ed at my solicitude,
but put it away in a drawer, the upper right-hand one, among his
business papers. So much for the pistol.

"Last Tuesday night I came out from New York on that midnight train that
reaches West Sedgwick station at one o'clock. In the train I did not
notice especially who sat near me, but when I reached our station and
started to leave the car, I noticed a gold bag in the seat ahead. I
picked it up, and, with a half-formed intention of handing it to the
conductor, I left the train. But as I stepped off I did not see the
conductor, and, though I looked about for him, he did not appear, and
the train moved on. I looked in the station, but the ticket agent was
not visible, and as the hour was so late I slipped the bag into my
pocket, intending to hand it over to the railroad authorities next
morning. In fact, I thought little about it, for I was very much
perturbed over some financial considerations. I had been reading my
newspaper all the way out, from the city. It was an `extra,' with the
account of the steamship accident."

Here Mr. Crawford looked at me, as much as to say, "There's your
precious newspaper clue," but his manner was indicative only of sadness
and grief; he had no cringing air as of a murderer.

"However, I merely skimmed the news about the steamer, so interested was
I in they stock market reports. I needn't now tell the details, but
I knew that Joseph had a `corner' in X.Y. stock. I was myself a heavy
investor in it, and I began to realize that I must see Joseph at once,
and learn his intended actions for the next day. If he threw his stock
on the market, there would be a drop of perhaps ten points and I should
be a large loser, if, indeed, I were not entirely wiped out. So I went
from the train straight to my brother's home. When I reached the gate,
I saw there was a low light in his office, so I went round that way,
instead of to the front door. As I neared the veranda, and went up the
steps, I drew from my overcoat pocket the newspaper, and, feeling the
gold bag there also, I drew that out, thinking to show it to Joseph.
As I look back now, I think it occurred to me that the bag might be
Florence's; I had seen her carry one like it. But, as you can readily
understand, I gave no coherent thought to the bag, as my mind was
full of the business matter. The French window was open, and I stepped
inside."

Mr. Crawford paused here, but he gave way to no visible emotion. He was
like a