“You do, do you? Well, Mr. Burroughs, I don't pretend to misunderstand you—for Miss Lloyd has told me all about Mrs. Cunningham and her bag that she left in the train. But I will say this if you think I came out on that midnight train, go and ask the conductor. He knows me, and as I often do come out on that train, he may remember that I was not on it that night. And while you're about it, and since you consider that late newspaper a clue, also ask him who was on the train that might have come here afterward.”
If this was bluffing, it was a very clever bluff, and magnificently carried out. Probably his hope was that the conductor could not say definitely as to Hall's presence on the late train, and any other names he might mention would only complicate matters.
But before I left I made one more attempt to get at this man's secret.
“Mr. Hall,” I began, “I am not unfriendly. In fact, for Miss Lloyd's sake as well as your own, I should like to remove every shadow of suspicion that hovers near either or both of you.”
“I know that,” he said quickly. “Don't think I can't see through your `friendliness' to Miss Lloyd! But be careful there, Mr. Burroughs. A man does not allow too many `friendly' glances toward the girl he is engaged to.”
So he had discovered my secret! Well, perhaps it was a good thing. Now I could fight for Florence more openly if necessary.
“You are right, Mr. Hall,” I went on. “I hold Miss Lloyd in very high esteem, and I assure you, as man to man, that so long as you and she are betrothed, neither of you will have cause to look on me as other than a detective earnest in his work in your behalf.”
“Thank you,” said Hall, a little taken aback by my frankness.
I went away soon after that, and without quizzing him any further, for, though I still suspected him, I realized that he would never say anything to incriminate himself.
The theory that the criminal was some one who came in on that midnight train was plausible indeed; but what a scope it offered!