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+*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59126 ***
+
+
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+
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+
+
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+
+                    [Illustration: First-floor plan]
+
+
+
+
+                               FAULKNER'S
+                                 FOLLY
+
+
+                                   BY
+                             CAROLYN WELLS
+                   AUTHOR OF "THE BRIDE OF A MOMENT"
+
+                     [Illustration: Publisher logo]
+
+
+                                NEW YORK
+                        GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+
+                            COPYRIGHT, 1917,
+                       BY GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
+
+                            COPYRIGHT, 1917,
+                    BY THE FRANK A. MUNSEY COMPANY.
+
+                PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
+
+
+
+
+                                CONTENTS
+
+
+  CHAPTER                                                           PAGE
+  I. In the Studio                                                     9
+  II. Where They Stood                                                23
+  III. What They Said                                                 37
+  IV. Goldenheart                                                     51
+  V. Blake's Story                                                    65
+  VI. Mrs. Faulkner's Account                                         79
+  VII. Natalie Not Joyce                                              94
+  VIII. The Emeralds                                                 108
+  IX. One or the Other                                               123
+  X. Orienta                                                         137
+  XI. Sealed Envelopes                                               151
+  XII. A Vision                                                      165
+  XIII. An Alibi Needed                                              180
+  XIV. From Seven to Seventy                                         192
+  XV. Natalie in Danger                                              206
+  XVI. Confession and Arrest                                         220
+  XVII. Alan Ford                                                    234
+  XVIII. Questions and Answers                                       248
+  XIX. Ford's Day                                                    262
+  XX. On the Staircase                                               276
+
+
+
+
+                            FAULKNER'S FOLLY
+
+
+
+
+                                   I
+                             In the Studio
+
+
+Beatrice Faulkner paused a moment, on her way down the great staircase,
+to gaze curiously at the footman in the lower hall.
+
+A perfectly designed and nobly proportioned staircase is perhaps the
+finest indoor background for a beautiful woman, but though Mrs. Faulkner
+had often taken advantage of this knowledge, there was no such thought
+in her mind just now. She descended the few remaining steps, her eyes
+still fixed on the astonishing sight of a footman's back, when he should
+have been standing at attention. He might not have heard her soft
+footfall, but he surely had no business to be peering in at a door very
+slightly ajar.
+
+Faulkner's Folly was the realised dream of the architect who had been
+its original owner. It was a perfect example of the type known in
+England as Georgian and in our own country as Colonial, a style inspired
+by the Italian disciples of Palladio, and as developed by Inigo Jones
+and Christopher Wren, it had seemed to James Faulkner to possess the
+joint qualities of comfort and dignity that made it ideal for a home.
+The house was enormous, the rooms perfectly proportioned, and the
+staircase had been the architect's joy and delight. It showed the wooden
+wainscoting, which was handed down from the Jacobeans; broad, deep steps
+with low risers, large, square landings, newels with mitred tops and
+rather plain balusters. But the carved wood necessary to carry out the
+plans, the great problems of lighting, the necessity for columned
+galleries and long, arched and recessed windows, together with the
+stupendous outlay for appropriate grounds and gardens, overtaxed the
+available funds and Faulkner's Folly, in little more than two years
+after its completion, was sold for less than its intrinsic value.
+
+James Faulkner died, some said of a broken heart, but his wife had
+weathered the blow, and was, at the present time, a guest in what had
+been her own home.
+
+The man who bought Faulkner's Folly was one who could well appreciate
+all its exquisite beauty and careful workmanship. Eric Stannard, the
+artist and portrait painter, of international reputation and great
+wealth, and a friend of long standing, took Faulkner's house with much
+joy in the acquisition and sympathy for the man who must give it up.
+
+A part of the purchase price was to be a portrait of Mrs. Faulkner by
+the master hand of the new owner; but Faulkner's death had postponed
+this, and now, a widow of two years, Beatrice was staying at the
+Stannards' while the picture was being painted. Partly because of
+sentiment toward her husband's favourite feature of the house, and
+partly because of her own recognition of its artistic possibilities,
+Beatrice had chosen the stairs as her background, and rarely did she
+descend them without falling into pose for a moment at the spot she had
+selected for the portrait.
+
+But on this particular evening, Beatrice had no thought of her picture,
+as she noticed the strange sight of the usually expressionless and
+imperturbable footman, with his face pressed against the slight opening
+of the studio door.
+
+"Blake," she said, sharply, and then stopped, regretting her speech. As
+the Stannards' guest, she had no right or wish to reprove her hosts'
+servants, but it was well-nigh impossible for her to forget the days of
+her own rule in that house.
+
+Even as she looked, the man turned toward her a white and startled
+face,--it seemed almost as if he welcomed her appearance.
+
+"Blake! What is it?" she said, alarmed at his manner. "What are you
+doing?"
+
+"I--heard a strange sound, Madame,--from the studio----"
+
+"A strange sound?" and Beatrice came along the hall toward the footman.
+
+"And the lights in there, just went out----"
+
+"The lights went out! What do you mean, Blake? It is not your business
+if lights in rooms are turned off or on, is it?"
+
+"No, Madame--but--there, Madame! Did you not hear that?"
+
+"Oh, yes, yes," and Beatrice paled, as an indistinct voice seemed to cry
+faintly, "Help!" It was a horrible, gurgling sound, as of one in dire
+extremity. "What can it be? Go in, Blake, at once! Turn on the lights!"
+
+"Yes, Madame," and the trembling footman pushed open the door and felt
+fumblingly in the dark for the electric switch.
+
+It was only a few seconds, but it seemed an interminable time before the
+lights flashed on and the great room was illuminated to its furthest
+corners.
+
+Beatrice, close behind the trembling footman, stood, stunned.
+
+"I knew it was something dreadful!" Blake cried, forgetting in his shock
+his conventional speech.
+
+Beatrice gave one gasping "Oh!" and covered her face with her hands. But
+in a moment she nerved herself to the sight, and stared, in a horrified
+fascination, at the awful scene before her.
+
+At the other end of the long room, in a great, carved armchair, sat Eric
+Stannard, limp and motionless. From his breast protruded an instrument
+of some sort, and a small scarlet stain showed on the white expanse of
+his shirt bosom.
+
+"Is he--is he----" began Beatrice, starting forward to his assistance, when
+her bewildered eyes took in the rest of the scene.
+
+Behind Stannard, and across the room from one another, were two women.
+They were Joyce, his wife, and Miss Vernon, a model.
+
+Joyce, only a few feet from her husband's left shoulder, was glaring at
+Natalie Vernon, with a wild expression of fear and terror, Natalie was
+huddled against the opposite wall, near the outer door, cowering and
+trembling, her hands clutching her throat, as if to suppress an
+involuntary scream.
+
+Unable to take in this startling scene at a glance, Beatrice and Blake
+stared at the unbelievable tableau before them. The man got his wits
+together first.
+
+"We must do something," he muttered, starting toward his master. "There
+is some accident----"
+
+As if by this vitalised into action, the two women behind Stannard came
+forward, one on either side of him, but only his wife went near to him.
+
+"Eric," she said, faintly, taking his left hand, as it hung at his side.
+But she got no further. With one glance at his distorted face she sank
+to the ground almost fainting.
+
+"Who did this, sir?" Blake cried out, standing before Stannard. The
+dying man attempted to raise his right hand. Shakingly, it pointed
+toward the beautiful girl, his model.
+
+"Natalie," he said, "not Joyce." The last words were a mere choking
+gurgle, as his head fell forward and his heart ceased to beat.
+
+"No!" Natalie screamed. "No! Eric, don't say----"
+
+But Eric Stannard would say no word again in this world.
+
+Beatrice Faulkner staggered to a divan and sank down among the pillows.
+
+"Do something, Blake," she cried. "Get a doctor. Get Mr. Barry. Call
+Halpin. Oh, Joyce, what does it all mean?"
+
+Then Mrs. Faulkner forced herself to go to Joyce's assistance, and
+gently raised her from the floor, where she was still crouching by her
+husband's side.
+
+"I don't--know--" returned Joyce Stannard, her frightened eyes staring in
+tearless agony. "Did you kill him, Natalie?"
+
+"No!" cried the girl. "You know I didn't! You killed him yourself!"
+
+Halpin, the butler, came in the room, followed by Miller, who was
+Stannard's own man.
+
+Astounded, amazed, but not hysterical, these old, trusted and capable
+servants took the helm.
+
+"Telephone for Doctor Keith," Miller told the other, "and then find Mr.
+Barry."
+
+Barry Stannard was Eric's son by a former marriage; a boy of twenty, of
+lovable and sunny disposition, and devoted to his father and to his
+young stepmother. He soon appeared, for he had been found strolling
+about the grounds.
+
+He came in at Halpin's message, and seeing the still figure in the
+armchair, sprang toward it, with a cry. Then, as suddenly, he turned,
+and without a word or glance at any one else, he ran from the room.
+
+Without touching it further than to assure himself that life was really
+extinct, Miller stood, a self-appointed sentinel over the body of his
+dead master. He looked curiously at the instrument of death, but said no
+word concerning it.
+
+There was more or less confusion. Several servants, both men and women,
+came to the doors, some daring to enter, but except in one or two
+instances, Miller ordered them out.
+
+Annette, Mrs. Stannard's maid, he advised to look after the ladies, and
+Foster, a houseman, he detailed to keep an eye on Barry.
+
+"Where is Mr. Barry?" asked the man.
+
+"I don't know," returned Miller, calmly. "He just stepped out--probably
+he's on the terrace. Don't annoy him by intrusion, but be near if he
+wants you."
+
+The three women of the household said almost nothing. Mrs. Faulkner was
+so stupefied by the situation, and the inexplicable attitude in which
+she had found her hostess and the girl, Natalie, she could think of
+nothing to say to either. And the two who had stood near the dying man,
+as the light disclosed the group, were equally silent.
+
+Annette proffered fans and _sal volatile_ impartially to all three, but
+she, also, though usually too voluble, had no words.
+
+After what seemed an interminable wait, Dr. Keith arrived.
+
+"Stabbed," he said, briefly, as he examined the body, "and with one of
+his own etching needles! Who did it?"
+
+"With what?" exclaimed Mrs. Faulkner, looking puzzled.
+
+"With an etching point--or needle. An artist's tool. Who did it?"
+
+There was a silence, not so much awkward, as fraught with horror. Who
+could answer this question, even by a surmise.
+
+Blake threw himself into the breach.
+
+"We don't know, sir," he said. "It was doubtless done in the dark, and,
+when I turned up on the lights--the--the murderer had fled."
+
+A half exclamation from Joyce seemed to deny this assertion, and
+Natalie's lovely face again showed that hunted, terrified look that had
+marked it at first.
+
+"Where's Barry?" went on Dr. Keith.
+
+"I am here," said young Stannard, himself, coming in from the terrace.
+"Dr. Keith, I want this matter hushed up. I am master here now, and
+horrible though it may all be, it will not lessen our trouble, but
+rather increase it, if you have any investigation or inquiry made into
+this thing."
+
+Dr. Keith looked at the speaker in amazement. "You don't know what
+you're talking about, Barry, my boy. It is not possible to ignore the
+facts and causes of an occurrence of this sort. Do you know who stabbed
+your father?"
+
+"No, I do not. Nor do I want to know. Father is gone, no persecution of
+any innocent person can restore him to life, and the criminal can never
+be found."
+
+"Why not? Why do you say that?"
+
+"I feel sure of it. Oh, listen to me, Dr. Keith. Be guided by my wishes,
+and do not seek the one who brought about my father's death. Joyce, you
+agree with me, don't you?"
+
+The young fellow had never addressed his father's wife more formally
+than this; indeed, there was not much more than half a dozen years
+between their ages, and Joyce, at twenty-seven or thereabouts, looked
+almost as young as her stepson. There had always been good comradeship
+between the two, and during the two years Joyce had been Stannard's wife
+she and Barry had never had a word of disagreement or unpleasantness of
+any sort.
+
+About six weeks ago, Natalie Vernon, a professional model, had come to
+pose for Stannard, and as she had proved most satisfactory, Eric had
+informed his wife that he wished the girl to stay as a house guest for a
+time. Joyce had voiced no objection, whatever she may have felt in her
+heart, and had always treated Natalie with all courtesy and kindness.
+
+The girl was a most exquisite beauty, a perfect blonde, with a face like
+Dresden china and a form of fairylike grace. The soft pink and white of
+her apple-blossom skin, the true sky colour of her eyes and the gleaming
+gold of her wonderful hair were Greuze-like in their effects, yet of an
+added piquancy and charm.
+
+It is not to be wondered at that Barry promptly fell in love with her,
+nor is it remarkable that Eric himself was more or less under the spell
+of his beautiful model. A worshipper of all beauty, Stannard could not
+help it if his soul bowed down to this masterpiece of Nature's.
+
+A professional model Natalie was, but only for the draped figure. She
+was but eighteen, had been well brought up and educated, but, obliged to
+earn her own living, had found she had no resources of work except in
+her God-given beauty. Posing was a joy to her, and she had posed for but
+a few artists and those of the better, even best class. But Eric,
+accustomed to having whatever he desired, was determined Natalie should
+pose for some allegorical figures in a great picture on which he was
+engaged. This she refused to do, and the more Stannard insisted the more
+obdurate she became, until there was continual war between them on the
+subject. And owing to this state of things, Natalie had decided she must
+leave "Faulkner's Folly," and it was only Barry's entreaties that had
+thus far kept her from fulfilling her intentions.
+
+Joyce, herself a beautiful woman, of the dark-haired, brown-eyed type,
+had often been a model for Eric's pictures, and if she resented being
+superceded by this peaches and cream maiden, she never confided the fact
+to those about her. Joyce Stannard was clever by nature, and she knew
+the quickest way to make her impressionable husband fall desperately in
+love with Natalie, was for her, his wife, to be openly jealous. So this
+Joyce would not appear to be. She chaffed him gaily about his doll-faced
+model and treated Natalie with the patronising generosity one would show
+to a pretty child.
+
+But if Joyce was clever, Natalie was too, and she took this treatment
+exactly as it was offered, and returned it in kind. Her manner to her
+hostess was entirely correct, well-bred and even indicative of
+gratitude; but it also implied, with subtle touch, the older and more
+settled state of Joyce, and gave a hint of contrast in the freshness of
+Natalie's extreme youth and the permissibility of a spice of the madcap
+in her ways.
+
+But all these things, on both sides, were so veiled, so delicately
+suggested, that they were imperceptible to any but the closest observer.
+
+And now, whatever the facts of Eric Stannard's death might be shown to
+be, now it must soon be made known that when the lights of the room
+where he died were turned on, they had revealed these two--his wife and
+his paid model--near his stricken body, already quivering with its last
+few heartbeats.
+
+In answer to Barry's question, Joyce lifted her white face. "I don't
+know--" she said, slowly, "I suppose--as Dr. Keith says--these things must
+be--be attended to in--in the usual way. But I, too, shrink from the awful
+publicity and the harrowing experience we must go through,--Beatrice,
+what do you think?"
+
+Mrs. Faulkner replied, with a gentle sympathy: "I fear it won't matter
+what we think, Joyce, dear. The law will step in, as always, in case of
+a crime, and our opinions or wishes will count for nothing."
+
+"I have sent for the Coroner and for the Police," said Dr. Keith, who
+had given Halpin many whispered orders. "Now, Barry, don't be
+unreasonable. You can no more stop the routine of the law's procedure
+than the stars in their courses. If you know any facts you must be
+prepared to state them truthfully. If not, you must say or do nothing
+that will put any obstacle in the way of proper inquiry."
+
+Dr. Keith was treating Barry like a child, and though the boy resented
+it, he said nothing, but his face showed his hurt pride and his
+disappointment.
+
+"Tell us all you can of the facts of the attack," said Beatrice Faulkner
+to the doctor.
+
+"The simple facts are plainly seen," was the reply. "Some one standing
+in front of Mr. Stannard, as he sat in his chair, intentionally stabbed
+him with the etching needle. The instrument penetrated his flesh, just
+above and a little to one side of the breast bone, piercing the jugular
+vein and causing almost instant death."
+
+"Could it not have been a suicide?"
+
+"Impossible, Mrs. Faulkner. Stannard could not have managed that thrust,
+and, too, the position of his hands precludes the theory of suicide. But
+the Coroner and his physician will, I am sure, corroborate my statement.
+It is a clear case of wilful murder, for, as you must see for yourself,
+no accidental touch of that instrument would bring about such a deep
+sinking of the point in a vital part of the victim."
+
+"But, if I may ask, sir," said Miller, respectfully, "how could a
+murderer see to strike such a blow in a dark room? While Mr. Stannard
+_could_ have stabbed himself in the dark."
+
+"Those points are outside my jurisdiction," returned the Doctor, looking
+grave. "The Coroner and the Police Detectives will endeavour to give the
+answers to your perfectly logical queries."
+
+And then the men from Police Headquarters arrived.
+
+
+
+
+                                   II
+                            Where They Stood
+
+
+The countryside was in a tumult. A murder mystery at Faulkner's Folly,
+of all places in the world! Rensselaer Park, the aristocratic Long
+Island settlement, of which the celebrated house was the star exhibit,
+could scarcely believe its ears as the news flew about. And the
+criminal? Public opinion settled at once on an intruder, either
+burglarious or inimical. Of course, a man of Eric Stannard's position
+and personality had enemies, as well as friends, from Paris, France, to
+Paris, Maine. Equally, of course, his enormous collection of valuable
+art works and even more valuable jewels would tempt robbers.
+
+But the vague rumors as to his wife or that darling little model girl
+being implicated, were absurd. To be sure, the installation of Miss
+Vernon as a house guest was a fling in the face of conventions, but Eric
+Stannard was a law unto himself; and, too, Mrs. Stannard had always
+introduced the girl as her friend.
+
+The Stannards were comparatively new people at The Park, but Mrs.
+Faulkner, whose husband had built the Folly, was even now visiting
+there, and her sanction was enough for the community. It would, one must
+admit, be thrillingly exciting to suspect a woman in the case, but it
+was too impossible. No, it was without doubt, a desperate marauder.
+
+Thus the neighbours.
+
+But the Police thought differently. The report of the Post Patrolman who
+first appeared upon the scene of the tragedy included a vivid
+description of the demeanour of the two ladies; and the whole force,
+from the Inspector down, determined to discover which was guilty. To
+them the death of Eric Stannard was merely a case, but from the nature
+of things it was, or would become, a celebrated case, and as such, they
+were elated over their connection with it.
+
+In due course, the Coroner's Inquest took place, and was held in the big
+studio where Eric Stannard had met his death.
