I went to the Crawford house on the day of the funeral; but as I reached
there somewhat earlier than the hour appointed, I went into the office
with the idea of looking about for further clues.
In the office I found Gregory Hall; looking decidedly disturbed.
“I can't find Mr. Crawford's will,” he said, as he successively looked
through one drawer after another.
“What!” I responded. “Hasn't that been located already?”
“No; it's this way: I didn't see it here in this office, or in the New
York office, so I assumed Mr. Randolph had it in his possession. But
it seems he thought it was here, all the time. Only this morning we
discovered our mutual error, and Mr. Randolph concluded it must be in
Mr. Crawford's safety deposit box at the bank in New York. So Mr. Philip
Crawford hurried through his administration papers--he is to be executor
of the estate--and went in to get it from the bank. But he has just
returned with the word that it wasn't there. So we've no idea where it
is.”
“Oh, well,” said I, “since he hadn't yet made the new will he had in
mind, everything belongs to Miss Lloyd.”
“That's just the point,” said Hall, his face taking on a despairing
look. “If we don't find that will, she gets nothing!”
“How's that?” I said.
“Why, she's really not related to the Crawfords. She's a niece of Joseph
Crawford's wife. So in the absence of a will his property will all go to
his brother Philip, who is his legal heir.”
“Oho!” I exclaimed. “This is a new development. But the will will turn
up.”
“Oh, yes, I'm sure of it,” returned Hall, but his anxious face showed
anything but confidence in his own words.
“But,” I went on, “didn't Philip Crawford object to his brother's giving
all his fortune to Miss Lloyd?”
“It didn't matter if he did. Nobody could move Joseph Crawford's
determination. And I fancy Philip didn't make any great disturbance
about it. Of course, Mr. Joseph had a right to do as he chose with his
own, and the will gave Philip a nice little sum, any way. Not much,
compared to the whole fortune, but, still, a generous bequest.”
“What does Mr. Randolph say?”
“He's completely baffled. He doesn't know what to think.”
“Can it have been stolen?”
“Why, no; who would steal it? I only fear he may have destroyed it
because he expected to make a different one. In that case, Florence is
penniless, save for such bounty as Philip Crawford chooses to bestow on
her.”
I didn't like the tone in which Hall said this. It was distinctly
aggrieved, and gave the impression that Florence Lloyd, penniless,
was of far less importance than Miss Lloyd, the heiress of her uncle's
millions.
“But he would doubtless provide properly for her,” I said.
“Oh, yes, properly. But she would find herself in a very different
position, dependent on his generosity, from what she would be as sole
heir to her uncle's fortune.”
I looked steadily at the man. Although not well acquainted with him, I
couldn't resist giving expression to my thought.
“But since you are to marry her,” I said, “she need not long be
dependent upon her uncle's charity.”
“Philip Crawford isn't really her uncle, and no one can say what he will
do in the matter.”
Gregory Hall was evidently greatly disturbed at the new situation
brought about by the disappearance of Mr. Crawford's will. But
apparently the main reason for his disturbance was the impending poverty
of his fiancee. There was no doubt that Mr. Carstairs and others who had
called this man a fortune-hunter had judged him rightly.
However, without further words on the subject, I waited while Hall
locked the door of the office, and then we went together to the great
drawing-room, where the funeral services were about to take place.
I purposely selected a position from which I could see the faces of the
group of people most nearly connected with the dead man. I had a strange
feeling, as I looked at them, that one of them might be the instrument
of the crime which had brought about this funeral occasion.
During the services I looked closely and in turn at each face, but
beyond the natural emotions of grief which might be expected, I could
read nothing more.
The brother, Philip Crawford, the near neighbors, Mr. Porter and Mr.
Hamilton, the lawyer, Mr. Randolph, all sat looking grave and solemn as
they heard the last words spoken above their dead friend. The ladies of
the household, quietly controlling their emotions, sat near me, and next
to Florence Lloyd Gregory Hall had seated himself.
All of these people I watched closely, half hoping that some inadvertent
sign might tell me of someone's knowledge of the secret. But when
the clergyman referred to the retribution that would sooner or later
overtake the criminal. I could see an expression of fear or apprehension
on no face save that of Florence Lloyd. She turned even whiter than
before, her pale lips compressed in a straight line, and her small black
gloved hand softly crept into that of Gregory Hall. The movement was
not generally noticeable, but it seemed to me pathetic above all things.
Whatever her position in the matter, she was surely appealing to him for
help and protection.
Without directly repulsing her, Hall was far from responsive. He allowed
her hand to rest in his own but gave her no answering pressure, and
looked distinctly relieved when, after a moment, she withdrew it.
I saw that Parmalee also had observed this, and I could see that to him
it was an indication of the girl's perturbed spirit. To me it seemed
that it might equally well mean many other things. For instance it might
mean her apprehension for Gregory Hall, who, I couldn't help thinking
was far more likely to be a wrongdoer than the girl herself.
