After spending an evening in thinking over the situation and piecing
together my clues, I decided that the next thing to be done was to trace
up that transfer. If I could fasten that upon Gregory Hall, it would
indeed be a starting point to work from. Although this seemed to
eliminate Mrs. Purvis, who had already become a living entity in my
mind, I still had haunting suspicions of Hall; and then, too, there was
a possibility of collusion between these two. It might be fanciful, but
if Hall and the Purvis woman were both implicated, Hall was quite enough
a clever villain to treat the photograph lightly as he had done.
And so the next morning, I started for the office of the trolley car
company.
I learned without difficulty that the transfer I had found, must have
been given to some passenger the night of Mr. Crawford's death, but
was not used. It had been issued after nine o'clock in the evening,
somewhere on the line between New York and West Sedgwick. It was a
transfer which entitled a passenger on that line to a trip on the branch
line running through West Sedgwick, and the fact that it had not been
used, implied either a negligent conductor or a decision on the part of
the passenger not to take his intended ride.
All this was plausible, though a far from definite indication that Hall
might have come out from New York by trolley, or part way by trolley,
and though accepting a transfer on the West Sedgwick branch, had
concluded not to use it. But the whole theory pointed equally as well to
Mrs. Purvis, or indeed to the unknown intruder insisted upon by so many.
I endeavored to learn something from certain conductors who brought
their cars into West Sedgwick late at night, but it seemed they carried
a great many passengers and of course could not identify a transfer, of
which scores of duplicates had been issued.
Without much hope I interviewed the conductors of the West Sedgwick
Branch Line. Though I could learn nothing definite, I fell into
conversation with one of them, a young Irishman, who was interested
because of my connection with the mystery.
“No, sir,” he said, “I can't tell you anythin' about a stray transfer.
But one thing I can tell you. That 'ere murder was committed of a
Toosday night, wasn't it?”
“Yes,” I returned.
“Well, that 'ere parlyvoo vally of Mr. Crawford's, he's rid, on my car
'most every Toosday night fer weeks and weeks. It's his night off. And
last Toosday night he didn't ride with me. Now I don't know's that means
anything, but agin it might.”
It didn't seem to me that it meant much, for certainly Louis was not
under the slightest suspicion. And yet as I came to think about it, if
that had been Louis's transfer and if he had dropped it near the office
veranda, he had lied when he said that he went round the other side of
the house to reach the back entrance.
It was all very vague, but it narrowed itself down to the point that
if that were Louis's transfer it could be proved; and if not it must be
investigated further. For a trolley transfer, issued at a definite hour,
and dropped just outside the scene of the crime was certainly a clue of
importance.
I proceeded to the Crawford house, and though I intended to have a talk
with Louis later, I asked first for Miss Lloyd. Surely, if I were to
carry on my investigation of the case, in her interests, I must have a
talk with her. I had not intruded before, but now that the funeral was
over, the real work of tracking the criminal must be commenced, and as
one of the principal characters in the sad drama, Miss Lloyd must play
her part.
Until I found myself in her presence I had not actually realized how
much I wanted this interview.
I was sure that what she said, her manner and her facial expression,
must either blot out or strengthen whatever shreds of suspicion I held
against her.
“Miss Lloyd,” I began, “I am, as you know, a detective; and I am here
in Sedgwick for the purpose of discovering the cowardly assassin of your
uncle. I assume that you wish to aid me in any way you can. Am I right
in this?”
Instead of the unhesitating affirmative I had expected, the girl spoke
irresolutely. “Yes,” she said, “but I fear I cannot help you, as I know
nothing about it.”
The fact that this reply did not sound to me as a rebuff, for which
it was doubtless intended, I can only account for by my growing
appreciation of her wonderful beauty.
Instead of funereal black, Miss Lloyd was clad all in white, and her
simple wool gown gave her a statuesque appearance; which, however, was
contradicted by the pathetic weariness in her face and the sad droop
of her lovely mouth. Her helplessness appealed to me, and, though she
assumed an air of composure, I well knew it was only assumed, and that
with some difficulty.
Resolving to make it as easy as possible for her, I did not ask her to
repeat the main facts, which I already knew.
“Then, Miss Lloyd,” I said, in response to her disclaimer, “if you
cannot help me, perhaps I can help you. I have reason to think that
possibly Louis, your late uncle's valet, did not tell the truth in his
testimony at the coroner's inquest. I have reason to think that instead
of going around the house to the back entrance as he described, he went
around the other side, thus passing your uncle's office.”