+
+Owing to the personality of Coroner Lamson, this was not the perfunctory
+proceeding that inquests sometimes are, but served to bring out the
+indicative facts of the situation.
+
+It was the day after the murder and the room was partially filled with
+the officers of the law, the jury and a crowd of morbidly curious
+strangers. It seemed sacrilege to give over the splendid apartment to
+the demands of the occasion, and many of the audience sat timidly on the
+edge of the luxurious chairs or stared at the multitudinous pictures,
+statues and artistic paraphernalia. In the original plan the studio had
+been a ballroom, but its fine North light and great size fitted it for
+the workroom of the master painter. Nor was the brush the only implement
+of Eric Stannard. He had experimented with almost equal success in
+pastel work, he had done some good modelling and of late he had become
+deeply interested in etching. And it had been one of his own etching
+needles that had been the direct cause of his untimely death.
+
+This fact was testified to by Doctor Keith, who further detailed his
+being called to the house the night before. He stated that he had
+arrived within fifteen minutes after Mr. Stannard--as the family had told
+him--had breathed his last. Examination of the body had disclosed that
+death was caused by the piercing of the jugular vein and the weapon,
+which was not removed until later, was a tool known as an Etcher's
+needle, a slender, sharp instrument, set in a Wooden handle, the whole
+being not unlike a brad-awl. On being shown the needle, the Doctor
+identified it as the instrument of death.
+
+Blake, the footman, was next questioned. He was of calm demeanour and
+impassive countenance, but his answers were alert and intelligent.
+
+"Too much so," thought Mr. Robert Roberts, a Police Detective, who had
+been put upon the case, to his own decided satisfaction. "That man knows
+what he's talking about, if he is a wooden-face."
+
+Now, Roberts, called by his chums, Bobsy, was himself alert and
+intelligent, and therefore recognised those traits in others. He
+listened attentively as Coroner Lamson put his queries.
+
+"You were the first to discover your master's dead body?"
+
+"Mr. Stannard was not dead when I entered the room," replied Blake.
+
+"No, no, to be sure. I mean, you were the first to enter the room after
+the man was stabbed?"
+
+"That I can't say. When I entered----" Blake paused, and glanced
+uncertainly about. Barry Stannard was looking at the footman with a
+stern face.
+
+Inspector Bardon, who was present, interposed. "Tell the story in your
+own words, my man. We'll best get at it that way."
+
+"I was on duty in the hall," began Blake, slowly, "and I noticed the
+lights go out in the studio here----"
+
+"Was the door between the hall and studio open?" asked Lamson.
+
+"No, sir, not open, but it was a very little ajar. I didn't think much
+about the light going out, though Mr. Stannard never turned off the
+lights when he left the room to go upstairs to bed. And if it did strike
+me as a bit queer, I had no time to think the matter over, for just then
+I heard a slight sound,--a gasping like, as if somebody was in distress.
+As I had not been called, I didn't enter, but I did try to peep in at
+the crack of the door. This was not curiosity, but there was something
+in that gasp that--that scared me a little."
+
+"What next?" said the Coroner, as Blake paused.
+
+"Just then, sir, Mrs. Faulkner came down the stairs. She was surprised
+to see me peeping at a door, and spoke chidingly. But I was so alarmed,
+I forgot myself, and--well, and just then, I heard a distinct sound--a
+terrible, gurgling sound, and a voice said, 'Help!' I turned to Mrs.
+Faulkner to see if she had heard it, and she had, for her face looked
+frightened and she asked me what it meant, and she told me to go in and
+turn on the light. So--so, I did, and then I saw----"
+
+"Be very careful now, Blake; tell us exactly what you saw."
+
+"I saw Mr. Stannard first, at the other end of the room, in his
+favourite big chair, and he was like a man dying----"
+
+"Have you ever seen a man die?" Lamson snapped out the words as if his
+own nerves were at a tension.
+
+"No--no, sir."
+
+"Then how do you know how one would look?"
+
+"I saw something had been thrust into his breast, I saw red stains on
+his shirt front, and I saw his face, drawn as in agony, and his eyes
+staring, yet with a sort of glaze over them, and his hands stretched
+out, but sort of fluttering, as if he had lost control over his muscles.
+I couldn't think other than that he was a dying man, sir."
+
+"That is what I want you to tell, Blake. An exact account of the scene
+as it appeared to you. Now the rest of it. Were you too absorbed in the
+spectacle of Mr. Stannard's plight to see clearly the others who were
+present?"
+
+"No, sir," and the man's calm face quivered now. "It is as if
+photographed on my brain. I can never forget it. Behind Mr. Stannard
+were the two ladies, Mrs. Stannard and Miss Vernon."
+
+"Directly behind him?"
+
+"Not that, exactly. Mrs. Stannard stood behind, but off toward his left,
+and Miss Vernon was behind, but toward the right."
+
+"Show me exactly, Blake, where these two ladies stood," and Coroner
+Lamson rose to see his demands fulfilled.
+
+"Oh, sir," begged Blake, his frightened eyes wavering toward the members
+of the household which employed him, "oh, sir--Mrs. Faulkner, sir,--she
+came in with me,--she can tell better than I----"
+
+"Mrs. Faulkner will be questioned in due time. You came in first; we
+will hear your version and then hers. Be accurate now."
+
+With great hesitancy, Blake stepped to the spots he had designated.
+
+"Mrs. Stannard stood here," he said, indicating a position perhaps a
+yard back and to the left of Stannard's chair, which was still in its
+place.
+
+"What was she doing?"
+
+"Nothing, sir. One hand was on this table, and the other sort of clasped
+against her breast."
+
+"And Miss Vernon?"
+
+"She was over here," and Blake, still behind the chair, crossed to its
+other side, and stood near the outer door.
+
+"How was she standing?"
+
+"Against this small table, and the table was swaying back and forth,
+like it would upset in a minute."
+
+"And her hands?"
+
+"They were both behind her, sir, clutching at the table."
+
+"You have a wonderful memory, Blake," and the Coroner looked hard at his
+witness.
+
+"Not always, sir. But the thing is like a picture to my mind."
+
+"Like a moving picture?"
+
+"No, sir, nobody moved. It was like a tableau, sir----"
+
+"And then," prompted Inspector Bardon.
+
+At this point, Barry Stannard was again seen to look at Blake with a
+glance of deep concentration.
+
+"Important, if true," Detective Roberts said to himself. "Young Stannard
+is afraid of the footman's further disclosures!"
+
+Whether that was so or not, Blake suddenly lost his power of clear and
+concise narration.
+
+"Why, then----" he stammered, "then, all was confusion. I started toward
+Mr. Stannard, it--it seemed my duty. And Mrs. Faulkner, she came toward
+him----"
+
+"And the two ladies behind him?"
+
+"They came toward him, too, and Mrs. Stannard took hold of his hand----"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, sir, I couldn't help it, sir--I blurted out, 'Who did this?' And
+Mr. Stannard--he said----"
+
+"_Said!_ Spoke?"
+
+Attention was concentrated on the footman, and it is doubtful if any one
+save Roberts noticed Barry Stannard's face. It was drawn in an agonised
+protest at the forthcoming revelation. But Blake, accustomed to obeying
+orders implicitly, continued to tell his story.
+
+"Yes, sir, he spoke--sort of whispered, in a gasping way----"
+
+"And what did he say?"
+
+"He said, 'Natalie, not Joyce.'"
+
+"You are sure?"
+
+"Yes, sir," answered the stolid Blake. "And he sort of raised his hand,
+pointing toward the lady."
+
+"Pointing toward Miss Vernon, you mean?"
+
+"Yes, sir."
+
+Barry Stannard could stand it no longer. "I won't have this!" he cried.
+"I won't allow this hysterical story of an ignorant servant to be told
+in a way to incriminate an innocent girl. It's all wrong!"
+
+The Coroner considered. It did seem too bad to listen to the vital
+points of the story from an underling, when such tragic issues were at
+stake.
+
+"Sit down, for the present, Blake," he said. "Mrs. Faulkner, will you
+give us your version of these events?"
+
+Beatrice Faulkner looked very white and seemed loth to respond and then
+with a sudden, determined air, she faced the Coroner, and said,
+"Certainly. Will you ask questions?"
+
+The beautiful woman looked even more stately in her mild acquiescence
+than she had done on her first mute refusal. Her large, soft black eyes
+rested on Joyce with a pitying air and then strayed to Natalie, the
+little model, who was a mere collapsed heap of weeping femininity. With
+a deep sigh, Beatrice turned to the Coroner.
+
+"I am ready," she said, with the air of one accustomed to dictate times
+and seasons.
+
+A little awed, Coroner Lamson asked: "Do you corroborate the story as
+just related by Blake, the footman?"
+
+"Yes, I think so," and the witness drew her beautiful brows together as
+if in an effort of recollection. Though fully thirty-five, Beatrice
+Faulkner looked younger, and yet, compared to Joyce or Natalie she
+seemed a middle-aged matron. "I am sure I agree with his facts as
+stated, as to our entering the room, but I'm not sure he was able to
+hear clearly the words spoken by Mr. Stannard. I was not."
+
+"You were not?"
+
+"No. I heard the indistinct mumble of the dying man, but I am not ready
+to say positively that I clearly understood the words."
+
+"You came down stairs just as Blake was peeping in at the door?"
+
+"He wasn't peeping. He was, it seemed to me, listening. I, naturally,
+thought it strange to see a footman prying in any way, and I called out
+his name, reprovingly. Then, I suddenly realised that as he was not my
+footman I had no right to reprimand him; and just then he turned his
+full face toward me, and I saw that the man looked startled, and that
+something unusual must be happening in the studio. He told me the lights
+had just gone out, and even as he spoke we both heard that sighing
+'Help!' It was a fearful sound, and struck a chill to my very heart. I
+bade Blake turn on the light quickly, and then I followed him into the
+room."
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Faulkner, that is just as the footman told it. Now, will you
+tell what you saw in the studio, and what you inferred from it."
+
+"I saw Mr. Stannard in his arm chair, a dagger or some such thing
+protruding from his breast, and blood stains on his clothing. I inferred
+that some burglar or marauder had attacked him and perhaps robbed him."
+
+"And how did you think this intruder had entered?"
+
+"I didn't think anything about that. One doesn't have coherent thoughts
+at such a moment. I realised that he had been stabbed, so of course, I
+assumed an assailant. Then I saw his wife and Miss Vernon standing near
+him, and I had no thought save to assist in any way I might. I cried out
+to Blake to get a doctor, and then I went to Mrs. Stannard's side, just
+as she was about to faint."
+
+"Did she faint?"
+
+"No, that is, she did not entirely lose consciousness, though greatly
+agitated. And then, soon, the butler and Miller, Mr. Stannard's valet,
+came in, and after that Barry came and--and everything seemed to happen
+at once. Doctor Keith came----"
+
+"One moment, Mrs. Faulkner, you are getting ahead of your story. What
+about the words uttered by Mr. Stannard before he died?"
+
+"They were so inarticulate as to be unintelligible."
+
+"You swear this?"
+
+"I do. If he said 'Joyce' or 'Natalie,' it is not at all strange,
+considering that those two women were in his sight. But I repeat that he
+did not say them in a connected sentence, nor did he himself mean any
+real statement. It was the unconscious speech of a dying man. In another
+instant he was gone."
+
+Though outwardly calm, Beatrice Faulkner's voice trembled, and was so
+low as to be scarcely audible. But she stood her ground bravely, and her
+eyes met Barry's for a moment, in the briefest glance of understanding
+and approval.
+
+"Hum," commented the astute Roberts to his favourite confidant, himself,
+"the Barry person is in love with the dolly-baby girl, and the queenly
+lady is his friend, and she's helping him out. She isn't telling all she
+knows, or if she is, she's colouring it to save the implicated ladies."
+
+"What is your position in this house, Mrs. Faulkner?"
+
+The faintest gleam of amusement passed over the white face. It was
+almost as if he thought her a housekeeper or governess.
+
+"I am a guest," she returned, simply. "I have been staying here a few
+weeks for the purpose of having my portrait painted by Mr. Stannard."
+
+"You previously owned this house, did you not?"
+
+"My late husband, an architect of note, built it. Later, it was sold to
+Mr. Stannard, who has lived in it nearly two years."
+
+"Where were you just before you came down the stairs and saw Blake?"
+
+"In the Drawing Room, on the second floor, at the other end of the
+house. I had been entertaining a guest, and as he had just taken leave,
+I went down stairs to rejoin my hostess."
+
+"Where did you expect to find Mrs. Stannard?"
+
+"Where I had left her, in the Billiard Room."
+
+"You left her there? How long before?"
+
+"An hour or so. There were several guests at dinner, and they had
+drifted to the various rooms afterward."
+
+"Who were the guests at dinner?"
+
+"Mr. Wadsworth, who was with me in the Drawing Room; Mr. Courtenay, a
+neighbour, and Mr. and Mrs. Truxton, who also live nearby."
+
+"Mrs. Truxton, the jewel collector?"
+
+"Yes; that is the one."
+
+"There was no one else at dinner?"
+
+"Only the family group; Mr. and Mrs. Stannard, Mr. Barry Stannard, Miss
+Vernon and myself."
+
+"Once again, Mrs. Faulkner, you attach no significance to the words,
+'Natalie, not Joyce,' which Blake quotes Mr. Stannard as saying?"
+
+Taken thus unexpectedly, Mrs. Faulkner hesitated. Then she said,
+steadily: "I do not. They were the articulation of a brain already
+clouded by approaching death. He merely named the people he saw nearest
+to him."
+
+"That is not true! Eric meant what he said!"
+
+It was Joyce Stannard who spoke.
+
+
+
+
+                                  III
+                             What They Said
+
+
+With a vague idea of taking advantage of a psychological moment, Coroner
+Lamson began to question Joyce.
+
+"Why do you make that statement, Mrs. Stannard?" he said; "do you
+realise that it is a grave implication?"
+
+But Joyce, though not hysterical, was at high tension, and she said,
+talking rapidly, "My husband's words were in direct answer to the
+footman's question. Blake said, 'Who did this?' and Mr. Stannard, even
+pointing to Miss Vernon, said, 'Natalie, not Joyce.' Could anything be
+plainer?"
+
+"It might seem so, yet we must take into consideration the fast clouding
+intellect of the dying man, and endeavour thus to get at the truth. Will
+you tell the circumstances of your entering the room, Mrs. Stannard?"
+
+"Of course I will. I had been in the Billiard Room for some time, ever
+since dinner, in fact----"
+
+"Alone?"
+
+"Not at first. Several were there with me. Then, later, all had
+gone--and--I was there alone."
+
+The speaker paused. She seemed to forget her audience and became lost in
+recollection or in thought. She looked very beautiful, as she sat, robed
+in her black gown of soft, thin material, with a bit of white turned in
+at the throat. Her brown hair waved carelessly back to a loose, low knot
+and her deep-set brown eyes, full of sorrow, grew suddenly luminous.
+
+"Perhaps it wasn't Natalie," she said, speaking breathlessly. "Perhaps
+it wasn't Miss Vernon--after all."
+
+"We are not asking your opinion, Mrs. Stannard," said the Coroner,
+stiffly; "kindly confine your recital to the facts as they happened."
+
+But now, the witness' poise was shaken. Of a temperamental nature, Joyce
+Stannard had thought of something or realised something that affected
+the trend of her testimony.
+
+Bobsy Roberts watched her with intense interest. "Well, Milady," he said
+to her, mentally, "you've struck a snag in your well-planned defence.
+Careful now, don't leap before you look!"
+
+"Yes," said Joyce, but her quivering lip precluded further speech.
+
+The Coroner was made decidedly uncomfortable by the sight of her beauty
+and her distress, always a disquieting combination, and to hide his
+sympathy, he repeated, brusquely, "The facts, please, as they occurred."
+
+"I was in the Billiard Room," Joyce began again, "and I heard, in the
+studio, a slight sound of some sort, and then the light in here went
+out."
+
+"Which was first, the sound or the sudden darkness?"
+
+"The sound--no, the darkness. I don't really know. Perhaps they were
+simultaneous."
+
+"One moment; was the Billiard Room lighted?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"And the door between open?"
+
+"The sliding doors were open--the curtains pulled together."
+
+Glancing at the heavy tapestry curtains in question, Mr. Lamson said
+quickly: "If they were pulled together, and the room where you were was
+light, how could you notice when this room went dark?"
+
+Joyce looked bewildered. "I don't know," she said, blankly, "how could
+I?"
+
+The question was so naive, and the brown eyes so puzzled and troubled,
+that Bobsy Roberts whistled to himself. But not for want of thought. His
+thoughts flocked so fast he could scarcely marshal them into line. "Of
+course," his principal thought was, "one of these women is guilty. If
+the crime had been committed by a burglar they wouldn't have any of this
+back and forth kiyi with their eyes. Now, the question is, _which_ one?"
+
+Joyce and Natalie had exchanged many glances. But to a stranger they
+were unreadable, and Roberts contented himself with storing them up in
+his memory for future consideration. And now, as Joyce looked confused
+and nonplussed, Natalie seemed a bit triumphant, but she as quickly
+drooped her eyes and veiled whatever emotion they showed.
+
+"But you are sure you did know when the studio lights went out?" pursued
+Lamson.
+
+"Why, yes--I think so. You see--it was all so confused----"
+
+"What was?"
+
+"Why,--the lights,--and that queer sound--and----"
+
+"Go on, Mrs. Stannard. Never mind the lights and the sound. You entered
+the studio from the Billiard Room, and saw----?"
+
+"I didn't see anything!" declared Joyce, with a sudden toss of her head.
+"I c-couldn't. It was dark, you know. Then somebody, Blake, you know,
+turned the switch, and I saw Miss Vernon standing by my dying
+husband's----"
+
+"How did you know he was dying? Did you see Miss Vernon strike the
+blow?"
+
+"No. But she was in the room when I entered--and, too, Eric said it was
+Natalie and not--me."
+
+"You are prepared to swear that Miss Vernon was in the room before you
+were?"
+
+"She was there when I went in."
+
+"But it was dark, how could you see her?"
+
+"I didn't. I heard her breathing in a quick, frightened way."
+
+"And when you first saw her?"
+
+"She was cowering back against the little paint stand."
+
+"Looking terrified?"
+
+"Yes, and----"
+
+"And what?"
+
+"And guilty." Joyce said the words solemnly, as one unwillingly
+pronouncing a doom.
+
+"Mrs. Stannard, I must be unpleasantly personal. Can you think of any
+reason why Miss Vernon would desire your husband's death?"
+
+Joyce trembled visibly. "I cannot answer a question like that," she
+said, in a low tone.
+
+"I'm sorry,--but you must."
+
+"No, then," and Joyce looked squarely at Natalie. "I cannot imagine why
+she should desire his death. I certainly cannot."
