Part 31 (1/2)

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 const.i.tute a motive for putting Mr. Crawford out of the way before he could accomplish his purpose.”