“No, sir,” he said, “I can’t tell you anythin’ about a stray transfer.  But one thing I can tell you.  That ’ere murder was committed of a Toosday night, wasn’t it?”

“Yes,” I returned.

“Well, that ’ere parlyvoo vally of Mr. Crawford’s, he’s rid, on my car ’most every Toosday night fer weeks and weeks.  It’s his night off.  And last Toosday night he didn’t ride with me.  Now I don’t know’s that means anything, but agin it might.”

It didn’t seem to me that it meant much, for certainly Louis was not under the slightest suspicion.  And yet as I came to think about it, if that had been Louis’s transfer and if he had dropped it near the office veranda, he had lied when he said that he went round the other side of the house to reach the back entrance.

It was all very vague, but it narrowed itself down to the point that if that were Louis’s transfer it could be proved; and if not it must be investigated further.  For a trolley transfer, issued at a definite hour, and dropped just outside the scene of the crime was certainly a clue of importance.

I proceeded to the Crawford house, and though I intended to have a talk with Louis later, I asked first for Miss Lloyd.  Surely, if I were to carry on my investigation of the case, in her interests, I must have a talk with her.  I had not intruded before, but now that the funeral was over, the real work of tracking the criminal must be commenced, and as one of the principal characters in the sad drama, Miss Lloyd must play her part.

Until I found myself in her presence I had not actually realized how much I wanted this interview.

I was sure that what she said, her manner and her facial expression, must either blot out or strengthen whatever shreds of suspicion I held against her.

“Miss Lloyd,” I began, “I am, as you know, a detective; and I am here in Sedgwick for the purpose of discovering the cowardly assassin of your uncle.  I assume that you wish to aid me in any way you can.  Am I right in this?”

Instead of the unhesitating affirmative I had expected, the girl spoke irresolutely.  “Yes,” she said, “but I fear I cannot help you, as I know nothing about it.”

The fact that this reply did not sound to me as a rebuff, for which it was doubtless intended, I can only account for by my growing appreciation of her wonderful beauty.

Instead of funereal black, Miss Lloyd was clad all in white, and her simple wool gown gave her a statuesque appearance; which, however, was contradicted by the pathetic weariness in her face and the sad droop of her lovely mouth.  Her helplessness appealed to me, and, though she assumed an air of composure, I well knew it was only assumed, and that with some difficulty.

Resolving to make it as easy as possible for her, I did not ask her to repeat the main facts, which I already knew.

“Then, Miss Lloyd,” I said, in response to her disclaimer, “if you cannot help me, perhaps I can help you.  I have reason to think that possibly Louis, your late uncle’s valet, did not tell the truth in his testimony at the coroner’s inquest.  I have reason to think that instead of going around the house to the back entrance as he described, he went around the other side, thus passing your uncle’s office.”