+
+"But any reason why she should dislike him, or wish him ill?"
+
+"N-no."
+
+"Think again."
+
+"My husband was a great artist," Joyce began, as if thinking it out for
+herself. "He was accustomed to having his models do as he requested.
+Miss Vernon was not always amenable to his wishes and--and they were not
+very good friends."
+
+"But you and Miss Vernon are good friends? You like her?"
+
+Joyce favoured Natalie with a calm stare. "Certainly," she said, in an
+even voice, "I like her."
+
+"Whew!" breathed our friend Roberts, silently. "At last I see what one
+Mr. Pope meant when he wrote:
+
+  "Damn with faint praise, assent with civil leer,
+  And, without sneering, cause the rest to sneer."
+
+For, surely, Joyce's attestation of friendship between herself and the
+artist's model convinced nobody. She sat, gracefully erect, her serious
+face blank of any emotion, yet impressing all with the sense of profound
+feeling beneath.
+
+"In what ways did Miss Vernon incur Mr. Stannard's displeasure?" asked
+Lamson.
+
+"Merely on some technical matters connected with her posing for his
+pictures," was the nonchalant reply.
+
+"That, then, could scarcely be construed into a motive for murder?"
+
+"Scarcely." Joyce seemed to give a mere parrot-like repetition of the
+Coroner's word.
+
+"Yet, you are willing to believe that Miss Vernon is the criminal we are
+seeking?"
+
+"I do not say that," and Joyce spoke softly. "I can only say I saw her
+here when I came into this room and found my husband dying."
+
+"Might she not have come in just as you did, attracted by that strange
+sound, as of a man in pain?"
+
+"In that case, who could have stabbed my husband? There was no one else
+near. That has been testified by those who entered at the other end of
+the room."
+
+"Could not a burglar have entered by a window, attempted robbery, and,
+being discovered, stabbed Mr. Stannard in self-preservation?"
+
+"How could he have entered?" said Joyce, dully.
+
+"I can see no way. That is, he might have been in here, but in no way
+could he have gotten out. That great North window, I am told, opens only
+in a few high sectional panes. It is shaded by rollers from the bottom,
+and is inaccessible. The other large window, the West one, is so blocked
+up with easels, canvases and casts, that it is certain nobody could get
+in or out of that. The door to the main hall was, of course, in full
+sight of Blake the footman, and that leaves only the South end of the
+room to be considered. Now no intruder could have gone out by the door
+to the Billiard Room or the door to the Terrace without having been seen
+by you or Miss Vernon, who claims she was on the Terrace all evening."
+
+Every one present looked around at the Studio. They saw a spacious room,
+about forty feet long by thirty wide, its lofty ceiling fully twenty
+feet high. An enormous fireplace was on the side toward the house, and
+above it ran an ornamental balcony, reached by a light staircase at
+either end. The fine, big windows were of stained glass, save where
+ground glass had been put in to meet the artist's needs. Originally a
+ballroom, the decorations were ornate but in restrained and harmonious
+taste. There were priceless rugs on the floor, priceless works of art
+all about, and furnishings of regal state and luxury. Yet, also, was
+there the litter and mess of working materials and mediums--seemingly
+inseparable from any studio, however watched and tended. Here would be a
+stunning Elizabethan chair, all carved wood and red velvet, heaped high
+with paintboxes and palettes; there, an antique chest of marvellous
+workmanship, from whose half-open lid peeped bits of rare drapery stuffs
+or quaintly-fashioned garments. Tables everywhere, of inlay or
+marquetry, were piled with sketches, boxes of pastels, or small casts.
+Jugs and vases, fit only for museum pieces, held sheafs of
+paint-brushes, while scores of canvases, both blank and painted, stood
+all round the wall.
+
+The armchair, in which Eric Stannard had sat when he died, was
+undisturbed, also the tables near it. A new idea seemed to strike
+Lamson. He said, "When you came in in the darkness, Mrs. Stannard, how
+did you avoid stumbling over the chairs and stands in your way? I count
+four of them, practically in the course you must have pursued."
+
+Joyce looked at the part of the room in question. True, there were four
+or more small pieces of furniture that would have bothered one coming in
+without a light.
+
+"That's so!" she said, as if the idea were illuminating. "I must have
+come in just after or at the very moment that Blake lighted the
+electrics!"
+
+"And found Miss Vernon already here?"
+
+"Yes," said Joyce.
+
+"Miss Vernon, will you tell your story?" said Lamson, abruptly, turning
+from Joyce to the girl.
+
+"Why--I----" Natalie fluttered like a frightened bird, and gazed piteously
+at the inquisitor. "I don't know how."
+
+"Good work!" commented Bobsy Roberts, mentally. "Smart little girl to
+know how the baby act fetches 'em!"
+
+But if Natalie Vernon's air of helplessness was assumed, it was
+sufficiently well done to convince all who saw it.
+
+"Poor little thing!" was in everybody's mind as the rosebud face looked
+pleadingly at the Coroner. At that moment, if she had declared herself
+the guilty wretch, nobody would have believed her.
+
+Lamson's abruptness vanished, and he said, gently, "Just a simple
+description, Miss Vernon, of your presence in this room last night."
+
+"It was this way," she began, and her face drew itself into delicious
+wrinkles, as she chose her words. "I had been, ever since dinner,
+almost, on the terrace."
+
+"Alone?"
+
+"Oh, no. Different people were there. Coming and going, you know. Well,
+at last, I chanced to be there alone----"
+
+"Who had been with you latest?"
+
+"Let me see," and the palpable effort to remember was too pronounced to
+be real, "I guess--yes, I'm sure it was Barry,--Mr. Barry Stannard. And he
+went away----"
+
+"Where?"
+
+"I don't know. For a stroll with the dogs, probably. I was about to go
+upstairs to my room, when I heard a sound in the studio that seemed
+queer."
+
+"How, queer?"
+
+"As if somebody were calling me--I mean, calling for somebody."
+
+"Did you hear your name?" and Lamson caught at the straw.
+
+"Oh, no, just a general exclamation, it was. And I went toward the door
+to listen, if it might be repeated."
+
+"Was the door open?"
+
+"No, but it has glass in it, with sash curtains, and these were a little
+way open, and I could see through them that the light went out
+suddenly----"
+
+"Well?"
+
+"And then I went right in, without making a sound----"
+
+"Didn't it make a sound as you opened the door?"
+
+"The door was open."
+
+"You said it was not."
+
+"Oh, I don't know whether it was or not! I was so scared to see
+Eric,--Mr. Stannard, dead or dying, and his wife standing there as if she
+had just----"
+
+"Just what? Killed him?"
+
+"Yes," and Natalie's big blue eyes were violet with horror. "She had!
+And she stood there, just as Blake said, one hand on the table, and one
+clutched to her breast. She did do it, Mr. Coroner. She must have been
+out of her mind, you know, but she did it, for I saw her."
+
+"Saw her kill him?"
+
+"No, not that. But I saw her just after the deed was done, and she was
+the picture of guilty fear!"
+
+If Natalie could have been transferred to canvas as she looked then, the
+picture would have made any painter's fortune. The girl was in white,
+soft, crêpy wool stuff, that clung and fell in lovely lines, for the
+gown had been designed by no less a genius than Stannard himself. It was
+his whim to have Natalie about the house in the gowns in which he posed
+her, that he might catch an occasional unexpected effect. But the simple
+affair was not out of place as a morning house-gown, and more than one
+woman in the audience took careful note of its cut and pattern. Her
+golden hair was carelessly tossed up in a mass of curls, held with one
+hair-pin, a huge amber thing, that threatened every minute to slip out,
+and one couldn't help wishing it would. Her wonderful eyes had long dark
+lashes, and her pink cheeks were rosy now, because of her nervous
+excitement. So thin was her delicate skin that her hands and throat were
+flushed a soft pink and her curved lips were scarlet. Yet
+notwithstanding the marvellous colouring, there was not one iota of
+doubt that it was Nature's own. The play of rose and white in her
+cheeks, the sudden occasional paling of the red lips and the perfection
+of the tiny shreds of curl that clustered at her throbbing temples all
+spoke of the real humanity of this girl's beauty. Small wonder the
+artist wanted her for his own pictures exclusively! Joyce was a
+beautiful woman, but this child, this fairy princess, was a dream, a
+very Titania of charm and wonder.
+
+Not by her testimony, not by words of assertion, but by her ethereal,
+her incredible beauty, this wonder-girl took captive every heart and,
+without effort, secured the sympathy and belief of everybody present.
+
+And yet, the Coroner had to do his duty. Had to say, in curt, accusing
+tones, "Then how do you explain Mr. Stannard's dying words, 'Natalie,
+not Joyce!'?"
+
+The red lips quivered, the roseleaf cheeks grew pinker and great tears
+formed in the appealing blue eyes.
+
+"Don't ask me that!" she cried; "oh, pray, don't ask me _that_!"
+
+"But I do, I must ask you. And I must ask you why you stabbed him? Had
+he asked you to pose in any way to which you were unwilling to consent?
+Had he insisted, after you refused? Was he tyrannical? Brutal? Cruel?
+Did you have to defend yourself? Was it on an impulse of sudden anger or
+indignation?"
+
+"Stop! Stop!" cried Natalie, putting her pink finger tips into her tiny,
+rosy ears. "Stop! He was none of those things! He was good to me,
+he--he----"
+
+"Good to you, yet you killed him! Kind to you, yet you took his life----"
+
+"I didn't! I tell you I didn't! It was Joyce! She----"
+
+"Miss Vernon, if you came into the room in the dark, how could you
+effect an entrance without upsetting something? There are even more
+small racks and stands on that side of the room than the other."
+
+"No, I didn't upset anything----" and Natalie stared at him.
+
+"Then you came in before the room was darkened,--long before,--and you
+darkened it yourself, after you had driven the blow that ended the life
+of your friend and patron."
+
+Coroner Lamson paused, as the dawn-pink of Natalie's face turned to a
+creamy pallor, and the girl sank, unconscious, into a chair.
+
+"Brutal!" cried Barry Stannard, springing to her side. "Inexcusable, Mr.
+Lamson. This is no place for a Third Degree procedure!" and asking no
+one's permission, he carried the slight form from the studio.
+
+
+
+
+                                   IV
+                              Goldenheart
+
+
+A murmur of indignation sounded faintly through the room. Public Opinion
+was not with the Coroner, however black the case might look against the
+pretty little model. For "model," Natalie was always called, in spite of
+the fact that she was an honoured guest in the Stannard's house. And she
+looked like a model. Her manners, though correct in every way, were not
+those of an ingenuous flapper or a pert débutante. She had the poise and
+assurance of a woman of the world, with the appearance of an innocent,
+rather than ignorant, child. But her self-reliance, though it had given
+way before the Coroner's accusation, was always evident in the clear
+gaze of her apprehending eyes and the set of her lovely head. Moreover,
+she had that precious possession called _charm_ to an infinite degree.
+It was the despair of the artists who had painted her, and Eric
+Stannard, unwilling to be baffled, had tried a hundred times, more or
+less successfully, to fasten that charm in colour medium. Of late, he
+had tried it in his etching. An unfinished piece of work was a waxed
+plate bearing an exquisite portrayal of Natalie as Goldenrod. This he
+had previously painted, and the result, a study in yellow, was his copy
+for the etching. The canvas showed the girl, her arms full of goldenrod,
+her yellow gown and her yellow hair against a background of yellow
+autumn leaves. It was a masterpiece, even for Stannard. And aside from
+the colour, the lines were so beautiful that he decided to make an
+etching of the study.
+
+The waxed plate, with this design, had been found on the floor near
+Eric's chair, after his death. The wax had been scratched and smudged,
+quite evidently by some furious hand, and the scratches and
+disfigurements were doubtless made by the very instrument that had
+caused the artist's death.
+
+This was indicative, beyond a doubt; but what was indicated? That
+Natalie, in a fit of anger at Eric, had destroyed his picture of her?
+Or, that Joyce, in a jealous rage, had resented the portrait?
+
+The painting, as Natalie had posed for it, was a lovely girl in a full
+flowing robe of soft, opaque stuff, showing only a bit of throat and
+shoulder, and one rounded arm. The etching, as the artist had drawn it,
+garbed the figure in a filmy, transparent drapery, revealing lines that
+gave a totally different character to the work.
+
+Natalie Vernon was a prude, there was no denying that. Whether she was
+absurdly fanatical on the subject or not, was her own affair. But could
+an indignant girl go so far as to kill an artist who had drawn her in a
+way she didn't care to be portrayed? It was most unlikely. Still, there
+was latent fire in those blue eyes, there was force of character in
+those curved scarlet lips, and if Miss Vernon chose to be an unusual,
+even eccentric model, she was important enough to make her own terms and
+insist upon them. And in a furious moment of surprised indignation, what
+might not a woman do?
+
+Again, could it not be that the artist's wife had had her jealousy
+stirred to its depths by this latest result of her husband's interest in
+the model? Could she not, coming upon him as he mused over his drawing
+on the wax, have snatched the etching tool from his table and revenged
+her slighted wifehood?
+
+"It's a poor clue that won't work both ways," mused Bobsy Roberts, as he
+heard of this etching business. The story of it had been told while
+Natalie was out of the room. Joyce listened with an unruffled
+countenance. Either she was uninterested, or determined to appear so.
+
+Coroner Lamson next called as witnesses the guests who had been at
+dinner the night before.
+
+The first, a Mr. Wadsworth, told a straightforward story of the
+occasion. He was a genial, pleasant man, a neighbour and a widower.
+
+After dinner, he stated, he had been for a time with his host and others
+in the studio. Mr. Stannard had shown some new gems, a recent addition
+to his collection. After that, Mr. Wadsworth had gone to the Billiard
+Room, and later, he and Mrs. Faulkner had gone to the Drawing Room at
+the other end of the house. He had remained there with the lady until
+perhaps half past eleven----
+
+"Wait," interposed the Coroner. "Mrs. Faulkner came downstairs, after
+your departure, at that hour."
+
+"Then it must have been a little earlier. I didn't note the time. I went
+directly home, and retired without looking at the hour."
+
+"You went out at the front door?"
+
+"Yes; Blake, the footman, let me out. I didn't look for my hostess as I
+left, for we are on intimate neighbourly terms, and often ignore the
+formalities."
+
+There was nothing more to be learned from this witness, and the next was
+Mr. Eugene Courtenay.
+
+But one swift, intense glance passed between Courtenay and Joyce as the
+witness took the stand. It was seen by no one but the keen-eyed Bobsy,
+and to him it was a revelation.
+
+"Oh, ho," was his self-communing, "sits the wind in that quarter? Now,
+if his nibs and the stately chatelaine are--er--_en rapport_--it puts a
+distinctly different tint on the racing steed! I must see about this."
+
+Eugene Courtenay was a man of the world, about thirty years old, and a
+near neighbour. He had been a suitor of Joyce's before she succumbed to
+Stannard's Cave Man wooing, and since, had been a friend of both.
+
+Easily and leisurely Courtenay gave his testimony, which was to the
+effect that after the dinner guests had scattered into the various
+rooms, he had been in the Billiard Room until he went home. Several
+others had been there, but had drifted away, and he was for a time alone
+there with his hostess. Then he had taken leave, going out from the
+Billiard Room, which had an outside door. He had not gone directly home,
+but had sauntered across a lawn, and had sat for a short time on a
+garden seat, smoking. He had chanced to sit facing the studio South
+window, and had noticed the light go out in that room. He thought
+nothing of it, nor when, a few moments later the room was relit, did he
+think it strange in any way. Why shouldn't people light and relight
+their rooms as they chose? He then went home, knowing nothing of the
+tragedy and heard nothing of it till morning. No further questioning
+brought out anything of importance and Courtenay was dismissed.
+
+Mr. and Mrs. Truxton gave no new information. They told of the dinner
+party, and of the hours afterward. Mr. Truxton mentioned the jewels
+exhibited by Eric Stannard, and dilated slightly upon them with the
+enthusiasm of a gem lover, but neither he nor his wife could shed any
+light on the mystery.
+
+"Where are these jewels?" asked Lamson, suddenly, scenting a possible
+robbery.
+
+"I don't know," Joyce answered, listlessly. "Mr. Stannard kept some of
+them in Safety Deposit and some in the house. He had a place of
+concealment for them, but I preferred not to know where it is. When I
+wished to wear any of the jewels he got them for me, and afterward put
+them away again."
+
+"Do you not think, Mrs. Stannard, that a burglar intent on securing
+these gems might have attempted a robbery, and----"
+
+"Come, come, Lamson," interposed Inspector Bardon, "a burglar would
+scarcely make his attempt while the household was still up, the house
+alight, and people sauntering through the grounds."
+
+"No, of course not," responded the Coroner, in no wise abashed.
+
+Next, Barry Stannard was asked to tell what he could of the whole
+matter.
+
+"It was the work of a burglar," said young Stannard, confidently; "it
+simply shows his cleverness that he chose a time when he could effect an
+entrance easily. He need not have been a rough customer. He may have
+been of a gentlemanly type,--even in evening clothes. But he gained
+access to my father, I haven't the slightest doubt, and brought to bear
+some influence or threat that he hoped would gain him his end. When my
+father refused his demands,--this is my theory and belief,--he either
+feared discovery or, in a rage of revenge, killed my father with the
+nearest weapon he could snatch at."
+
+"And then, you think, Mr. Stannard, that this intruder turned off the
+lights and made his exit just before the ladies entered the room?"
+
+"I do. He was evidently a cool hand, and made a quick and clever
+getaway."
+
+"And just how did he leave the room? You know, Mrs. Stannard was in the
+Billiard Room and Miss Vernon on the Terrace, while Blake was at the
+main hall door."
+
+"He made his escape by the large West window," replied Barry. "If you
+will examine it on the outside, you will see the marks of the jimmy, or
+whatever you call the tool that burglars open windows with."
+
+An officer was sent at once to investigate this, and returned with the
+information that there certainly were marks and scratches outside the
+window in question. It was a long, French window, opening like a double
+door, and near the lock were the tell-tale marks.
+
+Bobsy Roberts cast one comprehensive glance at the West window, and then
+closed and reopened one of his rather good-looking grey eyes. He glanced
+at Barry, and observed, silently, "Some scheme!" after which, he calmly
+awaited developments.
+
+"But how can we think that a man entered at that window," said Lamson,
+"when we notice how it is filled with furniture and apparatus?"
+
+"It might have been managed," asserted Barry.
+
+And then Bobsy Roberts spoke out loud. "It couldn't be," he said,
+positively. "No one could, by any chance or skill, come in or go out by
+that window without moving those plaster casts that are on the floor. No
+one could do it without overturning that small easel, whose leg is
+directly in the path of the window frame as it swings back. If you will
+try it, Inspector, you will see what I mean."
