“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 downstairs 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
