nd 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 assume 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 buttonhole."

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 glassy 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