+
+It was true. Even though the window might be opened, it would crash into
+and knock over the small, light-weight easel, which held an unfinished
+picture on a mounted canvas. And it would also knock down some casts
+which leaned against it.
+
+Barry looked crestfallen, the more so, that now the Coroner regarded him
+with a sort of suspicion.
+
+"Mr. Stannard," he said, "I don't want to do you an injustice, but your
+theory is so suspiciously implausible, that I can't help thinking you
+might have made those scratches on the window yourself, for the purpose
+of diverting suspicion."
+
+"I did," Barry blurted out, almost like a school-boy. "And I am not
+ashamed of it. My father's death is a mystery. So much of a one that I
+feel sure it will never be solved. For that reason, I did and do want to
+turn your mind away from the absurd and utterly unfounded presumption
+you make that the crime could have been committed by either of the two
+ladies who, hearing my father's dying struggles, rushed to his
+assistance."
+
+"That may be the case," said Lamson, "with one of the ladies you refer
+to. But the other is, to all appearances the one responsible for the
+crime. It is my duty to prove or disprove this, even though the position
+and high character of the ladies make it seem impossible."
+
+"It is impossible!" protested Barry. "I know of facts and conditions
+which make it possible and probable that an outsider, a--well, a
+blackmailer, perhaps,--might have attacked my father. This is outside of
+discovery or proof, but I request,--I demand that you cease to persecute
+your present suspects!"
+
+The boy, for in his passionate tirade he seemed even younger than usual,
+quivered with the tensity of his emotion and faced the Coroner with a
+belligerent antagonism that would have been funny in a case less grave.
+
+Roberts regarded him with interest. "Some chap!" he thought. "I wonder,
+now, if he did it himself,--and is trying to scatter the scent. No, I
+fancy it's his fear for the dolly-baby girl, and he jimmied the door in
+a foolish attempt to make a noise like a burglar."
+
+"Do you know where your father kept his jewels?" asked Lamson, suddenly,
+and Barry started, as he said, "No, I've no idea. That is, the ones in
+the house. The others are in deposit with the Black Rock Trust Company."
+
+"Who does know the whereabouts of those kept in the house?"
+
+But nobody seemed to know. Joyce had said she did not. Barry disclaimed
+the knowledge. Inquired of, Miller, the valet, did not know. Nor Halpin,
+the old Butler, nor any of the other servants.
+
+It would seem that Eric Stannard had concealed his treasures in a
+hiding-place known only to himself. An officer was sent to search his
+personal rooms, and in the meantime Joyce was subjected to a further
+grilling.
+
+Exhausted by the nervous strain, her calm, handsome face was pale and
+drawn. Wearily, she answered questions that were not always necessary or
+tactful.
+
+At last, when Lamson was trying to draw from her an account of what she
+was doing or thinking after Courtenay had left her alone in the Billiard
+Room, she seemed to lose both patience and control, and burst forth,
+impulsively, "I was listening at the Studio door!"
+
+"Ah! And what did you hear?"
+
+"I heard my husband say, 'No, no, my lady, I will not divorce Joyce for
+you!' and then he laughed,--a certain laugh of his that I always called
+the trouble laugh,--a sarcastic, irritating chuckle, enough to exasperate
+anybody,--_anybody_, beyond the point of endurance!"
+
+The Coroner almost gasped, but fearing to check the flow of speech that
+promised so much, he said, quietly, "Did you hear anything further?"
+
+"I did. I heard him say, 'I'll give you the emeralds, if you like, but I
+really won't marry you.'"
+
+"Your husband was not a cruel man, Mrs. Stannard?"
+
+"On the contrary, he was gentleness itself. He was most courteous and
+gallant toward all, but if any one went counter to his wishes or
+opinions, he invariably used a good-natured, jeering tone that was most
+annoying."
+
+"And to whom were these remarks that you overheard, addressed?"
+
+"How can you ask? I was just about to go into the room, as I felt it my
+right, when, at that very moment, the light was extinguished. I was so
+surprised at this, that I stood there, uncertain what to do. Then
+hearing Eric gasp, as if in distress, I pushed the curtain aside and
+went in. The rest, I have told you."
+
+Joyce sat down, and as she did so, a wave of crimson swept over her
+face. She looked startled, ashamed, as if she had violated a confidence
+or told a secret, which she now regretted. Barry sat beside her, and he
+was looking at her curiously.
+
+Then the man who had been sent to search for the jewels returned. He
+reported that he had not been able to find any trace of them, but
+brought a note he had found on Mr. Stannard's writing desk.
+
+Coroner Lamson read the note, and passed it over to Inspector Bardon.
+
+Eventually it was read aloud. It ran thus:
+
+  Goldenheart:
+
+  You have a strange power over me--you can sway me to your will when I
+  am in your presence. But now, alone, I am my own man and my better
+  self protests at our secret. You know where the jewels are hidden.
+  Take the emeralds, if you like, and forgive and forget
+
+                                                                   Eric.
+
+The note fell like a bombshell. Everybody gasped at this revelation of
+the artist's intrigue with his model. Joyce turned white to her very
+lips, and Barry flushed scarlet.
+
+"Call Miss Vernon," commanded the Coroner, abruptly.
+
+Natalie came in, looking lovelier than ever, and quite composed now.
+Without a word, Lamson handed her the note.
+
+The girl read it, and returned it. Except for the trembling of her lip,
+which she bit in her endeavour to control it, she was calm and
+self-possessed.
+
+"Well?" said the Coroner, as gentle toward her now as he had been fierce
+before, "what does that note to you mean?"
+
+Natalie turned the full gaze of her troubled eyes on him. If her angel
+face was ever appealing, it was doubly so now, when her drooped mouth
+and quivering chin told of her desperate distress.
+
+"It is not to me," she whispered.
+
+"That's right," Bobsy Roberts thought; "stick to that, now. It's fine!"
+
+"It was written to you, and left in Mr. Stannard's desk. Where are the
+emeralds? Where are the other jewels hidden?"
+
+"I do not know. I tell you that letter is not mine."
+
+"Not yours, because you didn't receive it. But it was written to you,
+and before it was sent, the writer told you, in so many words, the
+purport of it here in this very room, and in a rage, you killed him."
+
+Natalie stopped her accuser with a gesture of her hand. Her rosy palm
+lifted in protest, she said, "Why do you believe Mrs. Stannard's story
+and not mine? What _I_ saw in this room was the jealous wife, cowering
+in an agony of fear and terror at sight of her own crime."
+
+Lamson paused. He remembered that the testimony of the two disinterested
+witnesses, Mrs. Faulkner and Blake, went to show that these two women
+were both there, near the victim, within a brief moment of the crime
+itself. Who should say which was guilty, the jealous wife or the
+disappointed girl?
+
+And another point. Mrs. Faulkner and Blake had told in detail the
+succession of events at the critical moment of the turning off the
+lights, of the cry for help, and of their entrance; might not Joyce have
+timed her story by this, and claimed an entrance at the same moment?
+And, also, might not Natalie merely have patterned her recital after
+that of Joyce? Which woman was guilty?
+
+
+
+
+                                   V
+                             Blake's Story
+
+
+The sapient gentlemen of the Coroner's Jury concluded, after a somewhat
+protracted discussion, that Eric Stannard met his death at those
+convenient and ever available hands of a person or persons unknown. They
+could not bring themselves to accuse either Joyce or Natalie, because
+for each suspect they had only the evidence of the other's unsupported
+story. And Public Opinion, as represented by the citizens of Rensselaer
+Park, would have risen in a body to protest against a verdict that
+implicated either or both of these two women. And yet, there were many
+exceptions. Many of those whose voices were loudest in declaring the
+innocence of Joyce and Natalie, expressed private views that stultified
+their statements. And some, wagged their heads wisely, and whispered a
+thought of Blake. But most stood out strongly for the burglar theory,
+ignoring all obstacles in the way of the marauder's entrance, and
+repeatedly insisting that the non-appearance of the jewels was
+sufficient proof of robbery.
+
+It may be that Barry's self-confessed scratching of the paint on the
+window-frame turned the trend of thought toward a possible burglar or
+blackmailer, even if he gained entrance some other way; and it may be
+this was the loophole through which the two suspected people escaped
+accusation.
+
+But the interest of the police in these two was strengthened rather than
+lessened, and their life and conduct were under close scrutiny.
+
+Captain Steele, who had been assigned to the case, declared that he was
+glad of the verdict, for it was better to have the suspects at large,
+and he was a firm believer in the principle of giving people sufficient
+rope and allowing them the privilege of hanging themselves.
+
+Captain Steele was at The Folly, as the house was always called,--in
+spite of the Stannards' attempts to use the more attractive name of
+Stanhurst,--on the day after the inquest, and Detective Roberts was also
+there and one or two other policemen and reporters.
+
+Steele had appropriated the small Reception Room next the studio for his
+quarters, and was going over with great care the reports of the
+proceedings and evidence of the day before.
+
+"You see, Bobsy," he said, "the burglar stunt won't work. I've tried,
+and Carter, here, he's tried, and we couldn't come within a mile of
+getting in or out among that art junk in the window, without making
+noise and commotion enough to wake the dead."
+
+"I know it," assented Bobsy. "Knew it all the time. Let's cut out Mr.
+Burglar. Also, Blake was on the door all the evening, and he would have
+looked in the studio in case of a racket."
+
+"Sure. Now, I want to fix the time of the stab act. They all say about
+half past eleven, but nobody knows exactly."
+
+"Of course they don't. People in evening togs never know what time it
+is. Why should they? They don't have to punch a clock. I think the
+footman would just about know, though. Servants have their hours, you
+know. And anyway, let's get that man in here."
+
+Blake was summoned, and, though impassive as usual, seemed ready to
+answer questions.
+
+He retold his story, with no appreciable deviation from what he had
+testified at the inquest.
+
+"Are you sure it all occurred at half past eleven?" asked Steele.
+
+"Yes, sir. I heard the chimes in the studio just before the light went
+out."
+
+"How long was the light out?" Roberts put in.
+
+"I should say, not more'n a minute or so. I was that scared when I heard
+the sounds, I can't tell about the length of time properly. But it
+wasn't two minutes, I'm sure, between the studio light going off and me
+turning it on."
+
+"Would you have turned it on, if Mrs. Faulkner hadn't told you to?"
+
+Blake considered. "I can't say. I think, yes, for I heard that 'Help!'
+distinctly, for all it was so faint. And I think, if I'd been on my own,
+I'd 'a' gone ahead. At such times a servant has to use his judgment,
+sir."
+
+"Right you are, Blake," said Bobsy, who had taken a liking to the
+footman. "Now, tell us all you know of the whereabouts of every member
+of the family--of the household."
+
+"I don't know much as to that. You see, I was on the hall, and I could
+only see those who passed through it."
+
+"Well, go clear back, to dinner time, and enumerate them."
+
+"Before dinner, everybody was in the Drawing Room, that's over the
+dining room, at the East end of the house. Then they all came down the
+grand staircase to dinner, and of course I saw them then. After dinner,
+the ladies had their coffee on the Terrace and the gentlemen stayed at
+the table. Then, when the men came out of the dining room, they pretty
+much scattered all over the house. Everybody was in the studio at one
+time, and then some went to the Billiard Room or in this Reception Room
+we're now in, or up to the Drawing Room. Then, about eleven, Mr. and
+Mrs. Truxton went home, and I showed them out. And Mrs. Faulkner and Mr.
+Wadsworth were in the hall at the same time. But after the Truxtons
+went, Mrs. Faulkner and Mr. Wadsworth went up to the Drawing Room. You
+see,--er----"
+
+"What, Blake?"
+
+"Well, if I may say it, sir, he's--er--sweet on her, and they two went off
+by themselves."
+
+"I see," and Bobsy smiled. "Now, as to the other ladies, Mrs. Stannard
+and Miss Vernon?"
+
+"Of those I know nothing, for they didn't come around where I was."
+
+"Nor any of the men?"
+
+"No, sir. Well, then, next, Mr. Wadsworth, he came down, and I let him
+out. He says, 'Good night, Blake,' sort of gay like, and I thought
+perhaps Mrs. Faulkner had smiled on his suit, sir."
+
+"Very likely. And then, Mrs. Faulkner came down?"
+
+"Yes, but you see, just the moment before, I had heard this queer noise
+in the studio, and I was listening at the crack of the door. I meant no
+harm, and no curiosity,--but Mrs. Faulkner came in sight of me just then,
+and she spoke to me. Then, the lights went out----"
+
+"Why, you said they were out before the lady spoke to you."
+
+"Oh, yes, that's right, they were. Well, it's small wonder I get mixed
+up. They were, sir, because I told Mrs. Faulkner they were, and she said
+it wasn't my place to comment on that. And she was right, it wasn't my
+place, to be sure; but I was worried, that's what I was, worried, and
+then we both heard the cry of 'Help!' and she told me to turn on the
+studio lights and I did."
+
+"Do they all obey one switch?"
+
+"Yes, sir, that is, there's one main key right at the door jamb that
+controls all. So when I turned it on, the whole room was ablaze."
+
+"And of course, you couldn't help seeing the exact state of things.
+Well, Blake, which lady do you think did it?"
+
+"Oh, sir," and Blake's solemn face grew a shade more so, "I couldn't
+say. I'm sure I don't know. But, it must have been one of them, there's
+no getting around that. When I saw the three, as you might say, almost
+in a row, and the two ladies, sir, both near to Mr. Stannard, sir, and
+both looking--oh, I can't describe how they looked! Why if they were both
+guilty they couldn't have looked different."
+
+"They weren't both guilty!" cried Roberts. "It couldn't have been
+collusion, eh, Steele?"
+
+"Nonsense, of course not," returned Captain Steele; "one stabbed him,
+and the other came in at the sound of his voice. The terror and shock of
+the culprit and that of the innocent one would both be manifested by the
+same expressions of horror and fright."
+
+"I believe that," said Bobsy, after a minute's thought. "Now, Blake, as
+to the actual means of getting in and out of that studio. Let's go in
+there."
+
+It was rather early in the morning and the members of the household were
+as yet in their rooms. It was not the intention of the Police to intrude
+upon them until after the funeral, but it was desirable to make certain
+inquiries and investigations while the matter was fresh in the minds of
+the servants.
+
+Roberts intended to interview others of them afterward, but just now
+Blake was proving so satisfactory that he continued to keep him by.
+
+In the studio, both Steele and Roberts examined carefully the marks on
+the West window casing.
+
+"Idiot boy!" exclaimed Bobsy. "To think he could fool us into believing
+this was professional work!"
+
+"It shows a leaping mind on his part, to fly round here and fix it up so
+quickly," said Steele, a bit admiringly.
+
+"That's what Mr. Barry has, sir, the leaping mind," observed Blake, as
+if pleased with the phrase. "Often he jumps to a conclusion or decision
+that his father'd take hours to reach."
+
+"Mr. Stannard was slow, then?"
+
+"Not to say slow, in some things. He was like lightning at his work. But
+as to a matter, now, that he didn't want to bother about, he would put
+it off or dawdle about it, something awful."
+
+"And you see," Bobsy went on, "there are only three doors and three
+windows in the place. Now we have accounted for----"
+
+"What's the gallery for?" asked Steele, gazing up at the gilded iron
+scrollwork of the little balcony.
+
+"Just for ornament, sir," Blake returned. "And I've heard Mr. Stannard
+say, it was necessary, to break up that wall. You see, the ceiling is
+some twenty feet high, and no windows on that side, being next the main
+house."
+
+"It's all one house,--there's no division?"
+
+"No real division, sir, but this end,--the studio and Billiard Room on
+this floor, and the rooms directly above,--are all Mr. Stannard's own,
+and in a way separate from the rest of the house."
+
+"His sleeping room is above the studio?"
+
+"Yes, sir; and his bath and dressing-room and den. Mrs. Stannard's rooms
+are next, over the Reception Room, and all the other bedrooms are over
+the dining room end, and in the third story."
+
+"Listen," impatiently cut in Bobsy. "There are six ways of getting in
+and out. Now nobody could have entered at the hall door where you were,
+Blake?"
+
+"Oh, no, sir. I was there all the evening, and the hall lighted as
+bright as day."
+
+"All right. That's one off. Now we'll go round the room. The North
+window is out of the question, eh?"
+
+"Yes, sir," said Blake, as the query was to him. "It only opens in those
+high, upper sections, by cords, don't you see?"
+
+Blake showed the contrivance that opened and shut the upper panes, and
+it was clear to be seen that there was no possibility of entrance that
+way.
+
+"Next is the West window," Bobsy went on, "and that's settled by a
+glance. Why, look at the chalk dust on the floor. How could any one walk
+through that and leave no track?"
+
+This was unanswerable, so they went on to the door to the Billiard Room.
+
+"This is where Mrs. Stannard came in. No other person could have entered
+this door unless she had seen him. Now, we come to the East window. This
+was open, I am told, but the wire fly-screen makes it safe. Also, Mr.
+Courtenay sat on a lawn bench, looking this way, when the light went
+out. Had a person climbed in at this window before that he must have
+seen him."
+
+"He couldn't climb in, sir, 'count of the screen," said Blake. "It's not
+a movable screen. We put them up for the season, and take them down the
+middle of October. They all come down next week."
+
+"This door, the last," and Bobsy paused at the door to the Terrace, "is
+the one at which Miss Vernon entered. If any one else had come in here
+she would have seen him. That completes our circuit. No one could have
+gained access to this room except the ones under consideration. Now we
+are faced by the fact that one of those two women committed the murder,
+and it's up to us to decide which one."
+
+"There's the fireplace," suggested Steele.
+
+"There was a fire there that night," Blake asserted. "That is, there had
+been, for the evening was a little chilly, and too, Mrs. Stannard is
+fond of an open fire. It was burned out when--when it all happened, but
+the embers were smouldering when I came into the room. And no one could
+come down the chimney, anyway. It's a crooked flue, and it's full of
+soot beside."
+
+"No one ever comes down a chimney," said Roberts, "but it's always well
+to look into it." He peered up into the blackness, but the even coat of
+soot showed no scratches or marks.
+
+"Then there's no ingress other than those we've noted," Steele mused.
+"There's no skylight, no cupboards, no doors up in that balcony place,"
+he ran up and across it, as he spoke, tapping on the wainscoated wall.
+"Solid," he said, as he came down the other little stair. "Now, is there
+any trap door?"
+
+They lifted rugs and hammered on the floor but the oak was an unmarred
+surface, and no opening was there of any sort.