To my surprise this information affected Miss Lloyd much more seriously
than I supposed it would.
“What?” she said, and her voice was a frightened whisper. “What time did
he come home?”
“I don't know,” I replied; “but you surely don't suspect Louis of
anything wrong. I was merely hoping, that if he did pass the office he
might have looked in, and so could tell us of your uncle's well-being at
that time.”
“At what time?”
“At whatever time he returned home. Presumably rather late. But since
you are interested in the matter, will you not call Louis and let us
question him together?”
The girl fairly shuddered at this suggestion. She hesitated, and for a
moment was unable to speak. Of course this behavior on her part filled
my soul with awful apprehension. Could it be possible that she and Louis
were in collusion, and that she dreaded the Frenchman's disclosures? I
remembered the strange looks he had cast at her while being questioned
by the coroner. I remembered his vehement denial of having passed the
office that evening,--too vehement, it now seemed to me. However, if I
were to learn anything damaging to Florence Lloyd's integrity, I would
rather learn it now, in her presence, than elsewhere. So I again asked
her to send for the valet.
With a despairing look, as of one forced to meet an impending fate, she
rose, crossed the room and rang a bell. Then she returned to her seat
and said quietly, “You may ask the man such questions as you wish, Mr.
Burroughs, but I beg you will not include me in the conversation.”
“Not unless it should be necessary,” I replied coldly, for I did not
at all like her making this stipulation. To me it savored of a sort of
cowardice, or at least a presumption on my own chivalry.
When the man appeared, I saw at a glance he was quite as much agitated
as Miss Lloyd. There was no longer a possibility of a doubt that these
two knew something, had some secret in common, which bore directly on
the case, and which must be exposed. A sudden hope flashed into my mind
that it might be only some trifling secret, which seemed of importance
to them, but which was merely a side issue of the great question.
I considered myself justified in taking advantage of the man's
perturbation, and without preliminary speech I drew the transfer from my
pocket and fairly flashed it in his face.
“Louis,” I said sternly, “you dropped this transfer when you came home
the night of Mr. Crawford's death.”
The suddenness of my remark had the effect I desired, and fairly
frightened the truth out of the man.
“Y-yes, sir,” he stammered, and then with a frightened glance at Miss
Lloyd, he stood nervously interlacing his fingers.
I glanced at Miss Lloyd myself, but she had regained entire
self-possession, and sat looking straight before her with an air that
seemed to say, “Go on, I'm prepared for the worst.”
As I paused myself to contemplate the attitudes of the two, I lost my
ground of vantage, for when I again spoke to the man, he too was more
composed and ready to reply with caution. Doubtless he was influenced by
Miss Lloyd's demeanor, for he imitatively assumed a receptive air.
“Where did you get the transfer?” I went on.
“On the trolley, sir; the main line.”
“To be used on the Branch Line through West Sedgwick?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Why did you not use it?”
“As I tell you, sir, and as I tell monsieur, the coroner, I have spend
that evening with a young lady. We went for a trolley ride, and as we
returned I take a transfer for myself, but not for her, as she live near
where we alight.”
“Oh, you left the main line and took the young lady home, intending then
yourself to come by trolley through West Sedgwick?”
“Yes, sir; it was just that way.”
At this point Louis seemed to forget his embarrassment, his gaze strayed
away, and a happy expression came into his eyes. I felt sure I was
reading his volatile French nature aright, when I assumed his mind had
turned back to the pleasant evening he had spent with his young lady
acquaintance. Somehow this went far to convince me of the fellow's
innocence for it was quite evident the murder and its mystery were not
uppermost in his thoughts at that moment. But my next question brought
him back to realization of the present situation.
“And why didn't you use your transfer?”
“Only that the night, he was so pleasant, I desired to walk.”
“And so you walked through the village, holding, perhaps, the transfer
in your hand?”
“I think, yes; but I do not remember the transfer in my hand, though he
may have been there.”
And now the man's unquiet had returned. His lips twitched and his dark
eyes rolled about, as he endeavored in vain to look anywhere but at Miss
Lloyd. She, too, was controlling herself by a visible effort.
Anxious to bring the matter to a crisis, I said at once, and directly:
“And then you entered the gates of this place, you walked to the house,
you walked around the house to the back by way of the path which
leads around by the library veranda, and you accidentally dropped your
transfer near the veranda step.”