, 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