“Last Tuesday night I came out from New York on that midnight train that reaches West Sedgwick station at one o’clock.  In the train I did not notice especially who sat near me, but when I reached our station and started to leave the car, I noticed a gold bag in the seat ahead.  I picked it up, and, with a half-formed intention of handing it to the conductor, I left the train.  But as I stepped off I did not see the conductor, and, though I looked about for him, he did not appear, and the train moved on.  I looked in the station, but the ticket agent was not visible, and as the hour was so late I slipped the bag into my pocket, intending to hand it over to the railroad authorities next morning.  In fact, I thought little about it, for I was very much perturbed over some financial considerations.  I had been reading my newspaper all the way out, from the city.  It was an `extra,’ with the account of the steamship accident.”

Here Mr. Crawford looked at me, as much as to say, “There’s your precious newspaper clue,” but his manner was indicative only of sadness and grief; he had no cringing air as of a murderer.

“However, I merely skimmed the news about the steamer, so interested was I in they stock market reports.  I needn’t now tell the details, but I knew that Joseph had a `corner’ in X.Y. stock.  I was myself a heavy investor in it, and I began to realize that I must see Joseph at once, and learn his intended actions for the next day.  If he threw his stock on the market, there would be a drop of perhaps ten points and I should be a large loser, if, indeed, I were not entirely wiped out.  So I went from the train straight to my brother’s home.  When I reached the gate, I saw there was a low light in his office, so I went round that way, instead of to the front door.  As I neared the veranda, and went up the steps, I drew from my overcoat pocket the newspaper, and, feeling the gold bag there also, I drew that out, thinking to show it to Joseph.  As I look back now, I think it occurred to me that the bag might be Florence’s; I had seen her carry one like it.  But, as you can readily understand, I gave no coherent thought to the bag, as my mind was full of the business matter.  The French window was open, and I stepped inside.”

Mr. Crawford paused here, but he gave way to no visible emotion.  Ile was like a man with an inexorable duty to perform, and no wish to stop until it was finished.

But truth was stamped unmistakably in every word and every look.

“Only the desk light was turned on, but that gave light enough for me to see my brother sitting dead in his chair.  I satisfied myself that he was really dead, and then, in a sort of daze, I looked about the room.  Though I felt benumbed and half unconscious, physically, my thoughts worked rapidly.  On the desk before him I saw his will.”

An irrepressible exclamation from Mr. Randolph was the only sound that greeted this astonishing statement.