Mr. Porter was almost vehement in his denunciation of the sudden move of the district attorney.
"It's absurd," he said, "utterly absurd. Gregory Hall never did the thing. I've known Hall for years, and he isn't that sort of a man. I believe Philip Crawford's story, of course, but the murderer, who came into the office after Florence's visit to her uncle, and before Philip arrived, was some stranger from out of town—some man whom none of us know; who had some grievance against Joseph, and who deliberately came and went during that midnight hour."
I agreed with Mr. Porter. I had thought all along it was some one unknown to the Sedgwick people, but some one well known to Joseph Crawford. For, had it been an ordinary burglar, the victim would at least have raised a protecting hand.
"Of course Hall will be set free at once," continued Mr. Porter, "but to arrest him was a foolish thing to do."
"Still, he ought to prove his alibi," I said.
"Very well, then; make him prove it. Give him the third degree, if necessary, and find out where he was on Tuesday night."
"I doubt if they could get it out of him," I observed, "if he continues determined not to tell."
"Then he deserves his fate," said Mr. Porter, a little petulantly. "He can free himself by a word. If he refuses to do so it's his own business."
"But I'd like to help him," said Florence, almost timidly. "Is there no way I can do so, Mr. Burroughs?"
"Indeed there is," I said. "You are a rich woman now; use some of your wealth to employ the services of Fleming Stone, and I can assure you the truth will be discovered."
"Indeed I will," said Florence. "Please send for him at once."
"Nonsense!" said Mr. Porter. "It isn't necessary at all. Mr. Burroughs here, and young Parmalee, are all the detectives we need. Get Hall to free himself, as he can easily do, and then set to work in earnest to run down the real villain."
"No, Mr. Porter," said Florence, with firmness; "Gregory will not tell his secret, whatever it is. I know his stubborn nature. He'll stay in prison until he's freed, as he is sure he will be, but he won't tell what he has determined not to divulge. No, I am glad I can do something definite at last toward avenging Uncle Joseph's death. Please send for Mr. Stone, Mr. Burroughs, and I will gladly pay his fees and expenses." Mr. Porter expostulated further, but to no avail. Florence insisted on sending for the great detective.
So I sent for him.
He came two days later, and in the interval nothing further had been learned from Gregory Hall. The man was an enigma to me. He was calm and impassive as ever. Courteous, though never cordial, and apparently without the least apprehension of ever being convicted for the crime which had caused his arrest.
Indeed, he acted just as an innocent man would act; innocent of the murder, that is, but resolved to conceal his whereabouts of Tuesday night, whatever that resolve might imply.
To me, it did not imply crime. Something he wished to conceal, certainly; but I could not think a criminal would act so. A criminal is usually ready with an alibi, whether it can be proved or not.
When Fleming Stone arrived I met him at the station and took him at once to the inn, where I had engaged rooms for him.
We first had a long conversation alone, in which I told him, everything I knew concerning the murder.
"When did it happen?" he asked, for, though he had read some of the newspaper accounts, the date had escaped him.
I told him, and added, "Why, I was called here just after I left you at the Metropolis Hotel that morning. Don't you remember, you deduced a lot of information from a pair of shoes which were waiting to be cleaned?"
"Yes, I remember," said Stone, smiling a little at the recollection.
"And I tried to make similar deductions from the gold bag and the newspaper, but I couldn't do it. I bungled matters every time. My deductions are mostly from the witnesses' looks or tones when giving evidence."
"On the stand?"
"Not necessarily on the stand. I've learned much from talking to the principals informally."
"And where do your suspicions point?"
"Nowhere. I've suspected Florence Lloyd and Gregory Hall, in turn, and in collusion; but now I suspect neither of them."
"Why not Hall?"
"His manner is too frank and unconcerned."
"A good bluff for a criminal to use."
"Then he won't tell where he was that night."
"If he is the murderer, he can't tell. A false alibi is so easily riddled. It's rather clever to keep doggedly silent; but what does he say is his reason?"
"He won't give any reason. He has determined to keep up that calm, indifferent pose, and though it is aggravating, I must admit it serves his purpose well."
"How did they find him the morning after the murder?"
"Let me see; I believe the coroner said he telephoned first to Hall's club. But the steward said Hall didn't stay there, as there was no vacant room, and that he had stayed all night at a hotel."
"What hotel?"
"I don't know. The coroner asked the steward, but he didn't know."
"Didn't he find out from Hall, afterward?"
"I don't know, Stone; perhaps the coroner asked him, but if he did, I doubt if Hall told. It didn't seem to me important."
"Burroughs, my son, you should have learned every detail of Hall's doings that night."
"But if he were not in West Sedgwick, what difference could it possibly make where he was?"
"One never knows what difference anything will make until the difference is made. That's oracular, but it means more than it sounds. However, go on."
I went on, and I even told him what Florence had told me concerning the possibility of Hall's interest in another woman.
"At last we are getting to it," said Stone; "why in the name of all good detectives, didn't you hunt up that other woman?"
"But she is perhaps only a figment of Miss Lloyd's brain."
"Figments of the brains of engaged young ladies are apt to have a solid foundation of flesh and blood. I think much could be learned concerning Mr. Hall's straying fancy. But tell me again about his attitude toward Miss Lloyd, in the successive developments of the will question."
Fleming Stone was deeply interested as I rehearsed how, when Florence was supposed to be penniless, he wished to break the engagement. When Philip Crawford offered to provide for her, Mr. Hall was uncertain; but when the will was found, and Florence was known to inherit all her uncle's property, then Gregory Hall not only held her to the engagement, but said he had never wished to break it.
"H'm," said Stone. "Pretty clear that the young man is a fortune-hunter."
"He is," I agreed. "I felt sure of that from the first."
"And he is now under arrest, calmly waiting for some one to prove his innocence, so he can marry the heiress."
"That's about the size of it," I said. "But I don't think Florence is quite as much in love with him as she was. She seems to have realized his mercenary spirit."
Perhaps an undue interest in my voice or manner disclosed to this astute man the state of my own affections, for he gave me a quizzical glance, and said, "O-ho! sits the wind in that quarter?"
"Yes," I said, determined to be frank with him. "It does. I want you, to free Gregory Hall, if he's innocent. Then if, for any reason, Miss Lloyd sees fit to dismiss him, I shall most certainly try to win her affections. As I came to this determination when she was supposed to be penniless, I can scarcely be accused of fortune-hunting myself."
"Indeed,