in his pocket now a letter from the young lady. The whole matter is
+of no great importance except as it proves Mr. Hall was not in West
+Sedgwick that night, and so is not the murderer.”
+
+“But why conceal so simple a matter? Why refuse to tell of the episode?”
+ asked Mr. Randolph.
+
+“Because,” and now Fleming Stone looked at Hall with accusation in his
+glance--“because Mr. Hall is very anxious that his fiancee shall not
+know of his attentions to the young lady in Brooklyn.”
+
+“O-ho!” said Mr. Goodrich, with sudden enlightenment. “I see it all now.
+Is it the truth, Mr. Hall? Did you go to Brooklyn and back that night,
+as Mr. Stone has described?”
+
+Gregory Hall fidgeted in an embarrassed way. But, unable to escape the
+piercing gaze of Stone's eyes, he admitted grudgingly that the detective
+had told the truth, adding, “But it's wizardry, that's what it is! How
+could he know?”
+
+“I had reason for suspicion,” said Stone; “and when I found you were
+deaf in your right ear, and that you had in your pocket a letter
+addressed in a feminine hand, and postmarked `Brooklyn,' I was sure.”
+
+“It's all true,” said Hall slowly. “You have the facts all right. But,
+unless you have had me shadowed, will you tell me how you knew it all?”
+
+And then Fleming Stone told of his observations and deductions when we
+noticed the muddied shoes at the Metropolis Hotel that morning.
+
+“But,” he said, as he concluded, “when I hastily adjudged the young
+lady to be deaf in the left ear, I see now I was mistaken. As soon as
+I realized Mr. Hall himself is deaf in the right ear, especially so in
+damp or wet weather, I saw that it fitted the case as well as if the
+lady had been deaf in her left ear. Then a note in his pocket from a
+lady in Brooklyn made me quite sure I was right.”
+
+“But, Mr. Stone,” said Lawyer Randolph, “it is very astonishing that you
+should make those deductions from those shoes, and then come out here
+and meet the owner of the shoes.”
+
+“It seems more remarkable than it really is, Mr. Randolph,” was the
+response; “for I am continually observing whatever comes to my notice.
+Hundreds of my deductions are never verified, or even thought of again;
+so it is not so strange that now and then one should prove of use in my
+work.”
+
+“Well,” said the district attorney, “it seems wonderful to me. But now
+that Mr. Hall has proved his alibi, or, rather, Mr. Stone has proved it
+for him, we must begin anew our search for the real criminal.”
+
+“One moment,” said Gregory Hall. “As you know, gentlemen, I endeavored
+to keep this little matter of my going to Brooklyn a secret. As it has
+no possible bearing on the case of Mr. Crawford, may I ask of you to
+respect my desire that you say nothing about it?”
+
+“For my part,” said the district attorney, “I am quite willing to
+grant Mr. Hall's request. I have put him to unnecessary trouble and
+embarrassment by having him arrested, and I shall be glad to do him this
+favor that he asks, by way of amends.”
+
+But Mr. Randolph seemed reluctant to make the required promise, and
+Fleming Stone looked at Hall, and said nothing.
+
+Then I spoke out, and, perhaps with scant courtesy, I said:
+
+“I, for one, refuse to keep this revelation a secret. It was discovered
+by the detective engaged by Miss Lloyd. Therefore, I think Miss Lloyd is
+entitled to the knowledge we have thus gained.”
+
+Mr. Randolph looked at me with approval. He was a good friend of
+Florence Lloyd, and he was of no mind to hide from her something which
+it might be better for her to know.
+
+Gregory Hall set his lips together in a way which argued no pleasant
+feelings toward me, but he said nothing then. He was forthwith released
+from custody, and the rest of us separated; having arranged to meet that
+evening at Miss Lloyd's home to discuss matters.
+
+
+
+
+XXI. THE DISCLOSURE
+
+
+Except the half-hour required for a hasty dinner, Fleming Stone devoted
+the intervening time to looking over the reports of the coroner's
+inquest, and in asking me questions about all the people who were
+connected with the affair.
