“Do you know a Mrs. Egerton Purvis?” I flung the question at him, suddenly, hoping to catch him unawares. But he only looked at me with the blank expression of one who hears a name for the first time. “No,” he answered, “I never heard of her. Who is she?” “Well, when I was hunting through that gold-mesh bag, I discovered a lady's visiting card with that name on it. It had slipped between the linings, and so had not been noticed before.” To my surprise, this piece of information seemed to annoy Mr. Crawford greatly. “No!” he exclaimed. “In the bag? Then some one has put it there! for I looked over all the bag's contents myself.” “It was between the pocket and the lining,” said I; “it is there still, for as I felt sure no one else would discover it, I left it there. Mr. Goodrich has the bag.” “Oh, I don't want to see it,” he exclaimed angrily. “And I tell you anyway, Mr. Burroughs, that bag is worthless as a clue. Take my advice, and pay no further attention to it.” I couldn't understand Mr. Crawford's decided attitude against the bag as a clue, but I dropped the subject, for I didn't wish to tell him I had made plans to trace up that visiting card. “It is difficult to find anything that is a real clue,” I said. “Yes, indeed. The whole affair is mysterious, and, for my part, I cannot form even a conjecture as to who the villain might have been. He certainly left no trace.” “Where is the revolver?” I said, picturing the scene in imagination. Philip Crawford started as if caught unawares. “How do I know?” he cried, almost angrily. “I tell you, I have no suspicions. I wish I had! I desire, above all things, to bring my brother's murderer to justice. But I don't know where to look. If the weapon were not missing, I should think it a suicide.” “The doctor declares it could not have been suicide, even if the weapon had been found near him. This they learned from the position of his arms and head.” “Yes, yes; I know it. It was, without doubt, murder. But who--who would have a motive?” “They say,” I observed, “motives for murder are usually love, revenge, or money.” “There is no question of love or revenge in this instance. And as for money, as I am the one who has profited financially, suspicion should rest on me.” “Absurd!” I said. “Yes, it is absurd,” he went on, “for had I desired Joseph's fortune, I need not have killed him to acquire it. He told me the day before he died that he intended to disinherit Florence, and make me his heir, unless she broke with that secretary of his. I tried to dissuade him from this step, for we are not a mercenary lot, we Crawfords, and I thought I had made him reconsider his decision. Now, as it turns out, he persisted in his resolve, and was only prevented from carrying it out by this midnight assassin. We must find that villain, Mr. Burroughs! Do not consider expense; do anything you can to track him down.”