Part 70

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 prove 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 in my presence, which, if I had dared, I should have been glad to think meant a growing interest in our friendship.

“You have heard all?” I asked, knowing from her manner that she had.

“Yes,” she replied; “Mr. Hall was here for dinner, and then--then he went away to--”

“To prison,” I finished quietly. “Florence, I cannot think he is the murderer of your uncle.”

If she noticed this, my first use of her Christian name, she offered no remonstrance, and I went on,

“To be sure, they have proved that he had motive, means, opportunity, and all that, but it is only indefinite evidence. If he would but tell where he was on Tuesday night, he could so easily free himself. Why will he not tell?”

“I don't know,” she said, looking thoughtful. “But I cannot think he was here, either. When he said good-by to me to-night, he did not seem at all apprehensive. He only said he was arrested wrongfully, and that he would soon be set free again. You know his way of taking everything casually.”

“Yes, I do. And now that you are your uncle's heiress, I suppose he no longer wishes to break the engagement between you and him.”

I said this bitterly, for I loathed the nature that could thus turn about in accordance with the wheel of fortune.

To my surprise, she too spoke bitterly.

“Yes,” she said; “he insists now that we are engaged, and that he never really wanted to break it. He has shown me positively that it is my money that attracts him, and if it were not that I don't want to seem to desert him now, when he is in trouble--”

She paused, and my heart beat rapidly. Could it be that at last she saw Gregory Hall as he really was, and that his mercenary spirit had killed her love for him? At least, she had intimated this, and, forcing myself to be content with that for the present, I said:

“Would you, then, if you could, get him out of this trouble?”

“Gladly. I do not think he killed Uncle Joseph, but I'm sure I do not know who did. Do you?”

“I haven't the least idea,” I answered honestly, for there, in Florence Lloyd's presence, gazing into the depths of her clear eyes, my last, faint suspicion of her wrong-doing faded away. “And it is this total lack of suspicion that makes the case so simple, and therefore so difficult. A more complicated case offers some points on which to build a theory. I do not blame Mr. Goodrich for suspecting Mr. Hall, for there seems to be no one else to suspect.”

Just then Mr. Lemuel Porter dropped in for an evening call. Of course, we talked over the events of the day, and Mr. Porter was almost vehement in his denunciation of the sudden move of the district attorney.

“It's absurd,” he said, “utterly absurd. Gregory Hall never did the thing. I've known Hall for years, and he isn't that sort of a man. I believe Philip Crawford's story, of course, but the murderer, who came into the office after Florence's visit to her uncle, and before Philip arrived, was some stranger from out of town--some man whom none of us know; who had some grievance against Joseph, and who deliberately came and went during that midnight hour.”