h the case, or our desire to learn where you were on Tuesday night."

"Pardon me, Mr. Goodrich; I didn't hear all that you said."

Bluffing again, thought I; and, truly, it seemed to me rather a clever
way to gain time for consideration, and yet let his answers appear
spontaneous.

The district attorney repeated his question, and now Gregory Hall
answered deliberately,

"I still refuse to tell you where I was. It in no way affects the case;
it is a private matter of my own. I was in New York City from the time
I left West Sedgwick at six o'clock on Monday, until I returned the next
morning. Further than that I will give no account of my doings."

"Then we must assume you were engaged in some occupation of which you
are ashamed to tell."

Hall shrugged his shoulders. "You may assume what you choose," he said.
"I was not here, I had no hand in Mr. Crawford's death, and knew nothing
of it until my return next day."

"You knew Mr. Crawford kept a revolver in his desk. You must know it is
not there now."

Hall looked troubled.

"I know nothing about that revolver," he said. "I saw it the day Mr.
Philip Crawford brought it there, but I have never seen it since."

This sounded honest enough, but if he were the criminal, he would, of
course, make these same avowals.

"Well, Mr. Hall," said the district attorney, with an air of finality,
"we suspect you. We hold that you had motive, opportunity, and means for
this crime. Therefore, unless you can prove an alibi for Tuesday night,
and bring witnesses to grove where you, were, we must arrest you, on
suspicion, for the murder of Joseph Crawford."

Gregory Hall deliberated silently for a few moments, then he said:

"I am innocent. But I persist in my refusal to allow intrusion on my
private and personal affairs. Arrest me if you will, but you will yet
learn your mistake."

I can never explain it, even to myself, but something in the man's tone
and manner convinced me, even against my own will, that he spoke the
truth.

XX. FLEMING STONE

The news of Gregory Hall's arrest flew through the town like wildfire.

That evening I went to call on Florence Lloyd, though I had little hope
that she would see me.

To my surprise, however, she welcomed me almost eagerly, and, though I
knew she wanted to see me only for what legal help I might give her, I
was glad even of this.

And yet her manner was far from impersonal. Indeed, she showed a slight
embarrassment