Awaiting us were several people.  The district attorney, of course, and Lawyer Randolph.  Also Mr. Hamilton and Mr. Porter, who had been asked to be present.  Gregory Hall was there, too, and from his crestfallen expression, I couldn’t help thinking that he had had an unsatisfactory interview with Florence

As we all sat round the library, Fleming Stone was the principal speaker.

He said:  “I have come here at Miss Lloyd’s request, to discover, if possible, the murderer of her uncle, Mr. Joseph Crawford.  I have learned the identity of the assassin, and, if you all wish me to, I will now divulge it.”

“We do wish you to, Mr. Stone,” said Mr. Goodrich, and his voice trembled a little, for he knew not where the blow might fall.  But after Fleming Stone’s wonderful detective work in the case of Gregory Hall, the district attorney felt full confidence in his powers.

Sitting quietly by the library table, with the eyes of all the company upon him, Fleming Stone said, in effect, to them just what he had said to me.  He told of the revolver in the drawer with the financial papers.  He told how the midnight visitor must have been some friend or neighbor, whose coming would in no way startle or alarm Mr. Crawford, and whose interest in the question of stocks was desperate.

And then Fleming Stone turned suddenly to Lemuel Porter, and said:  “Shall I go on, Mr. Porter, or will you confess here and now?”

It was as if a thunderbolt had fallen.  Hitherto unsuspected, the guilt of Lemuel Porter was now apparent beyond all doubt.  White-faced and shaking, his burning eyes glared at Fleming Stone.

“What are you?” he whispered, in hoarse, hissing tones.  “I feared you, and I was right to fear you.  I have heard of you before.  I tried to prevent your coming here, but I could not.  And I knew, when you came, that I was doomed—­doomed!

“Yes,” he went on, looking around at the startled faces.  “Yes, I killed Joseph Crawford.  If I had not, he would have ruined me financially.  Randolph knows that—­and Philip Crawford, too.  I had no thought of murder in my heart.  I came here late that night to renew the request I had made in my earlier visit that evening—­that Joseph Crawford would unload his X.Y. stock gradually, and in that way save me.  I had overtraded; I had pyramided my paper profits until my affairs were in such a state that a sudden drop of ten points would wipe me out entirely.  But Joseph Crawford was adamant to my entreaties.  He said he would see to it that at the opening of the market the next morning X.Y. stock should be hammered down out of sight.  Details are unnecessary.  You lawyers and financial men understand.  It was in his power to ruin or to save me and he chose to ruin me.  I know, why, but that concerns no one here.  Then, as by chance, he moved a paper in the drawer, and I saw the pistol.  In a moment of blind rage I grasped it and shot him.  Death