+
+“Burroughs,” he said at last, “every one who is interested in Joseph
+Crawford's death has suspected Gregory Hall, except one person. Not
+everybody said they suspected him, but they did, all the same. Even Miss
+Lloyd wasn't sure that Hall wasn't the criminal. Now, there's just
+one person who declares that Hall did not do it, and that he is not
+implicated. Why should this person feel so sure of Hall's innocence?
+And, furthermore, my boy, here are a few more important questions. In
+which drawer of the desk was the revolver kept?”
+
+“The upper right-hand drawer,” I replied.
+
+“I mean, what else was in that drawer?”
+
+“Oh, important, valuable memoranda of Mr. Crawford's stocks and bonds.”
+
+“Do you mean stock certificates and actual bonds?”
+
+“No; merely lists and certain data referring to them. The certificates
+themselves were in the bank.”
+
+“And the will--where had that been kept?”
+
+“In a drawer on the other side of the desk. I know all these things,
+because with the lawyer and Mr. Philip Crawford, I have been through all
+the papers of the estate.”
+
+“Well, then, Burroughs, let us build up the scene. Mr. Joseph Crawford,
+after returning from his lawyer's that night, goes to his office.
+Naturally, he takes out his will, that he thinks of changing, and--we'll
+say--it is lying on his desk when Mr. Lemuel Porter calls. He talks of
+other matters, and the will still lies there unheeded. It is there when
+Miss Lloyd comes down later. She has said so. It remains there until
+much later--when Philip Crawford comes, and, after discovering that his
+brother is dead, sees the will still on the desk and takes it away with
+him, and also sees the pistol on the desk, and takes that, too. Now,
+granting that the murderer came between the time Miss Lloyd left the
+office and the time Philip Crawford came there, then it was while the
+murderer was present that the drawer which held the pistol was opened,
+the pistol taken out, and the murder committed, Since Mr. Joseph
+Crawford showed no sign of fear of violence, the murderer must have
+been, not a burglar or an unwelcome intruder, but a friend, or an
+acquaintance, at least. His visit must have been the reason for opening
+that drawer, and that not to get the pistol, but to look at or discuss
+the papers contained in that drawer. The pistol, thus disclosed, was
+temptingly near the hand of the visitor, and, for some reason
+connected with the papers in that drawer, the pistol was used by the
+visitor--suddenly, unpremeditatedly, but with deadly intent at the
+moment.”
+
+“But who--” I began.
+
+“Hush,” he said, “I see it all now--or almost all. Let us go to Philip
+Crawford's at once--before it is time to go to Miss Lloyd's.”
+
+We did so, and Fleming Stone, in a short business talk with Mr.
+Crawford, learned all that he wanted to know. Then we three went over to
+Florence Lloyd's home.
+
+Awaiting us were several people. The district attorney, of course, and
+Lawyer Randolph. Also Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Porter, who had been asked
+to be present. Gregory Hall was there, too, and from his crestfallen
+expression, I couldn't help thinking that he had had an unsatisfactory
+interview with Florence.
+
+As we all sat round the library, Fleming Stone was the principal
+speaker.
+
+He said: “I have come here at Miss Lloyd's request, to discover, if
+possible, the murderer of her uncle, Mr. Joseph Crawford. I have learned
+the identity of the assassin, and, if you all wish me to, I will now
+divulge it.”
+
+“We do wish you to, Mr. Stone,” said Mr. Goodrich, and his voice
+trembled a little, for he knew not where the blow might fall. But after
+Fleming Stone's wonderful detective work in the case of Gregory Hall,
+the district attorney felt full confidence in his powers.
+
+Sitting quietly by the library table, with the eyes of all the company
+upon him, Fleming Stone said, in effect, to them just what he had said
+to me. He told of the revolver in the drawer with the financial papers.
+He told how the midnight visitor must have been some friend or neighbor,
+whose coming would in no way startle or alarm Mr. Crawford, and whose
+interest in the question of stocks was desperate.