+
+"I wanted to be sure," said Roberts, as, a little shamefacedly he
+pounded on the floorboards around the West window. "Now, I am sure. We
+have only the two doors to deal with. The door from the Terrace and the
+one from the studio. Let's look at them both."
+
+Stepping out onto the beautiful covered Terrace, the men paused to take
+in the glories of the scene. The splendid lawns sloping down to even
+more splendid gardens were the plan of an artist and a Nature lover
+both. The October foliage was alight and aglow, and the Autumn flowers
+were masses of gorgeous bloom. But after a whiff or two of the sunlit
+morning air, they returned to their quest.
+
+"On this terrace Miss Vernon and Barry Stannard sat until after eleven,"
+Roberts said; "I got that from young Stannard himself."
+
+"Don't put too much faith in those people's ideas of time," warned
+Steele. "He may think it was after eleven and it may have been much
+earlier."
+
+"You're right, there. Well, anyway, he sat here with her, in the
+dark,--he told me he had turned off the Terrace light,--and then he went
+off to give the dogs some exercise. I believe they go for a trot every
+night, don't they, Blake?"
+
+"Yes, sir; Mr. Barry almost always romps about with the dogs of an
+evening."
+
+"Well, that leaves Miss Vernon alone here for an indefinite--I mean, an
+indeterminate time. Now, why doesn't Mr. Courtenay see her, as he sits
+on that lawn seat yonder?"
+
+"Too dark," said Steele, laconically.
+
+"That's right. She was back, we'll say, under the Terrace roof, and the
+night was dark. Moreover, the Studio was brightly lighted, also the
+Billiard Room, which threw the Terrace even more in shadow. Well,
+then,--I'm sort of reconstructing this,--Miss Vernon sat here, until, _as
+she says_, she heard the noise in the studio."
+
+"Or saw the light go out," and Steele shook his head. "Nobody seems to
+know which happened first, the sudden darkness in there or the queer
+sound."
+
+"No one knows, except the murderer," said Roberts, seriously. "The
+murderer knows, because he--or she--turned off the light, but the others,
+who are innocent, are uncertain about it, as one always is about a
+moment of unexpected action."
+
+"That's it," and Steele looked at the detective in admiration. "Mighty
+few can give a clear account of sudden happenings, unless it's a cut and
+dried account."
+
+"And yet--" Bobsy frowned, "you know both Miss Vernon and Mrs. Stannard
+became confused about the lights."
+
+"That's because they both tried to copycat the footman's story. You see,
+the one who really killed Stannard, did shut off the lights, and when
+she tells her story, and has to stick to it, she gets mixed up about the
+sound and the lights, because she was in the studio all the time, and
+not where she says she was, at all. Then, on the other hand, the other
+of the two, being innocent, gets confused, because she really can't tell
+just how things did happen."
+
+"Sound enough. Now let's go to the Billiard Room."
+
+Crossing the studio again, they entered the Billiard Room, a large
+apartment with seats round the walls and the table in the centre.
+
+Cue racks and much smoking and other masculine paraphernalia were all
+about. There were a skylight of stained glass and a few high side
+windows. An outside door was on the South side.
+
+"Here Mr. Courtenay left Mrs. Stannard, at much the same time Barry left
+the girl," Roberts said. "So you see, Steele, their chances are equal."
+
+"Chances of what?"
+
+"I mean chances to go into the studio, unobserved of anybody, commit the
+deed, turn off the lights, and then, either return to the spot she came
+from or to remain in the room until the other entered. It _must_ have
+been that way, for there's no other way for it to be."
+
+"All right; now, what about Mrs. Stannard's story of overhearing the
+stuff her husband said to the girl?"
+
+"Probably true, but if he said that to Miss Vernon and Mrs. Stannard
+overheard it, she _might_ have run in and found the dead man, or she
+_might_ have run in and stabbed the living man."
+
+"In the dark?"
+
+"Perhaps so. She knew where every bit of furniture was. But isn't it
+quite as likely that the girl did the stabbing?"
+
+"That wax baby?"
+
+"She isn't the baby she looks! Always distrust a blonde."
+
+"But such a blonde!"
+
+"Distrust them in proportion to their blondeness, then. But we've
+learned all we can here. Back to think it over, and puzzle it out."
+
+
+
+
+                                   VI
+                        Mrs. Faulkner's Account
+
+
+Now, although the residents of the aristocratic Rensselaer Park were
+willing, and even preferred to accept the burglar theory, rather than
+have more shocking revelations, the newspaper reading public was avid
+for sensation, and dissatisfied at the failure of the police to arrest
+anybody, even the hypothetical burglar.
+
+Owing to the prominence of the victim, both socially and in the art
+world, a great hue and cry was raised for vengeance where vengeance was
+due. All sorts of theories were propounded by all sorts of people and
+interest increased rather than dwindled as no definite progress was
+reported.
+
+Captain Steele was one of the most able men on the force, and his record
+for success in murder cases was of the best. His reputation was at
+stake, and he was working his very hardest in his handling of the
+present matter. His methods were persistent rather than brilliant, and
+his slowness was often the despair of quick-witted Robert Roberts.
+
+"Captain," Bobsy would say, "do you see that point?"
+
+"I saw it long ago," would be the exasperating reply.
+
+"Well, what about it?"
+
+"I haven't thought it out yet."
+
+"Well, get busy."
+
+"I am busy," the stolid Captain would answer, and go on about his
+business.
+
+But the two were staunch friends and allies, and possessed the qualities
+that enabled them to work side by side without friction.
+
+"You see," said Steele, as they were closeted in the Reception Room,
+"it's more or less a psychological problem."
+
+They liked this room for their confabs. The small size and convenient
+location suited their purpose admirably. They could shut its two doors,
+and be entirely secluded or they could open them and get a general idea
+of what was going on about the house.
+
+"Snug little box," Bobsy had said, when he first saw it, and the walls
+and ceiling being all of the same general decoration in red and gold,
+did give it the effect of a well lined box. It was used by the family
+for the reception of transient callers, and was more formal than the
+studio or Billiard Room. The Terrace, too, was used as a living place,
+in available weather, and even now as the two men were deep in their
+discussion, there could be seen through the south window some servants
+arranging a small breakfast table out there.
+
+"Psychology is out of my line," Roberts said, in answer to the Captain's
+assertion.
+
+"Oh, I don't mean anything scientific. But, it's this way. One of those
+women is lying and one telling the truth. Now, if we tax them with this,
+we'll get nothing out of them, for they're both at the edge of a nervous
+breakdown."
+
+"The innocent one, too?"
+
+"Sure. The guilty one is naturally all wrought up, and the innocent one
+is so scared at the whole thing that she is all in, too. I think the
+little peach was in love with the artist; I'm not sure of this, but it
+doesn't matter, anyway. Also, and incidentally, I think that Courtenay
+man is very much in love with Mrs. Stannard. Now, all these things are
+none of our business, unless they help us to form conclusions that are
+our business. And so, we must be rather more tactful and diplomatic than
+usual, because of dealing with highstrung and fine-calibred natures."
+
+"A murder doesn't connote a high-calibred nature!"
+
+"It may well do so. A strong impulse of revenge or jealousy could, on
+occasion, sway the highest mind to the basest deed. Murderers are made,
+not born, Lombroso to the contrary, notwithstanding. And it is the
+coincidence of opportunity and motive that makes crime possible to an
+otherwise great and noble nature."
+
+"I'm not sure I agree to all that, but if the argument is helpful let's
+use it by all means."
+
+"It is. Now, here's the situation. As near as I can make out, Mr.
+Stannard was alone in his studio after the Truxton people had gone; the
+Faulkner lady and her admirer had gone to the Drawing Room, the model
+was on the Terrace with Barry, and Mrs. Joyce was in the Billiard Room
+with Courtenay. The trouble is, we don't know how long this interval
+was. Blake says the Truxtons went at eleven. Well, from eleven, then,
+till eleven-thirty covers the whole time in question. Between those two
+moments the crime was led up to and committed."
+
+"Must it have been led up to?"
+
+"Not necessarily, I admit. But suppose, let us say, that soon after
+eleven, one or other of the two women we're considering, was left alone.
+Say she came into the studio and had some sort of session with Mr.
+Stannard that led to the stabbing. Then, say, she turned off the lights,
+and quickly returned to her post, either in the Billiard Room or on the
+Terrace, and a moment later, entered again, just as she says she did."
+
+"All right, that goes. Now, which?"
+
+"That's what we must discover by studying the two women, not by hunting
+clues of a material nature."
+
+"Whichever did it, or whoever did it, had to cross to the other end of
+the room to turn off the lights, didn't she?"
+
+Captain Steele remembered the switch was near the hall door, and the
+armchair where Stannard died was at the South end of the room.
+
+"Yes," he agreed, "but that's only a few seconds' work."
+
+"But when she did it, the man was not dead. You know he groaned after
+the light went out, and later, he spoke."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, can you imagine that little girl having nerve enough for all
+that? Mrs. Stannard is a much older woman, and a self-possessed one. My
+opinion leans toward her."
+
+"What about the dying words of the man, and also, what about that letter
+to the model?"
+
+"There's too much evidence instead of not enough! But before we sift it
+out, which we can do elsewhere, let's try to learn something more from
+the people here."
+
+"Servants or the others?"
+
+"The others, if possible. If not, then some servants beside Blake."
+
+The breakfast table on the Terrace had been visited only by Mrs.
+Faulkner and Barry Stannard. The other ladies had not appeared. The two
+had quite evidently finished, as the men could see from their lace
+curtained window, and Roberts proposed they request an interview with
+one or both of them.
+
+Somewhat to their surprise, the request was graciously granted. Mrs.
+Faulkner said she should be rather glad of an opportunity to learn what
+the police had done or were thinking of doing, and Barry seemed anxious
+to discuss matters also.
+
+But even before they began, Barry was called away on some errand, and
+Mrs. Faulkner was their only source of information.
+
+Bobsy Roberts was disappointed, for he wanted to talk with a member of
+the immediate family, but Captain Steele saw a chance to learn something
+personal of the two women he wished to study.
+
+"You must know, Mrs. Faulkner," began Steele, "that the two women found
+in the room, near the dying man, are naturally under grave suspicion of
+guilt. Can you tell us anything that will help clear the innocent or
+indicate the criminal?"
+
+Beatrice looked at him a moment, before she spoke. She also glanced at
+Bobsy Roberts, and then, in a low, calm voice she replied: "I think I
+must remind you that these two women are my dear friends. I have known
+Mrs. Stannard for years, and Miss Vernon, though a recent acquaintance,
+is very dear to me. They are both fine, noble women, utterly incapable
+of the crime, even under deepest provocation. Therefore I do not admit,
+even to myself, that the circumstances implicate either of them,
+although they may seem to do so. With this declaration of my attitude in
+the matter, I will answer any questions that I can, but I will not agree
+that your theory is the right one."
+
+"Then, who did kill Mr. Stannard?"
+
+"That I cannot say. But in absence of any real evidence against Mrs.
+Stannard or Miss Vernon, it must seem to have been an intruder of some
+sort. Though it may not be known how he entered, it is far more easy to
+believe that he did gain an entrance, than to believe crime of either of
+those two."
+
+It was plain to be seen Mrs. Faulkner was determined to stand by her
+friends through thick and thin. So Bobsy started on another tack. "Will
+you tell us then something of the personal relations of this household?
+Was Mr. Stannard in love with his pretty model?"
+
+"I think he was," Beatrice rejoined, as if the matter were of no great
+import, "but Mr. Stannard was the type of man known as a 'lady-killer.'
+He adored all beautiful women, and was what may be called 'in love' with
+many. His nature was so volatile and so impressionable, that his love
+affairs were frequent and ephemeral."
+
+"Mrs. Stannard made no objection to this?"
+
+"I think these queries are unnecessarily personal, but I see, so far, no
+harm in replying. Mrs. Stannard knew so well her husband's temperament
+and disposition, that usually she laughed at his sudden adorations,
+knowing that he tired of them very quickly. The Stannards were a model
+and a modern couple. They never stooped to petty jealousies or
+bickerings, and had wide tolerance for each other's actions."
+
+"Mrs. Stannard is his second wife, is she not?"
+
+"Yes, they were married something more than two years ago."
+
+"And Mrs. Stannard had other suitors, who were disappointed at her
+marriage?"
+
+"That is usually true of any beautiful woman."
+
+"But in her case you know of instances?" Bobsy smiled pleasantly.
+
+"Naturally, as I know her so well."
+
+"And is Mr. Courtenay one of them?"
+
+"Mr. Courtenay was one of her devoted admirers, and since the marriage
+he has been a friend warmly welcomed here by both Mr. and Mrs. Stannard.
+No breath of reproach may be brought against Joyce Stannard or Eugene
+Courtenay. Of this I can assure you."
+
+"And the young lady,--is Barry Stannard a suitor of hers?"
+
+Beatrice's face clouded a little. "Yes; you cannot help seeing that, so
+I will tell you that he is madly in love with Miss Vernon, but his
+father strongly objected to the match, and threatened to disinherit
+Barry if he persisted in his attentions to the girl. I tell you this,
+because I prefer you to hear the truth from me, rather than a string of
+garbled gossip."
+
+"And young Stannard persisted?"
+
+"I think so. It was love at first sight on both sides, and Miss Vernon
+is a very lovely girl,--of quite as lovely a nature as her pure sweet
+face indicates."
+
+"Might not Mr. Stannard's objection to his son's suit have been prompted
+by his own admiration for the lovely nature?"
+
+"It might have been," and Beatrice sighed. "Eric Stannard was an
+exceedingly selfish man, and though his interest in the model was
+doubtless his usual temporary love affair, it is quite likely that it
+was the main motive of his displeasure at his son's interference. I am
+speaking very frankly, for I know these things must all come out, and I
+am hoping, if you know just how matters are, you will understand the
+case better and be more prepared to relieve the two women of suspicion."
+
+"It may be so," and Captain Steele nodded his head sagely.
+
+But Mrs. Faulkner was watching him closely. "You are not yet very
+greatly influenced by my revelations, I can see," she said, "but I am
+sure you will come around to my way of thinking, sooner or later. The
+more you see of your suspects, the more you will realise the absurdity
+of your suspicions."
+
+"That's possibly true. When can we have an interview with either of
+them?"
+
+"Mrs. Stannard is prostrated. I am sure you cannot see her before the
+funeral, which will be to-morrow. Won't you refrain from asking it,
+until after that?"
+
+"Certainly. But Miss Vernon, may we not have a few words with her? You
+must realise, Mrs. Faulkner, if the girl is innocent, it will be much
+better for her to see us and answer a few straightforward questions than
+to appear unwilling to do so."
+
+"I agree with you. I will go and ask her, myself, and advise her to see
+you. Shall I go now?"
+
+"In a moment, please; but first, one more question. We are trying to
+discover who last saw Mr. Stannard alive, prior to the time of the
+murder. What can you tell us as to this?"
+
+"Only that I was in the studio, just before the first of the guests went
+away. At that time we were all there, I think, except Barry and Natalie,
+who were out on the Terrace. The two Truxtons went home, and at the same
+time Mr. Wadsworth and I went up to the Drawing Room----"
+
+"To be by yourselves?"
+
+A certain kindliness in Bobsy's tone robbed the question of
+impertinence, and Beatrice smiled a little, as she said, "Yes, exactly.
+We stayed there perhaps a half hour, and then Mr. Wadsworth went home. I
+did not go downstairs with him, but sat a moment in the Drawing
+Room,--thinking over some personal matters. Then when I went downstairs,
+it was to see Blake listening at the door,--and the rest you know."
+
+"Yes; now whom did you leave in the studio, when you and Mr. Wadsworth
+and the Truxtons went out of it?"
+
+Beatrice thought a moment. "Only Mr. Stannard, his wife and Mr.
+Courtenay."
+
+"Then Mrs. Stannard and Mr. Courtenay went into the Billiard Room?"
+
+"Yes, and Mr. Stannard went, too. But he went back in the studio,--Joyce
+told me that,--and he must have been there alone when--the person who
+killed him came in."
+
+"This would make it, that Mr. Stannard returned to his studio from the
+Billiard Room at a little after eleven, say, five or ten minutes after.
+The fact that he cried out for help at about eleven-thirty narrows the
+time down rather close. We have only about twenty minutes for the
+intruder to enter and commit the deed. This is long enough if the crime
+was premeditated, but scarcely giving time for a quarrel or argument to
+take place."
+
+"Then you assume premeditation?" and Beatrice looked up quickly.
+
+"It would seem so."
+
+"Then I am sure you will find, Mr. Roberts, that it could not have been
+either of the two you think. For even if one of them might have done
+such a thing in the heat of passion, neither, I am positive, ever
+deliberately premeditated it."
+
+"What about the letter found in the desk?"
+
+"That," and Beatrice shook her head emphatically, "that was never meant
+for Miss Vernon."
+
+"Yet Mrs. Stannard overheard him say practically the same thing to
+somebody in the studio, a moment or two before the crime was committed."
+
+"Joyce thinks she heard that. But Captain Steele, that poor woman
+scarcely knew what she was saying at that awful inquest, and she--well,
+she had reason to think there were women in Mr. Stannard's life, who
+would be willing,--in fact, who wished him to be divorced from her. She
+knew this, she knew of that note he had written,--it was not the first of
+that nature, and she imagined she heard that speech."
+
+"You make Mr. Stannard out a very bad man, Mrs. Faulkner."
+
+"I am sorry to speak ill of the dead, but he was not a good man in the
+ways we are talking of. In other respects, Eric Stannard had few faults.
+He was upright, honest and generous. He was kind and he was truthful.
+And he was extraordinarily brave and honourable. But he was inordinately
+selfish and of sybaritic instincts. He would not try to curb his
+admiration for a new and pretty face, and though absolutely loyal to his
+wife in honour and principle he was a flirt and a gallant, much in the
+way of a butterfly among the flowers. His genius it is not necessary to
+speak of. He is known here and abroad as one of the greatest artists of
+the century. And his wide and varied experiences, his cosmopolitan life
+and his waywardness of character may well have gained him enemies, who
+in a secret and clever manner found means to take his life."
+
+"Who will benefit financially by his death?" Captain Steele asked
+abruptly.
+
+"I haven't heard anything about the will yet, but I'm pretty certain,
+that outside of a few friendly bequests his fortune is divided between
+his wife and son, about equally."
+
+"And his jewel collection? Is not that valuable?"
+
+"Very. The emeralds mentioned in that note comprise a fortune in
+wonderfully matched stones. And there are many more. Yes, it is an
+exceedingly valuable lot."
+
+"He showed them to Mr. Truxton, that evening?"
+
+"To all of us. That was right after dinner. He showed only a few cases,
+but of very beautiful stones."
+
+"And then he put them away, where?"
