“Both.”
“Well, as a man, I think he's about the average, ordinary young American, of the secretary type. He has little real ambition, but he has had a good berth with Joseph, and he has worked fairly hard to keep it. As a suspect, the notion is absurd. He wasn't even in West Sedgwick.”
“How do you know?”
“Because he went away at six that evening, and was in New York until nearly noon the next day.”
“How do you know?”
Philip Crawford stared at me.
“He says so,” I went on; “but no one can prove his statement. He refuses to say where he was in New York, or what he did. Now, merely as a supposition, why couldn't he have come out here—say on the midnight train—called on Mr. Joseph Crawford, and returned to New York before daylight?”
“Absurd! Why, he had no motive for killing Joseph.”
“He had the same motive Florence would have. He knew of Mr. Crawford's objection to their union, and he knew of his threat to change his will. Mr. Hall is not blind to the advantages of a fortune.”
“Right you are, there! In fact, I always felt he was marrying Florence for her money. I had no real reason to think this, but somehow he gave me that impression.”