+
+And then Fleming Stone turned suddenly to Lemuel Porter, and said:
+“Shall I go on, Mr. Porter, or will you confess here and now?”
+
+It was as if a thunderbolt had fallen. Hitherto unsuspected, the guilt
+of Lemuel Porter was now apparent beyond all doubt. White-faced and
+shaking, his burning eyes glared at Fleming Stone.
+
+“What are you?” he whispered, in hoarse, hissing tones. “I feared you,
+and I was right to fear you. I have heard of you before. I tried to
+prevent your coming here, but I could not. And I knew, when you came,
+that I was doomed--doomed!
+
+“Yes,” he went on, looking around at the startled faces. “Yes, I killed
+Joseph Crawford. If I had not, he would have ruined me financially.
+Randolph knows that--and Philip Crawford, too. I had no thought of
+murder in my heart. I came here late that night to renew the request I
+had made in my earlier visit that evening--that Joseph Crawford
+would unload his X.Y. stock gradually, and in that way save me. I had
+overtraded; I had pyramided my paper profits until my affairs were
+in such a state that a sudden drop of ten points would wipe me out
+entirely. But Joseph Crawford was adamant to my entreaties. He said he
+would see to it that at the opening of the market the next morning X.Y.
+stock should be hammered down out of sight. Details are unnecessary. You
+lawyers and financial men understand. It was in his power to ruin or to
+save me and he chose to ruin me. I know, why, but that concerns no one
+here. Then, as by chance, he moved a paper in the drawer, and I saw the
+pistol. In a moment of blind rage I grasped it and shot him. Death was
+instantaneous. Like one in a dream, I laid down the pistol, and came
+away. I was saved, but at what a cost! No one, I think, saw me come or
+go. I was afterward puzzled to know what became of the pistol, and of
+the will which lay on the desk when I was there. These matters have
+since been explained. Philip Crawford is as much a criminal as I. I shot
+a man, but he robbed the dead. He has confessed and made restitution, so
+he merits no punishment. In the nature of things, I cannot do that, but
+I can at least cheat the gallows.”
+
+With these words, Mr. Porter put something into his mouth and swallowed
+it.
+
+Several people started toward him in dismay, but he waved them back,
+saying:
+
+“Too late. Good-by, all. If possible, do not let my wife know the truth.
+Can't you tell her--I died of heart failure--or--something like that?”
+
+The poison he had taken was of quick effect. Though a doctor was
+telephoned for at once, Mr. Porter was dead before he came.
+
+Everything was now made clear, and Fleming Stone's work in West Sedgwick
+was done.
+
+I was chagrined, for I felt that all he had discovered, I ought to have
+found out for myself.
+
+But as I glanced at Florence, and saw her lovely eyes fixed on me,
+I knew that one reason I had failed in my work was because of her
+distracting influence on it.
+
+“Take me away from here,” she said, and I gently led her from the
+library.
+
+We went into the small drawing-room, and, unable to restrain my
+eagerness, I said,
+
+“Tell me, dear, have you broken with Hall?”
+
+“Yes,” she said, looking up shyly into my face. “I learned from his own
+lips the story of the Brooklyn girl. Then I knew that he really loves
+her, but wanted to marry me for my fortune. This knowledge was enough
+for me. I realize now that I never loved Gregory, and I have told him
+so.”
+
+“And you do love somebody else?” I whispered ecstatically. “Oh,
+Florence! I know this is not the time or the place, but just tell me,
+dear, if you ever love any one, it will be--”
+
+“You” she murmured softly, and I was content.
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of The Gold Bag, by Carolyn Wells
+
+*** END OF THIS PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE GOLD BAG ***
+
+***** This file should be named 2883-0.txt or 2883-0.zip *****
+This and all associated files of various formats will be found in:
+        http://www.gutenberg.org/2/8/8/2883/
+
+Produced by An Anonymous Project Gutenberg Volunteer
+
+Updated editions will replace the previous one--the old editions
+will be renamed.
