FLEMING STONE

The news of Gregory Hall's arrest flew through the town like wildfire.

That evening I went to call on Florence Lloyd, though I had little hope that she would see me.

To my surprise, however, she welcomed me almost eagerly, and, though I knew she wanted to see me only for what legal help I might give her, I was glad even of this.

And yet her manner was far from impersonal. Indeed, she showed a slight embarrassment in my presence, which, if I had dared, I should have been glad to think meant a growing interest in our friendship.

"You have heard all?" I asked, knowing from her manner that she had.

"Yes," she replied; "Mr. Hall was here for dinner, and then - then he went away to - "

"To prison," I finished quietly. "Florence, I cannot think he is the murderer of your uncle."

If she noticed this, my first use of her Christian name, she offered no remonstrance, and I went on "To be sure, they have proved that he had motive, means, opportunity, and all that, but it is only indefinite evidence.

If he would but tell where he was on Tuesday night, he could so easily free himself. Why will he not tell?"

"I don't know," she said, looking thoughtful. "But I cannot think he was here, either. When he said good-by to me to-night, he did not seem at all apprehensive. He only said he was arrested wrongfully, and that he would soon be set free again.

You know his way of taking everything casually."

"Yes, I do. And now that you are your uncle's heiress, I suppose he no longer wishes to break the engagement between you and him."

I said this bitterly, for I loathed the nature that could thus turn about in accordance with the wheel of fortune.

To my surprise, she too spoke bitterly.

"Yes," she said; "he insists now that we are engaged, and that he never rally wanted to break it. He has shown me positively that it is my money that attracts him, and if it were not that I don't want to seem to desert him now, when he is in trouble - "

She paused, and my heart beat rapidly. Could it be that at last she saw Gregory Hall as he really was, and that his mercenary spirit had killed her love for him? At least, she had intimated this, and, forcing myself to be content with that for the present, I said:

"Would you, then, if you could, get him out of this trouble?"

"Gladly. I do not think he killed Uncle Joseph, but I'm sure I do not know who did. Do you?"

"I haven't the least idea," I answered honestly, for there, in Florence Lloyd's presence, gazing into the depths of her clear eyes, my last, faint suspicion of her wrong-doing faded away.

"And it is this total lack of suspicion that makes the case so simple, and therefore so difficult. A more complicated case offers some points on which to build a theory. I do not blame Mr. Goodrich for suspecting Mr. Hall, for there seems to be no one else to suspect."

Just then Mr. Lemuel Porter dropped in for an evening call. Of course, we talked over the events of the day, and Mr. Porter was almost vehement in his denunciation of the sudden move of the district attorney.

"It's absurd," he said, "utterly absurd. Gregory Hall never did the thing. I've known Hall for years, and he isn't that sort of a man. I believe Philip Crawford's story, of course, but the murderer, who came into the office after Florence's visit to her uncle, and before Philip arrived, was some stranger from out of town - some man whom none of us know; who had some grievance against Joseph, and who deliberately came and went during that midnight hour."

I agreed with Mr. Porter. I had thought all along it was some one unknown to the Sedgwick people, but some one well known to Joseph Crawford. For, had it been an ordinary burglar, the victim would at least have raised a protecting hand.

"Of course Hall will be set free at once," continued Mr. Porter, "but to arrest him was a foolish thing to do."

"Still, he ought to prove his alibi," I said.

"Very well, then; make him prove it. Give him the third degree, if necessary, and find out where he was on Tuesday night."

"I doubt if they could get it out of him," I observed, "if he continues determined not to tell."

"Then he deserves his fate," said Mr. Porter, a little petulantly. "He can free himself by a word. If he refuses to do so it's his own business."

"But I'd like to help him," said Florence, almost timidly. "Is there no way I can do so, Mr. Burroughs?"

"Indeed there is," I said. "You are a rich woman now; use some of your wealth to employ the services of Fleming Stone, and I can assure you the truth will be discovered."

"Indeed I will," said Florence. "Please send for him at once."

"Nonsense!" said Mr. Porter. "It isn't necessary at all. Mr.

Burroughs here, and young Parmalee, are all the detectives we need. Get Hall to free himself, as he can easily do, and then set to work in earnest to run down the real villain."

"No, Mr. Porter," said Florence, with firmness; "Gregory will not tell his secret, whatever it is. I know his stubborn nature.

He'll stay in prison until he's freed, as he is sure he will be, but he won't tell what he has determined not to divulge. No, I am glad I can do something definite at last toward avenging Uncle Joseph's death. Please send for Mr. Stone, Mr. Burroughs, and I will gladly pay his fees and expenses." Mr. Porter expostulated further, but to no avail. Florence insisted on sending for the great detective.

So I sent for him.

He came two days later, and in the interval nothing further had been learned from Gregory Hall. The man was an enigma to me. He was calm and impassive as ever. Courteous, though never cordial, and apparently without the least apprehension of ever being convicted for the crime which had caused his arrest.

Indeed, he acted just as an innocent man would act; innocent of the murder, that is, but resolved to conceal his whereabouts of Tuesday night, whatever that resolve might imply.

To me, it did not imply crime. Something he wished to conceal, certainly; but I could not think a criminal would act so. A criminal is usually ready with an alibi, whether it can be proved or not.