With a little sigh I gave up trying to glean much information from the
present opportunity, and contented myself with the melancholy pleasure
it gave me simply to look at the sad sweet face of the girl who was
already enshrined in my heart.
After the solemn and rather elaborate obsequies were over, a little
assembly gathered in the library to hear the reading of the will.
As, until then, no one had known of the disappearance of the will,
except the lawyer and the secretary, it came as a thunderbolt.
“I have no explanation to offer,” said Mr. Randolph, looking greatly
concerned, but free of all personal responsibility. “Mr. Crawford always
kept the will in his own possession. When he came to see me, the last
evening he was alive, in regard to making a new will, he did not bring
the old one with him. We arranged to meet in his office the next morning
to draw up the new instrument, when he doubtless expected to destroy the
old one.
“He may have destroyed it on his return home that evening. I do not
know. But so far it has not been found among his papers in either of his
offices or in the bank. Of course it may appear, as the search, though
thorough, has not yet been exhaustive. We will, therefore, hold the
matter in abeyance a few days, hoping to find the missing document.”
His hearers were variously affected by this news. Florence Lloyd was
simply dazed. She could not seem to grasp a situation which so suddenly
changed her prospects. For she well knew that in the event of no will
being found, Joseph Crawford's brother would be his rightful heir, and
she would be legally entitled to nothing at all.
Philip Crawford sat with an utterly expressionless face. Quite able to
control his emotion, if he felt any, he made no sign that he welcomed
this possibility of a great fortune unexpectedly coming to him.
Lemuel Porter, who, with his wife, had remained because of their close
friendship with the family, spoke out rather abruptly,
“Find it! Of course it must be found! It's absurd to think the man
destroyed one will before the other was drawn.”
“I agree with you,” said Philip Crawford.
“Joseph was very methodical in his habits, and, besides, I doubt if he
would really have changed his will. I think he merely threatened it, to
see if Florence persisted in keeping her engagement.”
This was a generous speech on the part of Philip Crawford. To be sure,
generosity of speech couldn't affect the disposal of the estate. If no
will were found, it must by law go to the brother, but none the less the
hearty, whole-souled way in which he spoke of Miss Lloyd was greatly to
his credit as a man.
“I think so, too,” agreed Mr. Porter. “As you know, I called on Mr.
Joseph Crawford during the--the last evening of his life.”
The speaker paused, and indeed it must have been a sad remembrance that
pictured itself to his mind.
“Did he then refer to the matter of the will?” asked Mr. Randolph, in
gentle tones.
“He did. Little was said on the subject, but he told me that unless
Florence consented to his wishes in the matter of her engagement to Mr.
Hall, he would make a new will, leaving her only a small bequest.”
“In what manner did you respond, Mr. Porter?”
“I didn't presume to advise him definitely, but I urged him not to be
too hard on the girl, and, at any rate, not to make a new will until he
had thought it over more deliberately.”
“What did he then say?”
“Nothing of any definite import. He began talking of other matters, and
the will was not again referred to. But I can't help thinking he had not
destroyed it.”
At this, Miss Lloyd seemed about to speak, but, glancing at Gregory
Hall, she gave a little sigh, and remained silent.
“You know of nothing that can throw any light on the matter of the will,
Mr. Hall?” asked Mr. Randolph.
“No, sir. Of course this whole situation is very embarrassing for me.
I can only say that I have known for a long time the terms of Mr.
Crawford's existing will; I have known of his threats of changing it;
I have known of his attitude toward my engagement to his niece. But
I never spoke to him on any of these subjects, nor he to me, though
several times I have thought he was on the point of doing so. I have had
access to most of his private papers, but of two or three small boxes he
always retained the keys. I had no curiosity concerning the contents
of these boxes, but I naturally assumed his will was in one of them. I
have, however, opened these boxes since Mr. Crawford's death, in company
with Mr. Randolph, and we found no will. Nor could we discover any in
the New York office or in the bank. That is all I know of the matter.”
Gregory Hall's demeanor was dignified and calm, his voice even and,
indeed, cold. He was like a bystander, with no vital interest in the
subject he talked about.
Knowing, as I did, that his interest was vital, I came to the conclusion
that he was a man of unusual self-control, and an ability to mask his
real feelings completely. Feeling that nothing more could be learned
at present, I left the group in the library discussing the loss of the
will, and went down to the district attorney's office.
He was, of course, surprised at my news, and agreed with me that it gave
us new fields for conjecture.
“Now, we see,” he said eagerly, “that the motive for the murder was the
theft of the will.”
“Not necessarily,” I replied. “Mr. Crawford may have destroyed the will
before he met his death.”
“But that would leave no motive. No, the will supplies the motive. Now,
you see, this frees Miss Lloyd from suspicion. She would have no reason
to kill her uncle and then destroy or suppress a will in her own favor.”
“That reasoning also frees Mr. Hall from suspicion,” said I, reverting
to my former theories.
“Yes, it does. We must look for the one who has benefited by the
removal of the will. That, of course, would be the brother, Mr. Philip
Crawford.”