“While on the train did you sit behind a lady who left a gold bag in the seat when she got out?”
“I did.”
“Did you pick up that bag and take it away with you?”
“I did.”
“Then, Mr. Crawford, as that is the gold bag that was found in your brother's office, I think you owe a more detailed explanation.”
To say that the lawyer and the district attorney, who heard these questions and answers, were astounded, is putting it too mildly. They were almost paralyzed with surprise and dismay.
To hear these condemning assertions straight from the lips of the man they incriminated was startling indeed.
“You are right,” said Philip Crawford. “I do owe an explanation, and I shall give it here and now.”
Although what he was going to say was doubtless a confession, Mr. Crawford's face showed an unmistakable expression of relief. He seemed like a man who had borne a terrible secret around with him for the past week, and was now glad that he was about to impart it to some one else.
He spoke very gravely, but with no faltering or hesitation.