+
+Creating the works from public domain print editions means that no
+one owns a United States copyright in these works, so the Foundation
+(and you!) can copy and distribute it in the United States without
+permission and without paying copyright royalties.  Special rules,
+set forth in the General Terms of Use part of this license, apply to
+copying and distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works to
+protect the PROJECT GUTENBERG-tm concept and trademark.  Project
+Gutenberg is a registered trademark, and may not be used if you
+charge for the eBooks, unless you receive specific permission.  If you
+do not charge anything for copies of this eBook, complying with the
+rules is very easy.  You may use this eBook for nearly any purpose
+such as creation of derivative works, reports, performances and
+research.  They may be modified and printed and given away--you may do
+practically ANYTHING with public domain eBooks.  Redistribution is
+subject to the trademark license, especially commercial
+redistribution.
+
+
+
+*** START: FULL LICENSE ***
+
+THE FULL PROJECT GUTENBERG LICENSE
+PLEASE READ THIS BEFORE YOU DISTRIBUTE OR USE THIS WORK
+
+To protect the Project Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting the free
+distribution of electronic works, by using or distributing this work
+(or any other work associated in any way with the phrase “Project
+Gutenberg”), you agree to comply with all the terms of the Full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License (available with this file or online at
+http://gutenberg.org/license).
+
+
+Section 1.  General Terms of Use and Redistributing Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic works
+
+1.A.  By reading or using any part of this Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work, you indicate that you have read, understand, agree to
+and accept all the terms of this license and intellectual property
+(trademark/copyright) agreement.  If you do not agree to abide by all
+the terms of this agreement, you must cease using and return or destroy
+all copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in your possession.
+If you paid a fee for obtaining a copy of or access to a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work and you do not agree to be bound by the
+terms of this agreement, you may obtain a refund from the person or
+entity to whom you paid the fee as set forth in paragraph 1.E.8.
+
+1.B.  “Project Gutenberg” is a registered trademark.  It may only be
+used on or associated in any way with an electronic work by people who
+agree to be bound by the terms of this agreement.  There are a few
+things that you can do with most Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works
+even without complying with the full terms of this agreement.  See
+paragraph 1.C below.  There are a lot of things you can do with Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works if you follow the terms of this agreement
+and help preserve free future access to Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.  See paragraph 1.E below.
+
+1.C.  The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation (“the Foundation”
+ or PGLAF), owns a compilation copyright in the collection of Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic works.  Nearly all the individual works in the
+collection are in the public domain in the United States.  If an
+individual work is in the public domain in the United States and you are
+located in the United States, we do not claim a right to prevent you from
+copying, distributing, performing, displaying or creating derivative
+works based on the work as long as all references to Project Gutenberg
+are removed.  Of course, we hope that you will support the Project
+Gutenberg-tm mission of promoting free access to electronic works by
+freely sharing Project Gutenberg-tm works in compliance with the terms of
+this agreement for keeping the Project Gutenberg-tm name associated with
+the work.  You can easily comply with the terms of this agreement by
+keeping this work in the same format with its attached full Project
+Gutenberg-tm License when you share it without charge with others.
+
+1.D.  The copyright laws of the place where you are located also govern
+what you can do with this work.  Copyright laws in most countries are in
+a constant state of change.  If you are outside the United States, check
+the laws of your country in addition to the terms of this agreement
+before downloading, copying, displaying, performing, distributing or
+creating derivative works based on this work or any other Project
+Gutenberg-tm work.  The Foundation makes no representations concerning
+the copyright status of any work in any country outside the United
+States.
