His continued requests for me to repeat my questions irritated me beyond endurance. Of course it was a bluff to gain time, but he did it so politely, I couldn't rebuke him.

"Are you engaged to Miss Lloyd?" I repeated.

"No, I think not," he said slowly. "She wants to break it off, and I, as a poor man, should not stand in the way of her making a brilliant marriage. She has many opportunities for such, as her uncle often told me, and I should be selfish indeed, now that she herself is poor, to hold her to her promise to me."

The hypocrite! To lay on Florence the responsibility for breaking the engagement. Truly, she was well rid of him, and I hoped I could convince her of the fact.

"But she is not so poor," I said. "Mr. Philip Crawford told me he intends to provide for her amply. And I'm sure that means a fair-sized fortune, for the Crawfords are generous people."

Gregory Hall's manner changed.

"Did Philip Crawford say that?" he cried. "Are you sure?"

"Of course I'm sure, as he said it to me."

"Then Florence and I may be happy yet," he said; and as I looked him straight in the eye, he had the grace to look ashamed of himself, and, with a rising color, he continued: "I hope you understand me, Mr. Burroughs. No man could ask a girl to marry him if he knew that meant condemning her to comparative poverty."

"No, of course not," said I sarcastically. "Then I assume that, so far as you are concerned, your engagement with Miss Lloyd is not broken?"

"By no means. In fact, I could not desert her just now, when there is a - well, a sort of a cloud over her."

"What do you mean?" I thundered. "There is no cloud over her."

"Well, you know, the gold bag and the yellow rose leaves "

"Be silent! The gold bag has been claimed by its owner. But you are responsible for its presence in this room! You, who brought it from the midnight train, and left it here! You, who also left the late city newspaper here! You, who also dropped two yellow petals from the rose in your buttonhole Gregory Hall seemed to turn to stone as he listened to my words.

He became white, then ashen gray. His hands clinched his chair-arms, and his eyes grew glassy and fixed.

I pushed home my advantage. "And therefore, traced by these undeniable evidences, I know that you are the slayer of Joseph Crawford. You killed your friend, your benefactor, your employer, in order that he might not disinherit the girl whose fortune you wish to acquire by marrying her!"

Though I had spoken in low tones, my own intense emotion made my words emphatic, and as I finished I was perhaps the more excited of the two.

For Hall's composure had returned; his face resumed its natural color; his eyes their normal expression-that of cold indifference.

"Mr. Burroughs," he said quietly, "you must be insane."

"That is no answer to my accusations," I stormed. "I tell you of the most conclusive evidence against yourself, and instead of any attempt to refute it you mildly remark, `you are insane.' It is you who are insane, Mr. Hall, if you think you can escape arrest and trial for the murder of Joseph Crawford."

"Oh, I think I can," was his only answer, with that maddening little smile of his.

"Then where were you on Tuesday night?"

"Excuse me?"

"Where were you on Tuesday night?"

"That I refuse to tell - as I have refused before, and shall always refuse."

"Because you were here, and because you have too much wisdom to try to prove a false alibi."

He looked at me half admiringly, "You are right in that," he said. "It is extremely foolish for any one to fake an alibi, and I certainly never should try to do so."

"That's how I know you were here," I replied triumphantly.

"You do, do you? Well, Mr. Burroughs, I don't pretend to misunderstand you - for Miss Lloyd has told me all about Mrs.