+
+"I've no idea. They were not in sight, that I remember, when the
+Truxtons took leave. But I gave them no thought. I've often seen them,
+and after their exhibition, Mr. Stannard always puts them in his safe
+himself."
+
+"They have not been found in the safe."
+
+"Then he put them in some simple hiding-place. They will turn up.
+Unless, of course, there was a real burglar, whose motive was robbery."
+
+"But you do not think so?"
+
+"Frankly, I do not see how there could have been an intruder, unless
+dressed as a gentleman. No other could have gained access to the house."
+
+"The servants saw no stranger, in any sort of garb?"
+
+"They say so," returned Beatrice, thoughtfully. "Don't overlook the
+possibility of an accomplice among the servants. I've no reason to think
+this, but such things have happened."
+
+"They have indeed, and I assure you we have not overlooked the chance of
+it."
+
+
+
+
+                                  VII
+                           Natalie, Not Joyce
+
+
+But the desired interview with Natalie was not achieved before the
+funeral of Eric Stannard. It was two days after before the girl would
+consent to see Roberts, and then, under protest.
+
+"I've nothing to say," she declared, as she came unwillingly into the
+Reception Room to meet him. "I'm not under arrest, and there's no law
+that can make me talk if I don't want to."
+
+The lovely face was troubled and the scarlet lips were pouting as Miss
+Vernon flounced herself into a chair, one foot tucked under her, and one
+little slipper tapping the carpet. She looked so like a petulant
+school-girl, it was well nigh impossible to connect her with a thought
+of anything really wrong. But Robert Roberts was experienced in guile
+and was by no means ready to accept her innocence at its face value.
+
+"No law ought to make you do anything you don't want to," he said
+smiling; "but suppose it's to your own advantage to talk?"
+
+The sympathetic, good-natured face of Bobsy Roberts had a pleasant
+effect, for Natalie's pout disappeared and a look of confidence came
+into her blue eyes.
+
+"I wonder if I can trust you," she said, meditatively, as she gazed at
+him, with an alluring intentness.
+
+"You sure can," returned Bobsy, but he consciously and conscientiously
+steeled himself against her witcheries.
+
+"No, I don't think I can," she said, after a moment, and with a tiny
+sigh of disappointment, she looked away. "Go on; question me as you
+like."
+
+"Why can't you trust me?"
+
+"Oh, I trust you, as far as that goes. But I see you suspect me of
+killing Mr. Stannard."
+
+"And didn't you?" Bobsy believed in the efficacy of sudden, direct
+questions.
+
+But Miss Vernon was not taken off guard.
+
+"No," she said, quietly, "I didn't. But when I say I didn't, it
+implicates Mrs. Stannard, and I don't want to do that. Can't you tell me
+what to do?"
+
+"Well, it's this way. If Mrs. Stannard is the guilty person, you want it
+known, don't you?"
+
+"No, indeed! If Joyce Stannard killed her husband, she had a good reason
+for it, and I'd rather nobody'd know she did it."
+
+"What was her good reason?"
+
+"Well, you know, Mr. Stannard was--that is,--he had eyes for other people
+beside his wife."
+
+"You, for instance."
+
+"Yes!" and the flower face took on a look of positive hatred, and of
+angry reminiscence. "I have no kindly thought of Eric Stannard, if he
+_is_ dead."
+
+"He was kind to you."
+
+"Too kind,--in some ways,--and not enough so in others."
+
+"And his wife was jealous?"
+
+"Who wouldn't be! He petted her to death one day and the next he
+neglected her shamefully. I will trust you, Mr. Roberts. Now, listen; if
+Joyce killed Eric,--I don't say she did, but if she did, why can't we
+just hush up the matter, and pry into it no more? Barry wants that and
+so do I. And who else is to be considered?"
+
+"The law, justice, humanity, all things right and fair."
+
+"Rubbish! Let those things go. Consider the wishes of the people most
+concerned."
+
+"Then straighten out a few uncertain points. Where are the emeralds?"
+
+"Goodness! I don't know! That foolish letter wasn't written to me."
+
+"To whom, then?"
+
+"I don't know that, either. Some one of Eric's lady friends, I suppose.
+Fancy my wanting him to divorce his wife and marry me!"
+
+Bobsy looked at her narrowly, distrusting every word. This girl, he felt
+sure, was far from being as ingenuous as she looked.
+
+"But he was in love with you?"
+
+Natalie blushed, a real, natural girl blush.
+
+"I can't help that, Mr. Roberts. I am, unfortunately, a type that men
+admire. It is the cross of my life that every one is attracted by my
+silly doll-face!"
+
+Bobsy Roberts laughed outright, at this naïve wail of woe.
+
+"You needn't laugh, I'm in earnest. I get so sick of having men fall in
+love with me, that I'd like to go and live on a desert island!"
+
+"With whom?" and Bobsy looked at her intently.
+
+"With Barry Stannard," she returned, simply. "We're engaged, now. We
+couldn't be, while Mr. Stannard lived, for he wouldn't hear of it.
+Threatened to disinherit Barry, and all that. But now, it's all right."
+
+"Miss Vernon, to my mind, that speech clears you of all suspicion. If
+you had killed Eric Stannard, because he wouldn't let his son marry you,
+you never would have referred to it so frankly."
+
+"Of course I wouldn't. Now, don't you see, since I didn't kill him, it
+must have been Joyce. It's been proved over and over that it could not
+have been a burglar, or anybody like that. And so, I want to stop
+investigating, and leave Joyce in peace. And then, after awhile, she can
+marry Eugene Courtenay, and be happy."
+
+"Does she want to marry Mr. Courtenay?"
+
+"Of course she does. He was in love with her and she with him, before
+she knew Mr. Stannard. Then Eric came along and stole her,--yes, stole
+her,--just like a Cave Man. She was carried away by his whirlwind wooing,
+and--too--he was celebrated, and--well,--you know,--magerful,--and he just
+took her by storm. She never really loved him, but she has been good and
+faithful, though he has treated her badly."
+
+"And if she killed him, it was----"
+
+"It was because she had reached the end of her rope, and couldn't stand
+any more. And, too, she has seen a lot of Mr. Courtenay lately, and--oh,
+well,--she was mad that Eric took such a fancy to me, and so,----"
+
+"Look here, Miss Vernon, just see if you can reconstruct the scene to
+fit in with a theory of Mrs. Stannard's guilt."
+
+"How do you mean?"
+
+"Can you remember about the light going out and the cry for help,--and
+all that, exactly?"
+
+"No,--I've tried to, but it's all mixed up in my mind. I think, if
+Joyce,--I mean, whoever did it,--must have struck the blow, and then
+turned off the light, and then gone out of the room, and--and come back
+again."
+
+"And that could have been you--as well as Mrs. Stannard! You were both
+discovered in practically the same circumstances!"
+
+"You're trying to trip me, Mr. Roberts. But you can't do it. Now, look
+here, if that note had been written to me, wouldn't it mean that these
+emeralds were mine, and wouldn't I claim them?"
+
+"But it states distinctly that you know where they are, and the
+presumption is, that you have them in your possession."
+
+"Indeed, I haven't! I wish I had! I mean, I wish I had them rightfully
+in my possession! They're wonderful stones! Look here, Mr. Roberts, why
+don't you suspect Mr. Truxton? He's gem crazy,--and you know gem
+enthusiasts often go to any length to get the stones they covet."
+
+"I hadn't thought of him. And, supposing he did commit crime to steal
+Mr. Stannard's jewels, just how did he get away afterward, without
+discovery?"
+
+"Well, suppose he stabbed Mr. Stannard, then turned off the light, and
+then slipped out through the Billiard Room when Joyce's back was
+turned?"
+
+"Too unlikely. Besides, Mr. Courtenay, who sat on the bench on the lawn,
+just then, would have seen him leave the house."
+
+"I suppose he would." Natalie drew a deep sigh. "Do give it up, Mr.
+Roberts. You never can untangle it."
+
+"Are you going to stay here long?"
+
+"For a time. Mrs. Stannard has asked me to, and Barry wants me." The
+simplicity of the girl's manner almost disarmed Bobsy, but he went on:
+
+"Mrs. Stannard, then, has no hard feelings toward you?"
+
+"I don't know. Honestly, Mr. Roberts, I don't know whether she is
+keeping me here because she suspects me, or because she doesn't."
+
+"Did Mr. Stannard leave you anything in his will?"
+
+The rose-pink cheeks flushed deeper, as Natalie replied, "Yes, he did.
+You probably know that already."
+
+"No, I didn't. Was it a worthwhile amount?"
+
+"From my point of view, yes. It was seventy thousand dollars."
+
+"Whew! Decidedly worthwhile, from almost anybody's point of view."
+
+"I know what you're thinking," cried Natalie as he paused. "It's an
+added reason for suspecting me of killing him."
+
+"It might be construed so."
+
+"Well, I didn't! I was pretty mad, when he made that horrid etching from
+my Goldenrod picture----"
+
+"And you smudged the wax impression so he couldn't use it----"
+
+"I did not! I would willingly have done so, if I'd thought of it, but I
+didn't do it, all the same."
+
+"Who did?"
+
+"Whoever killed him, I suppose."
+
+"Then that lets out Mr. Truxton, or a burglar of any sort. It leaves
+only Mrs. Stannard. Mightn't she have done it?"
+
+"A jealous woman might do anything. But Joyce wasn't especially jealous
+of me,--no more than of anybody Mr. Stannard might be attracted to."
+
+"And to whom else was he attracted?"
+
+"Nobody just now,--that I know of. You see, Mr. Roberts, I was just about
+to leave this house, because Mr. Stannard was too devoted in his
+attentions to me. I tell you this frankly, because I want you to
+understand the situation."
+
+"And I want to understand it. Tell me more of this matter."
+
+"Well, Mr. Stannard had told me several times of his affection for me
+and had told me he would remember me in his will, and, not more than a
+week ago, he told me of Joyce's caring for Mr. Courtenay, though how he
+discovered that, I don't know, for Joyce never showed it. She was good
+as gold. Well, Mr. Stannard didn't say so in so many words, but he
+implied that if he and Joyce--separated--and it could be arranged,--and
+she--you know,--married Mr. Courtenay,--would I marry him. And I was so
+mad, I flew into a rage, and----"
+
+"And scratched up your picture?"
+
+"No, that wax plate hadn't been drawn then. It was afterward that he
+drew that, and then I was madder than ever."
+
+"And in the heat of your passionate rage, you----"
+
+"No, I didn't! I tell you, whoever killed Eric Stannard, I didn't!"
+
+"Then what did he mean, when, in his dying moment, he said, 'Natalie,
+not Joyce!' Tell me that!"
+
+"I will tell you," and the girl lowered her voice and looked very
+serious. "I know exactly what he meant, and Joyce Stannard knows too. He
+meant,--you'll think I imagine this, but it's true; he meant that it was
+Natalie and not Joyce, whom he loved, and whom he was trying to beckon
+to at that moment."
+
+It was impossible to doubt the honesty of the speaker. The great earnest
+eyes were filled with mingled pain and shame, but the girl meant what
+she said.
+
+"I know it," she went on. "You see, he had said to me, several times,
+'Natalie, not Joyce,' by way of a teasing bit of love-making. Eric was
+not a bad man, it was only that he could not keep from making love to
+any woman he might chance to be with. And when I would reprimand him and
+bid him go to his wife, he would laugh and say 'Natalie, not Joyce,'
+till it became a sort of by-word with him. And I know that's what he
+meant that night, when he was hurt,--he didn't know he was dying,--and he
+called to me in a half-conscious plea to come to his assistance. Also,
+he could see me more plainly. Joyce was rather behind him, and his
+clouding brain spoke out as he saw me, and called for me. As a matter of
+fact, that speech, though made so much of, means nothing at all. He
+wasn't entirely conscious and he spoke as one in a dream. But he did not
+mean that I had stabbed him."
+
+"Did he know who stabbed him?"
+
+"How can I tell that? But if he had known that I did it, or had thought
+that I did it, he would never have said so, had he been aware of what he
+was saying."
+
+"You mean, if you had been guilty, he would have shielded you, rather
+than accused you with his last breath?"
+
+"Yes, or Joyce either. Or any woman. Eric Stannard would never accuse a
+woman of wrongdoing. His speech meant anything rather than that."
+
+"Miss Vernon, this puts a very different light on your connection with
+the affair. Why didn't you tell this before?"
+
+"Can't you understand, Mr. Roberts? I have no love for Eric Stannard, I
+never had any. His attentions annoyed me, his insistence on painting me
+as he wished to, also annoyed me. I would have left him long ago, but
+for Barry. Also, I am fond of Joyce. She has been most kind to me, and
+never jealous of me until lately. Now, I hated to announce that those
+dying words meant that Mr. Stannard put me ahead of his wife in his
+affection, especially as it didn't altogether mean that, it was merest
+chance that he saw me and not her----"
+
+"But he did see her, for he said 'Natalie, _not_ Joyce.'"
+
+"Yes, I know," and the little foot tapped the rug, impatiently,--"but, I
+mean, he saw me, and he was for the moment interested in me, and he was
+in pain, or a sort of stupor, or--oh, I don't know what his sensations
+were, I'm sure,--but I want to show you that he spoke at random, and it
+didn't mean as much as it seems to."
+
+Natalie had grown excited, her lip trembled, and her voice was unsteady.
+Either she was desperately anxious to make the truth clear, or she was
+making up a preposterous story.
+
+If she were guilty, this was a great scheme to divert the suspicion so
+emphasised by the victim's statement, and if she were innocent, the
+story she told might well be true.
+
+"Let me follow this up," said Bobsy, looking at her closely. "Then Mr.
+Stannard was so in love with you that he called on you in a desperate
+moment, rather than on his wife----"
+
+"But he didn't know it was a desperate moment. I don't believe that man
+was conscious at all. The stab wound was practically fatal at once. What
+he said and did after it, was involuntary. Don't you know what I mean?
+He was only half alive physically and almost not at all alive in his
+mind--his brain. Couldn't that be true?"
+
+"I suppose so. In fact, I think it must have been--and yet, no, it seems
+to me it would be logical for him to tell, even without a clear
+consciousness, who his assailant was. Remember Blake asked him outright.
+'Who did this?' and he said----"
+
+"I know; but you didn't see him, and I did. He was not looking at Blake,
+he didn't even hear him. He was in a dazed state, and, seeing both Joyce
+and myself,--he must have seen us both,--his sub-consciousness called out
+for me. I am not vain of this preference, I wish it had all been
+otherwise, but I insist that explains his words, and--Joyce knows it,
+too."
+
+"How do you know she does? Have you talked with her on this subject?"
+
+"Oh, yes. We have discussed it over and over. Mrs. Faulkner and Joyce
+and Barry and I have gone over every bit of it a dozen times."
+
+"Is it possible? What does each of the four think? Since you deny the
+deed, you can tell what is the consensus of opinion in the household."
+
+"That's just what I can't do. You see, we all hesitate to say anything
+that will seem to accuse either of us. Mrs. Faulkner, I can see plainly,
+is uncertain whether to suspect Joyce or me. She is convinced, of
+course, that it must have been one of us, but she pretends to think it
+was a burglar."
+
+"She is fond of you both?"
+
+"Yes, she adores Joyce, and she is most friendly to me. I've only known
+her since I've been here, but she seems to believe in me, somehow. She
+understands perfectly, that Mr. Stannard meant just what I say he did,
+by those words. She knows how he acted toward me, and how Joyce felt
+about it."
+
+"Then she suspects Mrs. Stannard?"
+
+"She doesn't say so. She sticks to the safe theory of an intruder. You
+can't blame her. None of us can suspect Joyce. It's too absurd."
+
+"And Barry Stannard, what does he think?"
+
+"Oh, he vows it was an intruder. He's thought up a dozen ways for him to
+get in and out."
+
+"All equally impossible?"
+
+"I suppose so. Unless,--I hate to say it,--but mightn't Blake have let him
+out?"
+
+"Not unless it was somebody known to the household."
+
+"Well?" said Natalie Vernon.
+
+
+
+
+                                  VIII
+                              The Emeralds
+
+
+"You mean?" prompted Bobsy.
+
+"Oh, nothing. But,--just supposing, you know. I'm sure I don't want to
+mention Mr. Truxton or Mr. Wadsworth, but they were both here----"
+
+"Absurd! Why, Mr. Wadsworth was with Mrs. Faulkner in the Drawing
+Room----"
+
+"Yes, I know. But he came down and went out the door alone, leaving her
+up there. Now, if he had wanted to, and if he had fixed it up with
+Blake, couldn't he have gone into the studio, stolen the jewels and
+killed Eric, and then turned off the light and fled, Blake letting him
+out the front door?"
+
+"But why would Mr. Wadsworth do that?"
+
+"Why would anybody? I'm only showing you that there _are_ theories that
+don't include me or Joyce."
+
+"But not tenable theories. Mr. Wadsworth, I've been told, was having a--a
+romantic tête-à-tête with Mrs. Faulkner."
+
+"Yes, he was asking her, for the 'steenth time, to marry him. But she
+turned him down again."
+
+"Well, even if she did, probably he didn't give up all hope. And a man,
+just from a session of that sort, isn't going to commit a crime."
+
+"Oh, well, of course, it wasn't Mr. Wadsworth. But why not consider Mr.
+Truxton? He's a jewel sharp, too."
+
+"We have considered him. But he and his wife went home earlier----"
+
+"He could have come back,----"
+
+"But he didn't. Miss Vernon, we've gone into all these matters very
+thoroughly. What do you suppose the Police have been doing? There isn't
+a possible theory we've overlooked, and it all comes back to the simple
+facts of the evidence that incriminate either Mrs. Stannard or yourself.
+I see no reason why I shouldn't tell you this frankly. If you care to
+say anything further in your own defence, I'd be glad to hear it.
+Naturally, you hate to accuse Mrs. Stannard, but it rests between you
+two, and it looks as if an arrest would be made soon."
+
+Bobsy was drawing on his imagination a little, but he was bound to
+startle some information out of this provoking beauty.
+
+And Natalie was startled. Her face paled as she took in the significance
+of Roberts' words.
+
+"They won't arrest me, will they?" she whispered in a scared little
+voice.
+
+"I don't see how they can," and Bobsy looked at the girl, wondering.
+That child, that little, tender bit of femininity--surely she could never
+have lifted her hand against a man's life! Even had she wished to, she
+seemed physically incapable of striking the blow.
+
+"Arrest you! Not much they won't!" and Barry Stannard strode into the
+room.
+
+Natalie turned to him with a little sigh of relief.
+
+"You won't let them, will you, Barry?" she said, as his arm slipped
+round her trembling shoulders.
+
+"I should say not! Are you frightening her, Mr. Roberts? You know you've
+no authority for all this."