+
+1.E.  Unless you have removed all references to Project Gutenberg:
+
+1.E.1.  The following sentence, with active links to, or other immediate
+access to, the full Project Gutenberg-tm License must appear prominently
+whenever any copy of a Project Gutenberg-tm work (any work on which the
+phrase “Project Gutenberg” appears, or with which the phrase “Project
+Gutenberg” is associated) is accessed, displayed, performed, viewed,
+copied or distributed:
+
+This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
+almost no restrictions whatsoever.  You may copy it, give it away or
+re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
+with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.org
+
+1.E.2.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is derived
+from the public domain (does not contain a notice indicating that it is
+posted with permission of the copyright holder), the work can be copied
+and distributed to anyone in the United States without paying any fees
+or charges.  If you are redistributing or providing access to a work
+with the phrase “Project Gutenberg” associated with or appearing on the
+work, you must comply either with the requirements of paragraphs 1.E.1
+through 1.E.7 or obtain permission for the use of the work and the
+Project Gutenberg-tm trademark as set forth in paragraphs 1.E.8 or
+1.E.9.
+
+1.E.3.  If an individual Project Gutenberg-tm electronic work is posted
+with the permission of the copyright holder, your use and distribution
+must comply with both paragraphs 1.E.1 through 1.E.7 and any additional
+terms imposed by the copyright holder.  Additional terms will be linked
+to the Project Gutenberg-tm License for all works posted with the
+permission of the copyright holder found at the beginning of this work.
+
+1.E.4.  Do not unlink or detach or remove the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License terms from this work, or any files containing a part of this
+work or any other work associated with Project Gutenberg-tm.
+
+1.E.5.  Do not copy, display, perform, distribute or redistribute this
+electronic work, or any part of this electronic work, without
+prominently displaying the sentence set forth in paragraph 1.E.1 with
+active links or immediate access to the full terms of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm License.
+
+1.E.6.  You may convert to and distribute this work in any binary,
+compressed, marked up, nonproprietary or proprietary form, including any
+word processing or hypertext form.  However, if you provide access to or
+distribute copies of a Project Gutenberg-tm work in a format other than
+“Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other format used in the official version
+posted on the official Project Gutenberg-tm web site (www.gutenberg.org),
+you must, at no additional cost, fee or expense to the user, provide a
+copy, a means of exporting a copy, or a means of obtaining a copy upon
+request, of the work in its original “Plain Vanilla ASCII” or other
+form.  Any alternate format must include the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+License as specified in paragraph 1.E.1.
+
+1.E.7.  Do not charge a fee for access to, viewing, displaying,
+performing, copying or distributing any Project Gutenberg-tm works
+unless you comply with paragraph 1.E.8 or 1.E.9.
+
+1.E.8.  You may charge a reasonable fee for copies of or providing
+access to or distributing Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works provided
+that
+
+- You pay a royalty fee of 20% of the gross profits you derive from
+     the use of Project Gutenberg-tm works calculated using the method
+     you already use to calculate your applicable taxes.  The fee is
+     owed to the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark, but he
+     has agreed to donate royalties under this paragraph to the
+     Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.  Royalty payments
+     must be paid within 60 days following each date on which you
+     prepare (or are legally required to prepare) your periodic tax
+     returns.  Royalty payments should be clearly marked as such and
+     sent to the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation at the
+     address specified in Section 4, “Information about donations to
+     the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation.”
+
+- You provide a full refund of any money paid by a user who notifies
+     you in writing (or by e-mail) within 30 days of receipt that s/he
+     does not agree to the terms of the full Project Gutenberg-tm
+     License.  You must require such a user to return or
+     destroy all copies of the works possessed in a physical medium
+     and discontinue all use of and all access to other copies of
+     Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+- You provide, in accordance with paragraph 1.F.3, a full refund of any
+     money paid for a work or a replacement copy, if a defect in the
+     electronic work is discovered and reported to you within 90 days
+     of receipt of the work.
+
+- You comply with all other terms of this agreement for free
+     distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm works.
+
+1.E.9.  If you wish to charge a fee or distribute a Project Gutenberg-tm
+electronic work or group of works on different terms than are set
+forth in this agreement, you must obtain permission in writing from
+both the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation and Michael
+Hart, the owner of the Project Gutenberg-tm trademark.  Contact the
+Foundation as set forth in Section 3 below.
+
+1.F.
