But Mr. Monroe detained me a moment, to present me to a tall, fine-looking man who had just come in.

He proved to be Philip Crawford, a brother of Joseph, and I at once observed a strong resemblance between their two faces.

“I am glad to meet you, Mr. Burroughs,” he said.  “Mr. Monroe tells me you are a clever and experienced detective, and I trust you can help us to avenge this dastardly crime.  I am busy with some important matters just now, but later I shall be glad to confer with you, and be of any help I can in your investigation.”

I looked at Mr. Philip Crawford curiously.  Of course I didn’t expect him to give way to emotional grief, but it jarred on me to hear him refer to his brother’s tragic death in such cold tones, and with such a businesslike demeanor.

However, I realized I did not know the man at all, and this attitude might be due to his effort in concealing his real feelings.

He looked very like his brother Joseph, and I gathered from the appearance of both men, and the manner of Philip, that the Crawford nature was one of repression and self-control.  Moreover, I knew nothing of the sentiments of the two brothers, and it might easily be that they were not entirely in sympathy.

I thanked him for his offer of help, and then as he volunteered no further observations, I excused myself and proceeded alone to the library.

As I entered the great room and closed the door behind me, I was again impressed by the beauty and luxury of the appointments.  Surely Joseph Crawford must have been a man of fine calibre and refined tastes to enjoy working in such an atmosphere.  But I had only two short hours before the inquest, and I had many things to do, so for the moment I set myself assiduously to work examining the room again.  As in my first examination, I did no microscopic scrutinizing; but I looked over the papers on and in the desk, I noted conditions in the desk of Mr. Hall, the secretary, and I paid special attention to the position of the furniture and windows, my thoughts all directed to an intruder from outside on Mr. Crawford’s midnight solitude.

I stepped through the long French window on to the veranda, and after a thorough examination of the veranda, I went on down the steps to the gravel walk.  Against a small rosebush, just off the walk, I saw a small slip of pink paper.  I picked it up, hardly daring to hope it might be a clue, and I saw it was a trolley transfer, whose punched holes indicated that it had been issued the evening before.  It might or might not be important as evidence, but I put it carefully away in my note-book for later consideration.

Returning to the library I took the newspaper which I had earlier discovered from the drawer where I had hidden it, and after one more swift but careful glance round the room, I went away, confident that I had not done my work carelessly.

I left the Crawford house and walked along the beautiful avenue to the somewhat pretentious inn bearing the name of Sedgwick Arms.