As I had expected, Mr. Hall wore the same unperturbed manner he always showed, and when Fleming Stone was introduced, Hall greeted him coldly, with absolutely no show of interest in the man or his work. Fleming Stone's own kindly face took on a slight expression of hauteur, as he noticed his reception, but he said, pleasantly enough, “I am here in an effort to aid in establishing your innocence, Mr. Hall.” “I beg your pardon?” said Hall listlessly. I wondered whether this asking to have a remark repeated was merely a foolish habit of Hall's, or whether, as I had heretofore guessed, it was a ruse to gain time. Fleming Stone looked at him a little more sharply as he repeated his remark in clear, even tones. “Thank you,” said Hall, pleasantly enough. “I shall be glad to be free from this unjust suspicion.” “And as a bit of friendly advice,” went on Stone, “I strongly urge that you, reveal to us, confidentially, where you were on Tuesday night.” Hall looked the speaker straight in the eye. “That,” he said, “I must still refuse to do.” Fleming Stone rose and walked toward the window. “I think,” he said, “the proof of your innocence may depend upon this point.” Gregory Hall turned his head, and followed Stone with his eyes. “What did you say, Mr. Stone?” he asked quietly. The detective returned to his seat. “I said,” he replied, “that the proof of your innocence might depend on your telling this secret of yours. But I begin to think now you will be freed from suspicion whether you tell it or not.” Instead of looking glad at this assurance, Gregory Hall gave a start, and an expression of fear came into his eyes. “What do you mean?” he said, “Have you any letters in your pocket, Mr. Hall?” went on Fleming Stone in a suave voice. “Yes; several. Why?” “I do not ask to read them. Merely show me the lot.” With what seemed to be an unwilling but enforced movement, Mr. Hall drew four or five letters from his breast pocket and handed them to Fleming Stone. “They've all been looked over, Mr. Stone,” said the district attorney; “and they have no bearing on the matter of the crime.” “Oh, I don't want to read them,” said the detective. He ran over the lot carelessly, not taking the sheets from the envelopes, and returned them to their owner. Gregory Hall looked at him as if fascinated. What revelation was this man about to make? “Mr. Hall,” Fleming Stone began, “I've no intention of forcing your secret from you. But I shall ask you some questions, and you may do as you like about answering them. First, you refuse to tell where you were during the night last Tuesday. I take it, you mean you refuse to tell how or where you spent the evening. Now, will you tell us where you lodged that night?” “I fail to see any reason for telling you,” answered Hall, after a moment's thought. “I have said I was in New York City, that is enough.”