Mr. Crawford's midnight solitude.

I stepped through the long French window on to the veranda, and
after a thorough examination of the veranda, I went on down the
steps to the gravel walk. Against a small rosebush, just off the
walk, I saw a small slip of pink paper. I picked it up, hardly
daring to hope it might be a clue, and I saw it was a trolley
transfer, whose punched holes indicated that it had been issued
the evening before. It might or might not be important as
evidence, but I put it carefully away in my note-book for later
consideration.

Returning to the library I took the newspaper which I had earlier
discovered from the drawer where I had hidden it, and after one
more swift but careful glance round the room, I went away,
confident that I had not done my work carelessly.

I left the Crawford house and walked along the beautiful avenue
to the somewhat pretentious inn bearing the name of Sedgwick
Arms.

Here, as I had been led to believe, I found pleasant, even
luxurious accommodations. The landlord of the inn was smiling
and pleasant, although landlord seems an old-fashioned term to
apply to the very modern and up-to-date man who received me.

His name was Carstairs, and he had the genial, perceptive manner
of a man about town.

"Dastardly shame!" he exclaimed, after he had assured himself of