“I'm not sure that's necessary,” I responded, following his example in adopting a light, casual tone. “I have no reason to suspect that the servants told other than the exact truth. I have talked to both the ladies, and now I've only a few questions to put to you.” He looked up, surprised at my self-satisfied air. “Have you nailed the criminal?” he asked, with a greater show of interest than he had before evinced. “Not exactly nailed him, perhaps. But we fancy we are on the scent.” “Resent what?” he asked, looking blank. “I didn't say `resent.' I said, we are on the scent.” “Oh, yes. And in what direction does it lead you?” “In your direction,” I said, willing to try what effect bluntness might have upon this composed young man. “I beg your pardon?” he said, as if he hadn't heard me. “Evidences are pointing toward you as the criminal,” I said, determined to disturb his composure if I could. Instead of showing surprise or anger, he gave a slight smile, as one would at an idea too ridiculous to be entertained for an instant. Somehow, that smile was more convincing to me than any verbal protestation could have been. Then I realized that the man was doubtless a consummate actor, and he had carefully weighed the value of that supercilious smile against asseverations of innocence. So I went on: “When did you first learn of the accident to the Atlantic liner, the North America?” “I suppose you mean that question for a trap,” he said coolly; “but I haven't the least objection to answering it. I bought a late 'extra' in New York City the night of the disaster.” “At what hour did you buy it?” “I don't know exactly. It was some time after midnight.” Really, there was little use in questioning this man. If he had bought his paper at half-past eleven, as I felt positive he did, and if he had come out to Sedgwick on the twelve o'clock train, he was quite capable of answering me in this casual way, to throw me off the track. Well, I would try once again. “Excuse me, Mr. Hall, but I am obliged to ask you some personal questions now. Are you engaged to Miss Lloyd?” “I beg your pardon?” His continued requests for me to repeat my questions irritated me beyond endurance. Of course it was a bluff to gain time, but he did it so politely, I couldn't rebuke him. “Are you engaged to Miss Lloyd?” I repeated. “No, I think not,” he said slowly. “She wants to break it off, and I, as a poor man, should not stand in the way of her making a brilliant marriage. She has many opportunities for such, as her uncle often told me, and I should be selfish indeed, now that she herself is poor, to hold her to her promise to me.” The hypocrite! To lay on Florence the responsibility for breaking the engagement. Truly, she was well rid of him, and I hoped I could convince her of the fact.