So I concluded to try my best to leave Florence Lloyd's personality out of the question, to leave my feelings toward her out of the question, and to devote my energies to real work on the case and prove by intelligent effort that I could learn facts from evidence without resorting to the microscopic methods of Fleming Stone. I purposely ignored the fact that I would have been only too glad to use these methods had I the power to do so! IX. THE TWELFTH ROSE For the next day or two the Crawford house presented the appearance usual in any home during the days immediately preceding a funeral. By tacit consent, all reference to the violence of Mr. Crawford's death was avoided, and a rigorous formality was the keynote of all the ceremonies. The servants were garbed in correct mourning, the ladies of the house refused to see anybody, and all personal callers were met by Philip Crawford or his wife, while business acquaintances were received by Gregory Hall. As private secretary, of course Mr. Hall was in full charge of Mr. Crawford's papers and personal effects. But, in addition to this, as the prospective husband of the heiress, he was practically the head of the house. He showed no elation or ostentation at this state of affairs, but carried himself with an air of quiet dignity, tinged with a suggestion of sadness, which, if merely conventional, seemed none the less sincere. I soon learned that the whole social atmosphere of West Sedgwick was one of extreme formality, and everything was done in accordance with the most approved conventions. Therefore, I found I could get no chance for a personal conversation with Miss Lloyd until after the funeral. I had, however, more or less talk with Gregory Hall, and as I became acquainted with him, I liked him less. He was of a cold and calculating disposition, and when we were alone, he did not hesitate to gloat openly over his bright prospects. “Terrible thing, to be put out of existence like that,” he said, as we sat in Mr. Crawford's office, looking over some papers; “but it solved a big problem for Florence and me. However, we'll be married as soon as we decently can, and then we'll go abroad, and forget the tragic part of it all.” “I suppose you haven't a glimmer of a suspicion as to who did it,” I ventured. “No, I haven't. Not the faintest notion. But I wish you could find out. Of course, nobody holds up that bag business as against Florence, but--it's uncomfortable all the same. I wish I'd been here that night. I'm 'most sure I'd have heard a shot, or something.” “Where were you?” I said, in a careless tone. Hall drew himself up stiffly. “Excuse me,” he said. “I declined to answer that question before. Since I was not in West Sedgwick, it can matter to no one where I was.” “Oh, that's all right,” I returned affably, for I had no desire to get his ill will. “But of course we detectives have to ask questions. By the way, where did you buy Miss Lloyd's yellow roses?”