+
+1.F.1.  Project Gutenberg volunteers and employees expend considerable
+effort to identify, do copyright research on, transcribe and proofread
+public domain works in creating the Project Gutenberg-tm
+collection.  Despite these efforts, Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works, and the medium on which they may be stored, may contain
+“Defects,” such as, but not limited to, incomplete, inaccurate or
+corrupt data, transcription errors, a copyright or other intellectual
+property infringement, a defective or damaged disk or other medium, a
+computer virus, or computer codes that damage or cannot be read by
+your equipment.
+
+1.F.2.  LIMITED WARRANTY, DISCLAIMER OF DAMAGES - Except for the “Right
+of Replacement or Refund” described in paragraph 1.F.3, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation, the owner of the Project
+Gutenberg-tm trademark, and any other party distributing a Project
+Gutenberg-tm electronic work under this agreement, disclaim all
+liability to you for damages, costs and expenses, including legal
+fees.  YOU AGREE THAT YOU HAVE NO REMEDIES FOR NEGLIGENCE, STRICT
+LIABILITY, BREACH OF WARRANTY OR BREACH OF CONTRACT EXCEPT THOSE
+PROVIDED IN PARAGRAPH F3.  YOU AGREE THAT THE FOUNDATION, THE
+TRADEMARK OWNER, AND ANY DISTRIBUTOR UNDER THIS AGREEMENT WILL NOT BE
+LIABLE TO YOU FOR ACTUAL, DIRECT, INDIRECT, CONSEQUENTIAL, PUNITIVE OR
+INCIDENTAL DAMAGES EVEN IF YOU GIVE NOTICE OF THE POSSIBILITY OF SUCH
+DAMAGE.
+
+1.F.3.  LIMITED RIGHT OF REPLACEMENT OR REFUND - If you discover a
+defect in this electronic work within 90 days of receiving it, you can
+receive a refund of the money (if any) you paid for it by sending a
+written explanation to the person you received the work from.  If you
+received the work on a physical medium, you must return the medium with
+your written explanation.  The person or entity that provided you with
+the defective work may elect to provide a replacement copy in lieu of a
+refund.  If you received the work electronically, the person or entity
+providing it to you may choose to give you a second opportunity to
+receive the work electronically in lieu of a refund.  If the second copy
+is also defective, you may demand a refund in writing without further
+opportunities to fix the problem.
+
+1.F.4.  Except for the limited right of replacement or refund set forth
+in paragraph 1.F.3, this work is provided to you 'AS-IS' WITH NO OTHER
+WARRANTIES OF ANY KIND, EXPRESS OR IMPLIED, INCLUDING BUT NOT LIMITED TO
+WARRANTIES OF MERCHANTIBILITY OR FITNESS FOR ANY PURPOSE.
+
+1.F.5.  Some states do not allow disclaimers of certain implied
+warranties or the exclusion or limitation of certain types of damages.
+If any disclaimer or limitation set forth in this agreement violates the
+law of the state applicable to this agreement, the agreement shall be
+interpreted to make the maximum disclaimer or limitation permitted by
+the applicable state law.  The invalidity or unenforceability of any
+provision of this agreement shall not void the remaining provisions.
+
+1.F.6.  INDEMNITY - You agree to indemnify and hold the Foundation, the
+trademark owner, any agent or employee of the Foundation, anyone
+providing copies of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works in accordance
+with this agreement, and any volunteers associated with the production,
+promotion and distribution of Project Gutenberg-tm electronic works,
+harmless from all liability, costs and expenses, including legal fees,
+that arise directly or indirectly from any of the following which you do
+or cause to occur: (a) distribution of this or any Project Gutenberg-tm
+work, (b) alteration, modification, or additions or deletions to any
+Project Gutenberg-tm work, and (c) any Defect you cause.
+
+
+Section  2.  Information about the Mission of Project Gutenberg-tm
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm is synonymous with the free distribution of
+electronic works in formats readable by the widest variety of computers
+including obsolete, old, middle-aged and new computers.  It exists
+because of the efforts of hundreds of volunteers and donations from
+people in all walks of life.