+
+"It's my duty to learn all I can. If Miss Vernon is innocent, then Mrs.
+Stannard is guilty."
+
+"As a choice between the two, it is far more likely to be Mrs. Stannard.
+But I do not accuse her. I only insist on the impossibility of this
+child's being a criminal."
+
+"'Course I couldn't," and Natalie smiled at the perplexed Roberts. "And
+if, to clear myself, I must tell all I know, then I'll tell you that
+Mrs. Stannard has those emeralds in her possession now."
+
+"She has! How do you know?"
+
+"I passed her room this morning. The door was ajar, and I was about to
+enter, when I saw her, at her dressing-table, looking over the case of
+emeralds. I recognised it at once. I've often seen them. I didn't like
+to intrude, then, so I went on. I thought I wouldn't say anything about
+it, unless it was necessary."
+
+"It is necessary. Has she had them all the time?"
+
+"Let's ask her," said Barry. "I believe Joyce can explain it."
+
+They sent for Mrs. Stannard, and she came, Mrs. Faulkner accompanying
+her.
+
+"I found these on my dressing-table this morning," Joyce said, simply,
+holding out the case of emeralds to the view of all.
+
+"Found them! Where did they come from?" asked Roberts.
+
+"I don't know," and then, seeing the dark looks on the Detective's face,
+Joyce exclaimed, "You tell about it, Beatrice. I--I can't talk."
+
+"This is the story," said Mrs. Faulkner. "About an hour ago, Mrs.
+Stannard sent for me to come to her room. I went, and she showed me the
+case of gems, saying she had found it on her dressing-table when she
+awoke this morning. It was not there when she retired last night.
+Further than that, she knows nothing about it."
+
+"You mean, the jewels appeared there mysteriously?"
+
+"Yes. She cannot account for it, herself. We have been talking it over,
+and it seems to me the only explanation is that one of the servants took
+them, and then decided to return them. Of course it would be practically
+impossible for a servant to sell or dispose of them after the publicity
+that has been given to the matter."
+
+"Of course. But why a servant? Why not a guest--or a member of the
+household,--or--or Mrs. Stannard, herself?"
+
+"I!" exclaimed Joyce. "Why I've just found them!"
+
+"Didn't you have them all the time?"
+
+"Of course not! How dare you imply such a thing? This morning they were
+in my room, last night they were not there. They were brought there
+during the night. It is for you to find out who brought them."
+
+"Was the door of your bedroom locked?"
+
+"No. It is not our habit to lock our doors,--any of us. The outer doors
+and windows are securely fastened, and we have no reason to distrust any
+of the servants."
+
+"Where were the gems this morning?"
+
+"On my dressing-table, in my dressing-room, adjoining my sleeping room."
+
+"Who do you think put them there?"
+
+"Whoever stole them the night my husband was killed."
+
+"And who do you think that was?"
+
+"Whoever killed him, of course."
+
+"Perhaps not," said Mrs. Faulkner, thoughtfully. "Perhaps the thief and
+the murderer were not the same person."
+
+"That may be so," agreed Bobsy. "Have you any theory or suspicion based
+on the return of the jewels, Mrs. Faulkner?"
+
+"No; except a general idea that the emeralds might have been stolen and
+returned by a servant, and the murder committed by an intruder."
+
+"Why not assume that the intruder also took the jewels?"
+
+"Only because it would be difficult for him to get into the house and
+return them to Mrs. Stannard. I can see no explanation of that act save
+that a servant did it."
+
+"Or an outsider with the connivance of one of the servants."
+
+"Yes, that might be," agreed Mrs. Faulkner. "The mere placing of the
+case in Mrs. Stannard's dressing-room would not be difficult. The doors
+all over the house are open or unlocked at night, and a servant could
+easily slip in and out of the room unheard."
+
+"You heard no unusual sound in the night, Mrs. Stannard?"
+
+"None," said Joyce.
+
+"I'm sorry to disagree with the construction you put upon this incident,
+Mrs. Faulkner," and Bobsy turned to her as to the principal spokesman,
+"but to my mind it strengthens the case against Mrs. Stannard. It seems
+more than likely that she had the emeralds all the time, or knew where
+they were. She kept them hidden, because she thought the letter written
+by her husband, tacitly gave the gems to Miss Vernon. Then when Miss
+Vernon saw her, looking at the jewels, Mrs. Stannard thought better to
+face the music and own up that she had them."
+
+"Why I didn't let her know that I saw her!" exclaimed Natalie.
+
+"Perhaps she saw you in a mirror, or heard you. Doubtless she knew in
+some way that you had seen her looking at the jewels, and concluded to
+tell the story that accounted for them."
+
+Joyce Stannard looked at the speaker, and her face blanched. With a
+desperate cry of distress, she turned and swiftly left the room. Roberts
+kept a wary eye on her retreating figure, and as she went upstairs, he
+made no attempt to recall or to follow her.
+
+"She has practically condemned herself," he said. "The reappearance of
+the emeralds seems to settle it."
+
+"Why?" asked Beatrice Faulkner. "Why do you condemn her because of
+that?"
+
+"Look at it squarely, Mrs. Faulkner. Assume for a moment my theory is
+right. Then, Mrs. Stannard, being guilty, and wishing to throw suspicion
+on Miss Vernon, claims that the jewels were put in her room
+surreptitiously during the night. She is sure Miss Vernon will be
+suspected of having had the jewels, and, frightened, restored them
+secretly. This will militate against Miss Vernon, and imply her greater
+guilt also."
+
+"Why, what an idea!" exclaimed Natalie. "As if I ever had the emeralds!"
+
+"That letter said you knew where they were."
+
+"That letter was not written to me."
+
+"To whom then?"
+
+"I've no idea. But not to me. I'm--I'm engaged to Barry."
+
+"You weren't engaged to the son while the father was alive," probed
+Roberts.
+
+"N--no. But only because his father wouldn't allow it. I'm going to look
+after Joyce," and without a backward glance, Natalie ran from the room,
+and up the stairs.
+
+"You see," began Roberts, looking at Mrs. Faulkner and Barry Stannard,
+"you two are the only ones I can talk to frankly. Those two ladies
+suspected by the police have to be handled carefully. You are both
+material witnesses, and as such are bound to tell me truthfully all you
+can of anything bearing on the case. Now, however painful it may be for
+you, Mr. Stannard, I must tell you that it is rapidly coming to a
+show-down between the two suspects, and the probability is, it seems to
+me, that the burden of evidence rests more strongly on the wife than on
+the model. The direct evidence is perhaps evenly balanced, but it seems
+to the police that the motive is greater and the opportunity easier for
+Mrs. Stannard than for Miss Vernon. The wife, let us say, had reason for
+jealousy, and had reason for wishing to be free of her uncongenial
+husband. The little model, while irritated at her employer's attentions,
+was in love with another man, and could easily get away from the artist
+without resorting to crime."
+
+"That's right about Natalie," exclaimed Barry, "but it's unthinkable
+that Joyce should go so far as to kill----"
+
+"You don't know all the provocation she may have had," said Roberts. "A
+jealous wife, or an unloving wife goes through many hard hours before
+she reaches the point of desperation, but she sometimes gets there, and
+then the climax comes. At any rate, if Miss Vernon isn't guilty, Mrs.
+Stannard is. You can't find two women hovering over a dying man, and
+acquit them both. So it's one or the other, and I incline toward the
+suspicion of the older woman."
+
+"But how do you explain the various clues pointing to Natalie?" asked
+Beatrice Faulkner.
+
+"Let's take them one by one. First, that note found on the man's desk.
+Even if that were written to Miss Vernon, it needn't condemn her. Even
+if she had been in love with the artist, it is no evidence whatever that
+she killed him. And the whole tone of the note is against its being
+meant for her. It is unexplained so far, but I can't look on it as
+evidence against the model."
+
+"I agree with that," said Mrs. Faulkner. "That letter may well have been
+to some other woman interested in Eric Stannard, and she may have had
+the emeralds, and, through connivance with a servant, returned them to
+Joyce last night."
+
+"No, no, Mrs. Faulkner, that isn't right. I don't understand the emerald
+business altogether, but I thoroughly believe that Mrs. Stannard has had
+them in her keeping all the time. Now, next, we have the evidence of the
+dying man's exclamation. That, I think, is perfectly explained by Miss
+Vernon's assertion that he meant he loved her and not his wife."
+
+"Of course it is," declared Barry. "I know my father was madly in love
+with Miss Vernon, and though he was fond of his wife, it was not the
+first time he had been interested in the pretty face of another woman. I
+want to say right here, that I revere and respect my father's memory,
+but I cannot deny his faults. And he was far too careless of his wife's
+feelings in these matters. My mother died many years ago, and for a long
+time my father led a butterfly existence, outside of his art, yes, and
+in it, too. Then when he married a second time he did not settle down to
+the generally accepted model of a married man, but continued to admire
+pretty women wherever he met them. Now, it is more than likely that in
+his dying moments his brain half dazed, and seeing the two before him,
+he protested his love for the model he admired and put her ahead of his
+wife. I do not defend my father's speech but to me it is explained."
+
+"It may be so," said Roberts. "Now here's another point. Mrs. Stannard
+declares she heard her husband talking to another woman or at least to
+somebody, in his studio, as she herself stood in the Billiard Room, near
+the connecting door. Shall we say this is an invented story of hers?"
+
+"Let me see," said Barry, "what were the words?"
+
+"To the effect that he was not willing to leave his wife for her, and
+that as a consolation she could have the emeralds."
+
+"Practically what was in the note," exclaimed Mrs. Faulkner.
+
+"Almost," returned Roberts. "Now was Miss Vernon there and were these
+words addressed to her? this question being quite apart from
+consideration of her as the criminal."
+
+"If so, then the letter was to her," said Beatrice.
+
+"And it wasn't," maintained Barry. "My father admired Natalie,--made love
+to her, we'll say, but he never went so far as to offer her jewels, nor
+did she want him to marry her, as the overheard conversation implies."
+
+"Could this be the way of it?" said Beatrice. "Suppose Mr. Stannard was
+even then writing that note----"
+
+"But it was found in his desk."
+
+"Well, suppose he was thinking it over, and muttered to himself the
+actual wording of it. Mrs. Stannard says she heard no other voice, so
+may he not have been alone in the studio at that time?"
+
+Bobsy Roberts turned this over in his mind. "It is a possibility," he
+conceded. "And then, let us say, after hearing those words, Mrs.
+Stannard entered the room, and confronted him, and perhaps there was a
+quarrel and in a moment of insane rage, Mrs. Stannard caught up the
+etching needle and----"
+
+"It isn't at all like her," said Barry, "but I can only say it is more
+easily to be conceived of in her case than in Natalie's. I don't want to
+admit the possibility of Joyce being the criminal, but I can believe it,
+before I can imagine Natalie doing such a thing. And as you say, Joyce
+had motive, and Natalie had none."
+
+"I won't subscribe entirely to that, Mr. Stannard. Miss Vernon inherits
+a goodly sum, and too, she may have been incensed at the manner of the
+artist toward her----"
+
+"No, I wasn't," said Natalie herself, suddenly reappearing. "On the
+contrary, I had persuaded Mr. Stannard, that very day, not to ask me to
+pose for him, except as a fully draped model. He had apologised for his
+previous insistence, and I looked for no more trouble on that score. I
+was trying to get up courage to ask him to let Barry be engaged to me,
+but I hadn't accomplished that."
+
+"If Mrs. Stannard had had any angry words with her husband just before
+he was attacked, could you have overheard them?" asked Roberts.
+
+"I don't think so. Not unless they had spoken very loudly. The door to
+the Terrace was closed, or almost closed. And I was not thinking about
+what might be going on in the house. Unless there had been an especial
+disturbance, I should not have noticed it."
+
+"Yet you heard that gasping cry for help through the closed door."
+
+"Yes. But that was not a faint gasp, it was a penetrating sort of a cry.
+An attempted scream, I should describe it."
+
+Roberts looked at her closely. Was she innocent or was she an infant
+Machiavelli?
+
+"It is a difficult situation," he said, with a sigh. "We have but two
+eye-witnesses. Each naturally accuses the other and denies her own
+guilt. One speaks truth and one falsehood. How can we distinguish which
+one tells the truth?"
+
+"Don't say eye-witnesses," objected Natalie. "I didn't see the crime
+committed. If I think Joyce did it, it's only because I went in and
+found her there and nobody else about."
+
+"Suppose," and Bobsy Roberts looked her straight in the face, "suppose
+Eric Stannard held in his hand your picture,--that etching, you know, and
+suppose he was, in a way, talking to it. Or, say, he wasn't talking to
+it, but what he did say, and what his wife overheard, was said while he
+held your picture, and she thought he referred to you. Then she, in a
+jealous fury, resented the idea of his giving you the emeralds, and----"
+
+"I didn't want the emeralds," said Natalie, coldly, "and I certainly
+didn't want Eric to marry me, but even granting your premises right, it
+takes suspicion of the murder from me, and places it on Joyce."
+
+"It does," agreed Barry, "and that's where it belongs, if on either of
+you two."
+
+"It must be so," said Beatrice Faulkner, "for if Natalie had known where
+the emeralds were, and if that letter was written to her, and gave her
+the gems,--for it really did give them to the one it was written to,--then
+she would have kept them and not have given them back to Joyce."
+
+"By Jove, that's so!" exclaimed Roberts. "Whatever woman that letter was
+meant for, is the real owner of the jewels this minute, according to
+Eric Stannard's wish, and if she had them she would be extremely
+unlikely to give them up unnecessarily. But how, then, explain their
+return?"
+
+"It wasn't a return," said Beatrice. "Joyce had them herself all the
+time."
+
+"I believe she had," said Roberts.
+
+
+
+
+                                   IX
+                            One or the Other
+
+
+Bobsy Roberts was at his wits' end. He pondered long and deeply but he
+could seem to see nothing to do but ponder. There was no trail to
+follow, no clue to track down, and no new suspect to consider.
+
+He sat by the hour in the studio, as if he could, by staring about him
+wring the secret from the four walls that enclosed the mystery.
+
+"Walls have ears," he said to himself, whimsically, "now if they only
+had eyes and a tongue, they might tell me what I want to know."
+
+The studio furnishings included several small tables and escritoires
+which had drawers and pigeon-holes stuffed with old letters and papers.
+Like most artists Eric Stannard was of careless habits regarding his
+belongings. Roberts patiently and laboriously went over these papers,
+and found little of interest. Old bills, old notes of appointment with
+patrons, old social invitations and such matters made up the bulk of the
+findings.
+
+But he came across a small parcel, neatly tied with fine string and
+looking unmistakably like a jeweller's box. Bobsy opened it, and found a
+small gold heart-shaped locket. With it was a card bearing the words
+"For my Goldenheart. From Eric."
+
+It was quite evidently a gift for the one to whom the letter was
+written, but it had never been presented. It was easily seen that the
+parcel had been opened, the card put in, and the string retied in the
+same punctilious fashion that the jeweller had tied it. The paper
+wrapping was uncrumpled, but it was a little faded by time, and dusty in
+the creases.
+
+"Bought it for her but never gave it to her," Bobsy surmised. "Surely I
+can make something out of this."
+
+But nothing seemed definite. A provokingly blank paper, without address
+of any sort, can't be indicative of much. The box bore the jeweller's
+name, and possibly a visit to the firm might tell when the trinket was
+bought, which might mean some help, or, more likely, none.
+
+Bobsy showed it to Joyce Stannard, but she took little interest in it.
+
+"It must have been bought before I married Mr. Stannard," she said.
+
+"Why?"
+
+"I know by the box. That sort of a box was used by that firm the year
+before I was married. In all probability Mr. Stannard did buy it for a
+lady, and for some reason or other didn't present it. It's of no great
+value."
+
+"No," agreed Bobsy, "except as it proves that his interest in
+'Goldenheart' has lasted for some time."
+
+"Then Goldenheart can't be Miss Vernon," said Joyce, wearily. "It seems
+to me, Mr. Roberts, that you get nowhere. You make so much of little
+things----"
+
+"Because we can't get any big piece of evidence. You know yourself, Mrs.
+Stannard, that our principal clue is the finding of you and Miss Vernon
+in a situation which _might_ mean the guilt of either of you, and _must_
+mean the guilt of one of you."
+
+"Mr. Roberts, I want to say to you very frankly that I wish to be
+cleared of suspicion. I did not kill my husband. I can't quite believe
+Miss Vernon did, but at any rate I want the mystery cleared up. I don't
+know how to set about it myself, and if you don't either, I want to
+employ some one else. This is no disparagement of your powers, but if
+you know of any--more experienced Detective----"
+
+"There are plenty of more experienced detectives, Mrs. Stannard, but I
+am anxious to succeed in this quest myself. Will you not give me a
+longer time, and if at the end of, say, another week, I have made little
+or no progress, call on whomever you like."
+
+"Very well. But I must be freed myself. I am willing to spend a fortune,
+if need be, but I cannot live under this cloud of suspicion."
+
+"Let us work together then. Tell me anything I ask, and you may be able
+to give me some help. First, can you state positively that no person
+came in through the Billiard Room and went on to the studio while you
+were in the Billiard Room, just before the tragedy?"
+
+"Why, of course, nobody passed through."
+
+"The Billiard Room was lighted?"
+
+"Yes. Not brilliantly, but a few lights were on."
+
+"Mr. Courtenay had just left you?"
+
+"A short time before, yes."
+
+"And,--now think carefully,--could you not have been sitting with your
+back to the door, or--perhaps, had you your face hidden in your hands, or
+for any such reason, could some one have passed you without your knowing
+it?"
+
+Joyce hesitated a moment, and then she said, "No; positively not. I was
+sitting on one of the side seats, and I may have had my eyes closed, for
+I was thinking deeply, but if any one had passed through the room I
+should have heard footsteps, of course."
+
+"On the soft, thick rug?"
+
+"Much of the floor is bare, and my hearing is very acute. Yes, Mr.
+Roberts, I must have heard the intruder, if one came in that way."
+
+"I do not think one did, but there is no other way for any one to have
+entered the studio."
+
+"Why not by coming in the Terrace door, and passing Natalie instead of
+me?"
+
+"The probability is less. The Terrace door was closed, and, too, Miss
+Vernon sat back on the Terrace, and must have seen any one passing in
+front of her."
+
+"But suppose she did see him, and chooses to deny it for his sake?"
+
+Bobsy looked at her. "I've been waiting for this," he said. "You mean
+Barry Stannard. There is room for thought in that direction. He had
+reason to be angry at his father, first because of his refusal to let
+Barry marry the girl, and also, because of Eric Stannard's annoyance of
+the little model. The father out of the way, the son steps into a
+fortune and wins his bride beside."
