The Gold Bag Part 40

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 wis.h.i.+ng to s.h.i.+rk 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 att.i.tude, "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 a.s.sume you were engaged in some occupation of which you are ashamed to tell."

Hall shrugged his shoulders. "You may a.s.sume 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 grove 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