The Gold Bag Part 17

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, n.o.body 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.

a.s.suming 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 a.s.sumption 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 grat.i.tude 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 a.s.sume 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 a.s.sure 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 att.i.tude 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."