As was my duty I went next to the district attorney's office to tell him about Mrs. Cunningham and the gold bag, and to find out from him anything I could concerning Gregory Hall. I found Mr. Porter calling there, and both he and Mr. Goodrich welcomed me as a possible bringer of fresh news. When I said that I did know of new developments, Mr. Porter half rose from his chair.
“I dare say I've no business here,” he said; “but you know the deep interest I take in this whole matter. Joseph Crawford was my lifelong friend and near neighbor, and if I can be in any way instrumental in freeing Florence from this web of suspicion—”
I turned on him angrily, and interrupted him by saying,
“Excuse me, Mr. Porter; no one has as yet voiced a suspicion against Miss Lloyd. For you to put such a thought into words, is starting a mine of trouble.”
The older man looked at me indulgently, and I think his shrewd perceptions told him at once that I was more interested in Miss Lloyd than a mere detective need be.
“You are right,” he said; “but I considered this a confidential session.”
“It is,” broke in Mr. Goodrich, “and if you will stay, Mr. Porter, I shall be glad to have you listen to whatever Mr. Burroughs has to tell us, and then give us the benefit of your advice.”
I practically echoed the district attorney's words, for I knew Lemuel Porter to be a clear-headed and well-balanced business man, and his opinions well worth having.
So it was to two very interested hearers that I related first the story of Florence's coming downstairs at eleven o'clock on the fatal night, for a final endeavor to gain her uncle's consent to her betrothal.
“Then it was her bag!” exclaimed Mr. Porter. “I thought so all the time.”