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.

"You are right, Mr. Hall," I went on. "I hold Miss Lloyd in very high
esteem, and I assure you, as man to man, that so long as you and she are
betrothed, neither of you will have cause to look on me as other than a
detective earnest in his work in your behalf."

"Thank you," said Hall, a little taken aback by my frankness.

I went away soon after that, and without quizzing him any further,
for, though I still suspected him, I realized that he would never say
anything to incriminate himself.

The theory that the criminal was some one who came in on that midnight
train was plausible indeed; but what a scope it offered!

Why, a total stranger to Sedgwick might have come and gone, entirely
unobserved, in the crowd.

It was with little hope, therefore, that I arranged for an interview
with the conductor of the train.

He lived in Hunterton, a few stations from West Sedgwick, and, after
ascertaining by telephone that he could see me the next day, I went to
his house.

"Well, no," he replied, after thinking over my query a