The district attorney repeated his question, and now Gregory Hall answered deliberately,
“I still refuse to tell you where I was. It in no way affects the case; it is a private matter of my own. I was in New York City from the time I left West Sedgwick at six o'clock on Monday, until I returned the next morning. Further than that I will give no account of my doings.”
“Then we must assume you were engaged in some occupation of which you are ashamed to tell.”
Hall shrugged his shoulders. “You may assume what you choose,” he said. “I was not here, I had no hand in Mr. Crawford's death, and knew nothing of it until my return next day.”
“You knew Mr. Crawford kept a revolver in his desk. You must know it is not there now.”
Hall looked troubled.
“I know nothing about that revolver,” he said. “I saw it the day Mr. Philip Crawford brought it there, but I have never seen it since.”
This sounded honest enough, but if he were the criminal, he would, of course, make these same avowals.
“Well, Mr. Hall,” said the district attorney, with an air of finality, “we suspect you. We hold that you had motive, opportunity, and means for this crime. Therefore, unless you can prove an alibi for Tuesday night, and bring witnesses to prove where you, were, we must arrest you, on suspicion, for the murder of Joseph Crawford.”
Gregory Hall deliberated silently for a few moments, then he said: