ntments. Surely Joseph
Crawford must have been a man of fine calibre and refined tastes to
enjoy working in such an atmosphere. But I had only two short hours
before the inquest, and I had many things to do, so for the moment I
set myself assiduously to work examining the room again. As in my first
examination, I did no microscopic scrutinizing; but I looked over the
papers on and in the desk, I noted conditions in the desk of Mr. Hall,
the secretary, and I paid special attention to the position of the
furniture and windows, my thoughts all directed to an intruder from
outside on Mr. Crawford's midnight solitude.

I stepped through the long French window on to the veranda, and after
a thorough examination of the veranda, I went on down the steps to the
gravel walk. Against a small rosebush, just off the walk, I saw a small
slip of pink paper. I picked it up, hardly daring to hope it might be a
clue, and I saw it was a trolley transfer, whose punched holes indicated
that it had been issued the evening before. It might or might not be
important as evidence, but I put it carefully away in my note-book for
later consideration.

Returning to the library I took the newspaper which I had earlier
discovered from the drawer where I had hidden it, and after one more
swift but careful glance round the room, I went away, confident that I
had not done my work carelessly.

I left the Crawford house and walked along the beautiful avenue to the
somewhat pretentious inn bearing the name of Sedgwick Arms.

Here, as I had been led to believe, I found pleasant, even luxurious
accommodations. The landlord of the inn was smiling and pleasant,
although landlord seems an old-fashioned term to apply to the very
modern and up-to-date man who received me.

His name was Carstairs, and he had the genial, perceptive manner of a
man about town.

"Dastardly shame!" he exclaimed, after he had assured himself of my
identity. "Joseph Crawford was one of our best citizens, one of our
finest men. He hadn't an enemy in the world, my dear Mr. Burroughs--not
an enemy! generous, kindly nature, affable and friendly with all."

"But I understand he frowned on his ward's love affair, Mr. Carstairs."

"Yes; yes, indeed. And who wouldn't? Young Hall is no fit mate for
Florence Lloyd. He's a fortune-hunter. I know the man, and his only
ambition is the aggrandizement of his own precious self."

"Then you don't consider Miss Lloyd concerned in this crime?"