I felt a choking sensation. Philip Crawford's manner was so far removed from a sensational--or melodramatic effect, that it was doubly impressive. I believed his statement that he did not kill his brother, but what could these further revelations mean? Hall? Florence? Young Philip? Whom would Philip Crawford thus shield for a whole week, and then, when forced to do so, expose? “You are making strange declarations, Mr. Crawford,” said Lawyer Randolph, who was already white-faced and trembling. “I know it,” went on Philip Crawford, “and I trust you three men will hear my story through, and then take such measures as you see fit. “This pistol, as I said, is my property. Perhaps about a month ago, I took it over to my brother Joseph. He has always been careless of danger, and as he was in the habit of sitting in his office until very late, with the long windows open on a dark veranda, I often told him he ought to keep a weapon in his desk, by way of general protection. Then, after there had been a number of burglaries in West Sedgwick, I took this pistol to him, and begged him as a favor to me to let it stay in his desk drawer as a precautionary measure. He laughed at my solicitude, but put it away in a drawer, the upper right-hand one, among his business papers. So much for the pistol. “Last Tuesday night I came out from New York on that midnight train that reaches West Sedgwick station at one o'clock. In the train I did not notice especially who sat near me, but when I reached our station and started to leave the car, I noticed a gold bag in the seat ahead. I picked it up, and, with a half-formed intention of handing it to the conductor, I left the train. But as I stepped off I did not see the conductor, and, though I looked about for him, he did not appear, and the train moved on. I looked in the station, but the ticket agent was not visible, and as the hour was so late I slipped the bag into my pocket, intending to hand it over to the railroad authorities next morning. In fact, I thought little about it, for I was very much perturbed over some financial considerations. I had been reading my newspaper all the way out, from the city. It was an `extra,' with the account of the steamship accident.” Here Mr. Crawford looked at me, as much as to say, “There's your precious newspaper clue,” but his manner was indicative only of sadness and grief; he had no cringing air as of a murderer.