“It was an awful thing for him to find his brother as he did, and go away and leave him so.”
“Awful, indeed! But the Crawfords have always been strange in their ways. I have never seen one of them show emotion or sentiment upon any occasion.”
“Now you are again an heiress,” I said, suddenly realizing the fact.
“Yes,” she said, but her tone indicated that her fortune brought in its train many perplexing troubles and many grave questions.
“Forgive me,” I began, “if I am unwarrantably intrusive, but I must say this. Affairs are so changed now, that new dangers and troubles may arise for you. If I can help you in any way, will you let me do so? Will you confide in me and trust me, and will you remember that in so doing you are not putting yourself under the slightest obligation?”
She looked at me very earnestly for a moment, and then without replying directly to my questions, she said in a low tone, “You are the very best friend I have ever had.”
“Florence!” I cried; but even as she had spoken, she had gone softly out of the room, and with a quiet joy in my heart, I went away.
That afternoon I was summoned to Mr. Philip Crawford's house to be present at the informal court of inquiry which was to interrogate Gregory Hall.
Hall was summoned by telephone, and not long after he arrived. He was cool and collected, as usual, and I wondered if even his arrest would disturb his calm.
“We are pursuing the investigation of Mr. Joseph Crawford's death, Mr. Hall,” the district attorney began, “and we wish, in the course of our inquiries, to ask some questions of you.”