The Gold Bag Part 31

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."

"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 sc.r.a.p of evidence to point to him."

I was relieved beyond all words at the hearty a.s.surance 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.