Perhaps when Hall came to the office, late that night, Mr. Crawford was already engaged in drawing up the new will, and in order to purloin it Hall had killed him, not knowing that the other will was already destroyed.  And destroyed it must be, for surely Hall had no reason to steal or suppress the will that favored Florence.

As a next move, I decided to interview Mr. Hall.

Such talks as I had had with him so far, had been interrupted and unsatisfactory.  Now I would see him alone, and learn something from his manner and appearance.

I found him, as I had expected, in the office of his late employer.  He was surrounded with papers, and was evidently very busy, but he greeted me with a fair show of cordiality, and offered me a chair.

“I want to talk to you plainly, Mr. Hall,” I said, “and as I see you’re busy, I will be as brief as possible.”

“I’ve been expecting you,” said he calmly.  “In fact, I’m rather surprised that you haven’t been here before.”

“Why?” said I, eying him closely.

“Only because the inquiries made at the inquest amounted to very little, and I assumed you would question all the members of the household again.”

“I’m not sure that’s necessary,” I responded, following his example in adopting a light, casual tone.  “I have no reason to suspect that the servants told other than the exact truth.  I have talked to both the ladies, and now I’ve only a few questions to put to you.”

He looked up, surprised at my self-satisfied air.

“Have you nailed the criminal?” he asked, with a greater show of interest than he had before evinced.

“Not exactly nailed him, perhaps.  But we fancy we are on the scent.”

“Resent what?” he asked, looking blank.

“I didn’t say `resent.’  I said, we are on the scent.”

“Oh, yes.  And in what direction does it lead you?”

“In your direction,” I said, willing to try what effect bluntness might have upon this composed young man.

“I beg your pardon?” he said, as if he hadn’t heard me.

“Evidences are pointing toward you as the criminal,” I said, determined to disturb his composure if I could.

Instead of showing surprise or anger, he gave a slight smile, as one would at an idea too ridiculous to be entertained for an instant.  Somehow, that smile was more convincing to me than any verbal protestation could have been.

Then I realized that the man was doubtless a consummate actor, and he had carefully weighed the value of that supercilious smile against asseverations of innocence.  So I went on: 

“When did you first learn of the accident to the Atlantic liner, the North America?”

“I suppose you mean that question for a trap,” he said coolly; “but I haven’t the least objection to answering it.  I bought a late ‘extra’ in New York City the night of the disaster.”