The Gold Bag Part 37

"I didn't say 'resent.' I said, we are on the scent."

"Oh, yes. And in what direction does it lead you?"

"In your direction," I said, willing to try what effect bluntness might have upon this composed young man.

"I beg your pardon?" he said, as if he hadn't heard me.

"Evidences are pointing toward you as the criminal," I said, determined to disturb his composure if I could.

Instead of showing surprise or anger, he gave a slight smile, as one would at an idea too ridiculous to be entertained for an instant.

Somehow, that smile was more convincing to me than any verbal protestation could have been.

Then I realized that the man was doubtless a consummate actor, and he had carefully weighed the value of that supercilious smile against a.s.severations of innocence. So I went on:

"When did you first learn of the accident to the Atlantic liner, the North America?"

"I suppose you mean that question for a trap," he said coolly; "but I haven't the least objection to answering it. I bought a late 'extra' in New York City the night of the disaster."

"At what hour did you buy it?"

"I don't know exactly. It was some time after midnight."

Really, there was little use in questioning this man. If he had bought his paper at half-past eleven, as I felt positive he did, and if he had come out to Sedgwick on the twelve o'clock train, he was quite capable of answering me in this casual way, to throw me off the track.

Well, I would try once again.

"Excuse me, Mr. Hall, but I am obliged to ask you some personal questions now. Are you engaged to Miss Lloyd?"

"I beg your pardon?"

His continued requests for me to repeat my questions irritated me beyond endurance. Of course it was a bluff to gain time, but he did it so politely, I couldn't rebuke him.

"Are you engaged to Miss Lloyd?" I repeated.

"No, I think not," he said slowly. "She wants to break it off, and I, as a poor man, should not stand in the way of her making a brilliant marriage. She has many opportunities for such, as her uncle often told me, and I should be selfish indeed, now that she herself is poor, to hold her to her promise to me."

The hypocrite! To lay on Florence the responsibility for breaking the engagement. Truly, she was well rid of him, and I hoped I could convince her of the fact.

"But she is not so poor," I said. "Mr. Philip Crawford told me he intends to provide for her amply. And I'm sure that means a fair-sized fortune, for the Crawfords are generous people."

Gregory Hall's manner changed.

"Did Philip Crawford say that?" he cried. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, as he said it to me."

"Then Florence and I may be happy yet," he said; and as I looked him straight in the eye, he had the grace to look ashamed of himself, and, with a rising color, he continued: "I hope you understand me, Mr.

Burroughs. No man could ask a girl to marry him if he knew that meant condemning her to comparative poverty."

"No, of course not," said I sarcastically. "Then I a.s.sume that, so far as you are concerned, your engagement with Miss Lloyd is not broken?"

"By no means. In fact, I could not desert her just now, when there is a--well, a sort of a cloud over her."

"What do you mean?" I thundered. "There is no cloud over her."

"Well, you know, the gold bag and the yellow rose leaves..."

"Be silent! The gold bag has been claimed by its owner. But you are responsible for its presence in this room! You, who brought it from the midnight train, and left it here! You, who also left the late city newspaper here! You, who also dropped two yellow petals from the rose in your b.u.t.tonhole."

Gregory Hall seemed to turn to stone as he listened to my words. He became white, then ashen gray. His hands clinched his chair-arms, and his eyes grew gla.s.sy and fixed.

I pushed home my advantage. "And therefore, traced by these undeniable evidences, I know that you are the slayer of Joseph Crawford. You killed your friend, your benefactor, your employer, in order that he might not disinherit the girl whose fortune you wish to acquire by marrying her!"

Though I had spoken in low tones, my own intense emotion made my words emphatic, and as I finished I was perhaps the more excited of the two.

For Hall's composure had returned; his face resumed its natural color; his eyes their normal expression--that of cold indifference.

"Mr. Burroughs," he said quietly, "you must be insane."

"That is no answer to my accusations," I stormed. "I tell you of the most conclusive evidence against yourself, and instead of any attempt to refute it you mildly remark, 'you are insane.' It is you who are insane, Mr. Hall, if you think you can escape arrest and trial for the murder of Joseph Crawford."

"Oh, I think I can," was his only answer, with that maddening little smile of his.

"Then where were you on Tuesday night?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where were you on Tuesday night?"

"That I refuse to tell--as I have refused before, and shall always refuse."

"Because you were here, and because you have too much wisdom to try to prove a false alibi."

He looked at me half admiringly. "You are right in that," he said. "It is extremely foolish for any one to fake an alibi, and I certainly never should try to do so."

"That's how I know you were here," I replied triumphantly.

"You do, do you? Well, Mr. Burroughs, I don't pretend to misunderstand you--for Miss Lloyd has told me all about Mrs. Cunningham and her bag that she left in the train. But I will say this if you think I came out on that midnight train, go and ask the conductor. He knows me, and as I often do come out on that train, he may remember that I was not on it that night. And while you're about it, and since you consider that late newspaper a clue, also ask him who was on the train that might have come here afterward."

If this was bluffing, it was a very clever bluff, and magnificently carried out. Probably his hope was that the conductor could not say definitely as to Hall's presence on the late train, and any other names he might mention would only complicate matters.

But before I left I made one more attempt to get at this man's secret.

"Mr. Hall," I began, "I am not unfriendly. In fact, for Miss Lloyd's sake as well as your own, I should like to remove every shadow of suspicion that hovers near either or both of you."

"I know that," he said quickly. "Don't think I can't see through your 'friendliness' to Miss Lloyd! But be careful there, Mr. Burroughs. A man does not allow too many 'friendly' glances toward the girl he is engaged to."

So he had discovered my secret! Well, perhaps it was a good thing. Now I could fight for Florence more openly if necessary.