“There is no question of love or revenge in this instance.  And as for money, as I am the one who has profited financially, suspicion should rest on me.”

“Absurd!” I said.

“Yes, it is absurd,” he went on, “for had I desired Joseph’s fortune, I need not have killed him to acquire it.  He told me the day before he died that he intended to disinherit Florence, and make me his heir, unless she broke with that secretary of his.  I tried to dissuade him from this step, for we are not a mercenary lot, we Crawfords, and I thought I had made him reconsider his decision.  Now, as it turns out, he persisted in his resolve, and was only prevented from carrying it out by this midnight assassin.  We must find that villain, Mr. Burroughs!  Do not consider expense; do anything you can to track him down.”

“Then, Mr. Crawford,” said I, “if you do not mind the outlay, I advise that we send for Fleming Stone.  He is a detective of extraordinary powers, and I am quite willing to surrender the case to him.”

Philip Crawford eyed me keenly.

“You give up easily, young man,” he said banteringly.

“I know it seems so,” I replied, “but I have my reasons.  One is, that Fleming Stone makes important deductions from seemingly unimportant clues; and he holds that unless these clues are followed immediately, they are lost sight of and great opportunities are gone.”

“H’m,” mused Philip Crawford, stroking his strong, square chin.  “I don’t care much for these spectacular detectives.  Your man, I suppose, would glance at the gold bag, and at once announce the age, sex, and previous condition of servitude of its owner.”

“Just what I have thought, Mr. Crawford.  I’m sure he could do just that.”

“And that’s all the good it would do!  That bag doesn’t belong to the criminal.”

“How do you know?”

“By common-sense.  No woman came to the house in the dead of night and shot my brother, and then departed, taking her revolver with her.  And again, granting a woman did have nerve and strength enough to do that, such a woman is not going off leaving her gold bag behind her as evidence!”

This speech didn’t affect me much.  It was pure conjecture.  Women are uncertain creatures, at best; and a woman capable of murder would be equally capable of losing her head afterward, and leaving circumstantial evidence behind her.

I was sorry Mr. Crawford didn’t seem to take to the notion of sending for Stone.  I wasn’t weakening in the case so far as my confidence in my own ability was concerned; but I could see no direction to look except toward Florence Lloyd or Gregory Hall, or both.  And so I was ready to give up.

“What do you think of Gregory Hall?” I said suddenly.

“As a man or as a suspect?” inquired Mr. Crawford.

“Both.”

“Well, as a man, I think he’s about the average, ordinary young American, of the secretary type.  He has little real ambition, but he has had a good berth with Joseph, and he has worked fairly hard to keep it.  As a suspect, the notion is absurd.  He wasn’t even in West Sedgwick.”