“It is very complicated,” said the district attorney.

“It is,” I agreed, “and that is why I wish to send for the famous detective, Fleming Stone.”

“Stone!  Nonsense!” exclaimed Mr. Goodrich.  “I have every confidence in your skill, Mr. Burroughs; I would not insult you by calling in another detective.”

“Surely not,” agreed Mr. Porter.  “If you need help, Mr. Burroughs, confer with our local man, Mr. Parmalee.  He’s a pretty clever chap, and I don’t know why you two don’t work more together.”

“We do work together,” said I.  “Mr. Parmalee is both clever and congenial, and we have done our best in the matter.  But the days are going by and little of real importance has been discovered.  However, I haven’t told you as yet, the story of the gold bag.  I have found its owner.”

Of course there were exclamations of surprise at this, but realizing its importance they quietly listened to my story.

With scarcely a word of interruption from my hearers, I told them how I had found the card in the bag, how I had learned about Mrs. Purvis from headquarters, how I had gone to see her, and how it had all resulted in Mrs. Cunningham’s visit to Miss Lloyd that morning.

“Well!” exclaimed Mr. Porter, as I concluded the narrative.  “Well!  Of all things!  Well, I am amazed!  Why, this gives a wide scope of possibilities.  Scores of our people come out on that theatre train every night.”

“But not scores of people would have a motive for putting Joseph Crawford out of the way,” said Mr. Goodrich, who sat perplexedly frowning.

Then, by way of a trump card, I told them of the “extra” edition of the evening paper I had found in the office.

The district attorney stared at me, but still sat frowning and silent.

But Mr. Porter expressed his wonderment.

“How it all fits in!” he cried.  “The bag, known to be from that late train; the paper, known to have been bought late in New York!  Burroughs, you’re a wonder!  Indeed, we don’t want any Fleming Stone, when you can do such clever sleuthing as this.”

I stared at him.  Nothing I had done seemed to me “clever sleuthing,” nor did my simple discoveries seem to me of any great significance.

“I don’t like it,” said Mr. Goodrich, at last.  “Everything so far known, both early and late information, seems to me to point to Gregory Hall and Florence Lloyd in collusion.”

“But you said,” I interrupted, “that Miss Lloyd’s confession that she did go down-stairs late at night was in her favor.”

“I said that before I knew about this bag story.  Now I think the case is altered, and the two who had real motive are undoubtedly the suspects.”

“But they had no motive,” said Mr. Porter, “since Florence doesn’t inherit the fortune.”

“But they thought she did,” explained the district attorney, “and so the motive was just as strong.  Mr. Burroughs, I wish you would confer with Mr. Parmalee, and both of you set to work on the suggestions I have advanced.  It is a painful outlook, to be sure, but justice is inexorable.  You agree with me, Mr. Porter?”