my identity. "Joseph Crawford was one of our best citizens, one
of our finest men. He hadn't an enemy in the world, my dear Mr.
Burroughs--not an enemy! generous, kindly nature, affable and
friendly with all."

"But I understand he frowned on his ward's love affair, Mr.
Carstairs."

"Yes; yes, indeed. And who wouldn't? Young Hall is no fit mate
for Florence Lloyd. He's a fortune-hunter. I know the man, and
his only ambition is the aggrandizement of his own precious
self."

"Then you don't consider Miss Lloyd concerned in this crime?"

"Concerned in crime? Florence Lloyd! why, man, you must be
crazy! The idea is unthinkable!"

I was sorry I had spoken, but I remembered too late that the
suspicions which pointed toward Miss Lloyd were probably known
only to those who had been in the Crawford house that morning.
As for the townspeople in general, though they knew of the
tragedy, they knew very little of its details.

I hastened to assure Mr. Carstairs that I had never seen Miss
Lloyd, that I had formed no opinions whatever, and that I was
merely repeating what were probably vague and erroneous
suspicions of mistakenly-minded people.

At last, behind my locked door, I took from my pocket the