“Me, too. Moreover, I found a late extra of a New York paper in Mr. Crawford's office. This wasn't on sale until about half past eleven that night, so whoever left it there must have come out from the city on that midnight train, or later.”
A change came over Philip Crawford's face. Apparently he was brought to see the whole matter in a new light.
“What? What's that?” he cried excitedly, grasping his chair-arms and half rising. “A late newspaper! An extra!”
“Yes; the liner accident, you know.”
“But—but—Gregory Hall! Why man, you're crazy! Hall is a good fellow. Not remarkably clever, perhaps, and a fortune-hunter, maybe, but not—surely not a murderer!”
“Don't take it so hard, Mr. Crawford,” I broke in. “Probably. Mr. Hall is innocent. But the late paper must have been left there by some one, after, say, one o'clock.”
“This is awful! This is terrible!” groaned the poor man, and I couldn't help wondering if he had some other evidence against Hall that this seemed to corroborate.
Then, by an effort, he recovered himself, and began to talk in more normal tones.
“Now, don't let this new idea run away with you, Mr. Burroughs,” he said. “If Hall had an interview with my brother that night, he would have learned from him that he intended to make a new will, but hadn't yet done so.”
“Exactly; and that would constitute a motive for putting Mr. Crawford out of the way before he could accomplish his purpose.”