Here, as I had been led to believe, I found pleasant, even luxurious accommodations.  The landlord of the inn was smiling and pleasant, although landlord seems an old-fashioned term to apply to the very modern and up-to-date man who received me.

His name was Carstairs, and he had the genial, perceptive manner of a man about town.

“Dastardly shame!” he exclaimed, after he had assured himself of my identity.  “Joseph Crawford was one of our best citizens, one of our finest men.  He hadn’t an enemy in the world, my dear Mr. Burroughs—­not an enemy! generous, kindly nature, affable and friendly with all.”

“But I understand he frowned on his ward’s love affair, Mr. Carstairs.”

“Yes; yes, indeed.  And who wouldn’t?  Young Hall is no fit mate for Florence Lloyd.  He’s a fortune-hunter.  I know the man, and his only ambition is the aggrandizement of his own precious self.”

“Then you don’t consider Miss Lloyd concerned in this crime?”

“Concerned in crime?  Florence Lloyd! why, man, you must be crazy!  The idea is unthinkable!”

I was sorry I had spoken, but I remembered too late that the suspicions which pointed toward Miss Lloyd were probably known only to those who had been in the Crawford house that morning.  As for the townspeople in general, though they knew of the tragedy, they knew very little of its details.

I hastened to assure Mr. Carstairs that I had never seen Miss Lloyd, that I had formed no opinions whatever, and that I was merely repeating what were probably vague and erroneous suspicions of mistakenly-minded people.

At last, behind my locked door, I took from my pocket the newspaper I had brought from Mr. Crawford’s office.

It seemed to me important, from the fact that it was an extra, published late the night before.

An Atlantic liner had met with a serious accident, and an extra had been hastily put forth by one of the most enterprising of our evening papers.  I, myself, had bought one of these extras, about midnight; and the finding of a copy in the office of the murdered man might prove a clue to the criminal.

I then examined carefully the transfer slip I had picked up on the Crawford lawn.  It had been issued after nine o’clock the evening before.  This seemed to me to prove that the holder of that transfer must have been on the Crawford property and near the library veranda late last night, and it seemed to me that this was plain common-sense reasoning, and not mere intuition or divination.  The transfer might have a simple and innocent explanation, but until I could learn of that, I should hold it carefully as a possible clue.

IV

THE INQUEST

Shortly before two o’clock I was back at the Crawford house and found the large library, where the inquest was to be held, already well filled with people.  I took an inconspicuous seat, and turned my attention first to the group that comprised, without a doubt, the members of Mr. Crawford’s household.