But until I could make some further effort to find out about the missing rose I concluded to say nothing of it to anybody.  I was not bound to tell Parmalee any points I might discover, for though colleagues, we were working independently of each other.

But as I was anxious to gather any side lights possible, I determined to go for a short conference with the district attorney, in whose hands the case had been put after the coroner’s inquest.

He was a man named Goodrich, a quiet mannered, untalkative person, and as might be expected he had made little or no progress as yet.

He said nothing could be done until after the funeral and the reading of the will, which ceremonies would occur the next afternoon.

I talked but little to Mr. Goodrich, yet I soon discovered that he strongly suspected Miss Lloyd of the crime, either as principal or accessory.

“But I can’t believe it,” I objected.  “A girl, delicately brought up, in refined and luxurious surroundings, does not deliberately commit an atrocious crime.”

“A woman thwarted in her love affair will do almost anything,” declared Mr. Goodrich.  “I have had more experience than you, my boy, and I advise you not to bank too much on the refined and luxurious surroundings.  Sometimes such things foster crime instead of preventing it.  But the truth will come out, and soon, I think.  The evidence that seems to point to Miss Lloyd can be easily proved or disproved, once we get at the work in earnest.  That coroner’s jury was made up of men who were friends and neighbors of Mr. Crawford.  They were so prejudiced by sympathy for Miss Lloyd, and indignation at the unknown criminal, that they couldn’t give unbiased judgment.  But we will yet see justice done.  If Miss Lloyd is innocent, we can prove it.  But remember the provocation she was under.  Remember the opportunity she had, to visit her uncle alone in his office, after every one else in the house was asleep.  Remember that she had a motive—­a strong motive—­and no one else had.”

“Except Mr. Gregory Hall,” I said meaningly.

“Yes; I grant he had the same motive.  But he is known to have left town at six that evening, and did not return until nearly noon the next day.  That lets him out.”

“Yes, unless he came back at midnight, and then went back to the city again.”

“Nonsense!” said Mr. Goodrich.  “That’s fanciful.  Why, the latest train—­the theatre train, as we call it—­gets in at one o’clock, and it’s always full of our society people returning from gayeties in New York.  He would have been seen had he come on that train, and there is no later one.”

I didn’t stay to discuss the matter further.  Indeed, Mr. Goodrich had made me feel that my theories were fanciful.

But whatever my theories might be there were still facts to be investigated.

Remembering my determination to examine that gold bag more thoroughly I asked Mr. Goodrich to let me see it, for of course, as district attorney, it was now in his possession.