+
+Volunteers and financial support to provide volunteers with the
+assistance they need, is critical to reaching Project Gutenberg-tm's
+goals and ensuring that the Project Gutenberg-tm collection will
+remain freely available for generations to come.  In 2001, the Project
+Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation was created to provide a secure
+and permanent future for Project Gutenberg-tm and future generations.
+To learn more about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation
+and how your efforts and donations can help, see Sections 3 and 4
+and the Foundation web page at http://www.pglaf.org.
+
+
+Section 3.  Information about the Project Gutenberg Literary Archive
+Foundation
+
+The Project Gutenberg Literary Archive Foundation is a non profit
+501(c)(3) educational corporation organized under the laws of the
+state of Mississippi and granted tax exempt status by the Internal
+Revenue Service.  The Foundation's EIN or federal tax identification
+number is 64-6221541.  Its 501(c)(3) letter is posted at
+http://pglaf.org/fundraising.  Contributions to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation are tax deductible to the full extent
+permitted by U.S. federal laws and your state's laws.
+
+The Foundation's principal office is located at 4557 Melan Dr. S.
+Fairbanks, AK, 99712., but its volunteers and employees are scattered
+throughout numerous locations.  Its business office is located at
+809 North 1500 West, Salt Lake City, UT 84116, (801) 596-1887, email
+business@pglaf.org.  Email contact links and up to date contact
+information can be found at the Foundation's web site and official
+page at http://pglaf.org
+
+For additional contact information:
+     Dr. Gregory B. Newby
+     Chief Executive and Director
+     gbnewby@pglaf.org
+
+
+Section 4.  Information about Donations to the Project Gutenberg
+Literary Archive Foundation
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm depends upon and cannot survive without wide
+spread public support and donations to carry out its mission of
+increasing the number of public domain and licensed works that can be
+freely distributed in machine readable form accessible by the widest
+array of equipment including outdated equipment.  Many small donations
+($1 to $5,000) are particularly important to maintaining tax exempt
+status with the IRS.
+
+The Foundation is committed to complying with the laws regulating
+charities and charitable donations in all 50 states of the United
+States.  Compliance requirements are not uniform and it takes a
+considerable effort, much paperwork and many fees to meet and keep up
+with these requirements.  We do not solicit donations in locations
+where we have not received written confirmation of compliance.  To
+SEND DONATIONS or determine the status of compliance for any
+particular state visit http://pglaf.org
+
+While we cannot and do not solicit contributions from states where we
+have not met the solicitation requirements, we know of no prohibition
+against accepting unsolicited donations from donors in such states who
+approach us with offers to donate.
+
+International donations are gratefully accepted, but we cannot make
+any statements concerning tax treatment of donations received from
+outside the United States.  U.S. laws alone swamp our small staff.
+
+Please check the Project Gutenberg Web pages for current donation
+methods and addresses.  Donations are accepted in a number of other
+ways including checks, online payments and credit card donations.
+To donate, please visit: http://pglaf.org/donate
+
+
+Section 5.  General Information About Project Gutenberg-tm electronic
+works.
+
+Professor Michael S. Hart is the originator of the Project Gutenberg-tm
+concept of a library of electronic works that could be freely shared
+with anyone.  For thirty years, he produced and distributed Project
+Gutenberg-tm eBooks with only a loose network of volunteer support.
+
+
+Project Gutenberg-tm eBooks are often created from several printed
+editions, all of which are confirmed as Public Domain in the U.S.
+unless a copyright notice is included.  Thus, we do not necessarily
+keep eBooks in compliance with any particular paper edition.
+
+
+Most people start at our Web site which has the main PG search facility:
+
+     http://www.gutenberg.org
+
+This Web site includes information about Project Gutenberg-tm,
+including how to make donations to the Project Gutenberg Literary
+Archive Foundation, how to help produce our new eBooks, and how to
+subscribe to our email newsletter to hear about new eBooks.