+
+"But Barry never did it! I confess I've thought of it as a theory, but I
+can't believe it of Barry,--I simply can't."
+
+"Mrs. Stannard, somebody killed your husband. If not a common
+malefactor, who was bent on robbery, then it must have been one of Mr.
+Stannard's intimates. If that is so, Barry Stannard is no more above
+suspicion than Miss Vernon or yourself."
+
+"That's true enough. Well, go ahead, Mr. Roberts. Do all you can, but do
+get somewhere. You reason around in a circle, always coming back to the
+proposition that it must have been either Miss Vernon or myself."
+
+"That is where I stand at present," said Bobsy, very gravely, "but I
+shall try to get some new light on it all,--and soon."
+
+Joyce looked after him sadly as he took leave and went away, and as soon
+as he was gone she threw herself on a couch and cried piteously.
+
+The visit to the jeweller merely corroborated what Joyce had said that
+the gold heart was bought shortly before her marriage to Eric. The date
+was looked up and the purchase verified. So it seemed to tell nothing
+save that it was meant for a gift but never given. Probably, thought
+Roberts, it was owing to Eric's marriage that he concluded not to give a
+keepsake to a woman other than his bride. But, after all, mightn't
+Goldenheart be Joyce herself? No, for the letter found in the desk
+denied that. But that letter might have been written a long time ago.
+Not likely, for it stated that Joyce would not be unwilling to consider
+separation from her husband. That of course, pointed to the fact that
+Joyce loved another, doubtless Courtenay, but more than all it pointed
+to Natalie as Goldenheart. Well, it was not inconceivable that Eric
+Stannard, the gay Lothario, had called more than one woman Goldenheart.
+Yet had it been Natalie, would he not have said Goldenrod, especially as
+he had painted her in that guise?
+
+And so, as usual, Bobsy Roberts puzzled round in circles and came back
+to the old idea that it must be one of those two women, and could not by
+any possibility be any one else.
+
+And now, to prove it. He planned to delve deeply into the recent past of
+the two, and also into Eric's behaviour of late, and he felt he must get
+some hint or some clue to go upon.
+
+Then, too, there were the missing jewels. The emeralds had been returned
+to Joyce,--that is, she _said_ they had been returned. But the rest of
+the collection was still unfound. Bobsy didn't think they had been
+stolen or lost, but merely that Eric had hidden them so securely that
+they were unfindable. A queer procedure that. It would seem that he
+would have left some record of their hiding place. But he was a queer
+man,--careless in every way. And the jewels might be in a bank or Safe
+Deposit, or might be in some desk or drawer in the house. The whole
+business was unsatisfactory, nothing tangible to work on. An out and out
+robbery, now, one might track down. But a jewel disappearance that might
+be all right and proper, was an aggravating proposition.
+
+So Bobsy Roberts was decidedly disgruntled and not a little chagrined.
+He had welcomed this great case as an opportunity to show his powers of
+real detective work. But it was not so easy as he had thought it. It was
+all very well to say the criminal must be one of two people and quite
+another thing to bring any real proof, or even evidence, aside from the
+finding of them present at the scene of the crime.
+
+Bobsy tried to balance up the points against each.
+
+Motive? About equal, for Joyce didn't love her husband, and Natalie was
+angry at his intentions to her. Inheritance? Equal again, for the
+seventy thousand dollars that was Natalie's bequest was quite as
+desirable a fortune for her, as the larger portion that Joyce received
+was for her. Moreover, Natalie would doubtless marry the son and have a
+fortune as great as Joyce's. Opportunity? Certainly equal. Both women
+were alone, within a few steps of the victim, unobserved of anybody, and
+so familiar with the room and furnishings that they could extinguish the
+light and still find the way around quietly.
+
+Bobsy visualised the scene. Whichever one did it, after striking the
+blow, she had to cross the room to the electric light switch by the
+front hall door, turn it off and then go back again, doubtless meaning
+to leave the room as she had entered it. But before she had left the
+room she heard sounds from the wounded man, and paused,--or perhaps she
+heard the other woman coming in in the darkness, and paused in sheer
+fright and uncertainty. Then came the sudden, blinding illumination as
+Blake snapped on the key, and then--discovery by Blake and Mrs. Faulkner
+both. No escape was possible then. She had to stay and face the issue.
+Now, which of the two acted the part of guilt? Though not there at the
+time, Bobsy had had the story repeated by all who were there, and knew
+it by heart. Natalie had cowered in terror, Joyce had nearly fainted.
+Surely there was no choice between these as evidence of guilt! Either
+woman's action was quite compatible with a criminal's sudden action at
+being discovered, or an innocent woman's horror at the scene before her.
+
+But one had stabbed and one was overcome at the sight. And Bobsy vowed
+he'd find out which was which before his week was up.
+
+Returning to The Folly, he asked permission to spend some time in Eric's
+rooms on the second floor. Here he studied his problem afresh. The
+bedroom, dressing-room and den were all as the dead man had left them.
+Here again were the untidy cupboards and drawers, for servants had
+always been forbidden by Eric himself to put his personal belongings in
+order, and since his death the police had stipulated the same.
+
+But nothing turned up. Sketches, photographs, old letters, all were
+scanned and perused without throwing one gleam of light on the great
+question.
+
+Slowly Bobsy walked down stairs, after his fruitless quest. Slowly he
+went down the great staircase, admiring every inch of the way. He had
+made rather a study of staircases and this splendid specimen, with its
+big, square landings interested him greatly. The carved wainscoting, the
+beautiful newels and balusters were things of beauty and were fully
+appreciated by the detective. He reached the lower hall and stood
+thinking of Blake's experience. There the footman had stood, listening
+at the studio door, when Mrs. Faulkner came down and saw him. Then, in
+less than a minute they had both entered the studio. No, there was not
+time for any other intruder to have been in there and to have got away,
+in the dark, with those two women standing by the dying man. It was a
+physical impossibility. Now, once again, which?
+
+Joyce passed him as he stood in the hall. Then she turned back and,
+after a moment's hesitation, she spoke to him.
+
+"Mr. Roberts, I've had a strange letter. I want to ask advice about it.
+Will you help me?"
+
+"In any way I can, Mrs. Stannard. What is it?"
+
+"Come in the studio. I'll speak to you first about it. I was looking for
+Barry, to ask him."
+
+They went into the great room, the room about which hung the veil of
+mystery, and sat down.
+
+"Here is the letter," said Joyce, handing it to him. "I wish you would
+read it."
+
+Bobsy took the letter curiously. What would he learn?
+
+It was on mediocre paper, and written in a fairly good, though not
+scholarly looking penmanship.
+
+It ran:
+
+  _Mrs. Stannard_:
+
+  Dear Madam: Before writing what I am about to reveal, let me assure
+  you that I am in no sense a professional medium or clairvoyant. I am a
+  woman of quiet life and simple habits, but I am a psychic, and in a
+  trance state I have revelations or visions that are invariably truly
+  prophetic or as truly reminiscent. I cannot be reached by the general
+  public, but when a case appeals to me, I communicate with those
+  interested and if they want to see me, I go to them. If not, there is
+  no harm done. So, if you are anxious to learn who is responsible for
+  the death of your late husband, I shall be glad to give you the
+  benefit of my science and power. If not, simply disregard this letter.
+
+                               Very truly yours,
+                                                                Orienta.
+
+The address was given, and the whole epistle showed an honest and
+straightforward air, quite different from the usual clairvoyant's
+circular letter.
+
+"It isn't worth the paper it's written on," said Bobsy, handing it back.
+
+"But how do you know? I've read up on this sort of thing and while there
+is lots of fraud practised on a gullible public, it's always done by a
+cheap grade of charlatan, whose trickery is discernible at a glance.
+This letter is from a refined, honest woman, and I've a notion to see
+what she'll say. It can do no harm, even if it does no good."
+
+"Of course, Mrs. Stannard, if you choose to look into this matter I have
+nothing to say, but you asked me for advice."
+
+"I know it," and Joyce shook her head, "but if you don't advise me the
+way I want you to, I'll----"
+
+"Ask somebody else?"
+
+"Yes, I believe I will."
+
+"Do. I really think if you confer with Barry Stannard or with Mrs.
+Faulkner, they would give you advice both sound and disinterested.
+They'd probably tell you to let it alone."
+
+"I'm going to ask them, anyway. I won't ask Natalie, for I don't think
+she knows anything about it. Why, Mr. Roberts, if we could just get a
+clue to the mystery, it might be of incalculable help."
+
+"Yes, but you can't get a clue from a fraud."
+
+"I don't believe she is a fraud, but even so, I might learn something
+from her."
+
+"If you do, I hope you will give me the benefit of the information."
+
+
+Joyce laid the matter before Barry and Beatrice. Natalie was present
+also, and Joyce was surprised to find that the girl was well versed in
+the whole subject of psychics and occult lore.
+
+"I don't know an awful lot about it, Joyce," she said, "but I've read
+some of the best authorities, and sometimes I've thought I was a little
+bit psychic myself. I'd like to see this Orienta."
+
+"It doesn't seem right," objected Mrs. Faulkner. "What do you suppose
+she does? Go into trances?"
+
+"Yes, of course," said Natalie. "And then she talks and tells things and
+when she comes to again, she doesn't know what she has said."
+
+"Then I don't believe it's true."
+
+"Oh, yes, it is, Mrs. Faulkner. I mean, it's likely to be. Why, if she
+could tell us who----"
+
+"Do we want her to?" said Barry, very soberly. "Isn't it better to leave
+the whole thing a mystery?"
+
+"No," said Joyce, decidedly. "I want to find out the truth, if there's
+any way to do it. I don't think much of detectives, at least, not Mr.
+Roberts. Oh, he's a nice man,--I like him personally. But he doesn't
+accomplish anything."
+
+"Well, let's have Orienta come here," suggested Natalie. "And we can see
+how we like her, and if we don't want her to, she needn't try her powers
+in our cause."
+
+"The police might object," said Mrs. Faulkner.
+
+"Oh, no," rejoined Barry. "This is a private matter. We're at liberty to
+do a thing of that sort, if we want to. But I don't approve of it."
+
+"I'm going to write to her, anyway," Joyce declared. "I want to see what
+she proposes to do."
+
+"Yes, do," urged Natalie. "And ask her to come here as soon as she can
+arrange to."
+
+
+
+
+                                   X
+                                Orienta
+
+
+"I wish you'd use your influence with Joyce, and urge her not to have
+this poppycock business go on." Barry looked troubled, and his round,
+good-natured face was unsmiling.
+
+"I have tried," returned Beatrice Faulkner, "but she is determined. And,
+really, it can't do any harm."
+
+"It might turn suspicion in the wrong direction."
+
+"Barry, what are you afraid of? Do you fear any revelation she may
+make?"
+
+"No, oh, no,--not that. But if--well, supposing she should declare
+positively that it was Natalie or Joyce,--either of them, don't you see
+it couldn't help influencing the police? I want the whole thing hushed
+up. Father is gone, it can't do him any good to find out who killed him,
+and it may make trouble for an innocent person."
+
+"I'll talk to Joyce again, but I doubt if I can change her determination
+to ask this Orienta here. Absurd name!"
+
+"Yes, and an absurd performance all round."
+
+"I'll do my best. And, Barry, I'm thinking of leaving here to-morrow;
+I've staid longer than I intended, now."
+
+"Oh, don't go away. Why, you're a kind of a--how shall I express it?"
+
+"A go-between?"
+
+"Well, not in the usually accepted sense of that term, but you are that,
+in a nice way. You can tell Joyce what I can't tell her--at least, what I
+say to her has no effect. By the way, Joyce wants to go away, too."
+
+"Will they let her?"
+
+"I don't know. But since she is thinking about this Orienta, she's
+planning to stay here longer. I don't know what she will do, but don't
+you see, Beatrice, if she goes away, even for a short time, Natalie
+couldn't stay here without a chaperon? So won't you stay a while longer,
+until we see how things are going? You've been such a trump all through
+these troubled days,--why, everybody depends on you to--to look after
+things, don't you know."
+
+Beatrice smiled at the boy,--for when bothered, Barry looked very
+boyish,--and said, kindly, "I will stay another week, then. You see, at
+first, Joyce was so nervous and upset, she asked me to look after the
+housekeeping a bit, but now her nerves are better, and I think the
+routine duties of the house help fill up her time, and are really good
+for her."
+
+"Well, you women settle those matters between yourselves. But you stay
+on a while, and help me and Natalie through. The girl threatens to go
+away, too; in fact, everybody wants to get out of this house, and I
+don't blame them." They were in the studio and Barry looked with a
+shudder toward the chair where his father had met his death.
+
+"No, I can't blame them either,--and yet, it is a wonderful house. Must
+it go to strangers?"
+
+"I suppose so. It's Joyce's, of course, but she doesn't want to live
+here. I don't want to take it off your hands, for Natalie won't live
+here either. You don't want it, do you?"
+
+"I? Oh, no. My own life here was a happy one, but the memories of those
+old days and the thoughts of this recent tragedy make the place
+intolerable to me as a home. But strangers could come in, and start a
+new life for the old place."
+
+"It isn't old. And it's going to be hard to sell it, because of--of the
+crime story attached to it. If we could only get matters settled up, and
+the police off the case, we could close the house and go away. Joyce
+would go back to her mother's for a time, and eventually, of course, she
+will marry Courtenay. He's a good chap, and there's not a slur to be
+cast on him. As long as my father lived, Eugene never said a word to
+Joyce that all the world mightn't hear."
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"I only assert it, because I know the man."
+
+"Barry, you're very young, even younger than your years. Try to realise
+that I'm not saying a word against Joyce or Mr. Courtenay, either,
+but--well, since your father himself realised how matters stood between
+them, you ought to see it, too."
+
+"I know they cared for each other, but I mean, Joyce and Eugene both
+were too high-minded to let their caring go very far."
+
+"High-mindedness is apt to break through when people skate on thin ice.
+But don't misunderstand me. Keep your faith in all the high ideals you
+can, both in yourself and others. What did you think of your father
+leaving such an enormous sum to Natalie?"
+
+"It was more than I supposed, but father was absurdly generous, and
+often in erratic ways. He probably made that bequest one day when he was
+especially pleased with her posing, or, more likely, when he himself had
+worked with special inspiration and had produced a masterpiece."
+
+"Very likely. Miss Vernon doesn't seem surprised about it."
+
+"Oh, she knew it. He told her a short time ago."
+
+"Do the police know that?"
+
+"I fear so. And those are the things that worry me. If they think
+Natalie killed my father to get that money, it is a strong point against
+her. Of course, she didn't, but all the evidence and clues in this whole
+business are misleading. I never saw or heard of such a mass of
+contradictory and really false appearances. That's why I'd rather hush
+it all up, and not try to go farther."
+
+"Here comes Natalie now. I'll leave you two alone and I'll go to see
+what I can do with Joyce about that clairvoyant matter."
+
+Barry scarcely heard the last words, for the mere sight of Natalie
+entering the room was enough to drive every other thought from his mind.
+Her white house gown was of soft crêpe material, with a draped sash of
+gold silk, a few shades deeper than her wonderful hair. Gold-hued
+slippers and stockings completed the simple costume, and in it Natalie
+looked like a princess. With all her dainty grace and delicate lines,
+the girl had dignity and poise, and as she walked across the room Barry
+thought he had never seen anything so lovely.
+
+"You angel!" he whispered; "you gold angel from a Fra Angelico picture!
+Natalie, my little angel girl!"
+
+He held out his arms, and the girl went to him, and laid her tiny
+snowflake of a hand on his shoulder.
+
+"Why do you stay in this room, Barry? I don't like it in here."
+
+"Then we won't stay. Let us go out on the Terrace in the sunlight."
+
+The Autumn afternoon sun was yet high enough to take the chill off the
+crisp air, and on a wicker couch, covered with a fur rug, they sat down.
+
+"Here's where we sat, the night of----" began Barry, and then stopped, not
+wanting to stir up awful memories.
+
+"I know it," returned Natalie. "You left me here,--where did you go,
+Barry?"
+
+"Off with Thor and Woden for a short tramp. You said you were going
+upstairs, don't you remember?"
+
+"Yes. But where did you tramp?"
+
+"Oh, around the grounds."
+
+"Which way?"
+
+"What a little inquisitor! Well, let me see. We went across this lawn
+first."
+
+"Did you see Mr. Courtenay on that stone bench there?"
+
+"No, I don't think so. No, I'm sure I didn't. Why?"
+
+"I just wanted to know. Where did you go next? Come, Barry, I'll go with
+you. Go over the same path you went that night."
+
+Barry looked at her curiously, and said, "Come on, then."
+
+They started across the lawn, and soon Natalie turned and looked back.
+"Could you see me from here?" she asked.
+
+"Not at night, no. But I didn't try. I thought you had gone in the
+house, and I went straight ahead. The dogs were jumping all over me, and
+I was thinking of them."
+
+"Oh, Barry! After the conversation we had just had, were you thinking of
+the dogs instead of me?"
+
+"Well, the dogs were bothering me,--and you weren't!"
+
+"Where next?"
+
+But Barry hesitated. "By Jove. I don't know which way I did go next. Let
+me see."
+
+Natalie waited. "Down to the Italian gardens?" she said at last.
+
+"No,--that is, I don't think so. Where _did_ I go?"
+
+"Barry! You must know where you went. How silly."
+
+"It isn't silly. I--I can't remember,--that's all."
+
+"Then you refuse to tell me?"
+
+"I don't refuse,--I just don't remember."
+
+"Barry! Do remember. You must!"
+
+After a moment's silence, he turned and met her gaze squarely, saying,
+"I have no recollection. Don't ask me that again."
+
+Natalie gave him a pained, despairing look and without a word, turned
+their footsteps toward the Italian gardens, the beautiful landscape
+planned and laid out by a genius. Down the stone steps they went and
+paused in the shadow of a clump of carved box. Then Barry took her in
+his arms. "Dear little girl," he breathed in her ear, "don't be afraid.
+It will all come out right. But we don't want the truth known. Now,
+don't give way," as a sob shook Natalie's quivering shoulders. "You
+mustn't talk or think another word about it. Obey me, now, take your
+mind right off the subject! Think of something pleasanter,--think of me!"
+
+"I can't very well help that,--when you're so close!" and the lovely deep
+blue eyes smiled through unshed tears.
+
+"You heavenly thing! Natalie, have you any idea how beautiful you are?"
+
+"If I am, I am glad, for your sake. I needn't ever pose again, need I,
+Barry?"
+
+"Well, I guess No! A photograph of you, all bundled up in furs, is the
+nearest I shall ever let you come to a portrait! Dear, when will you
+marry me?"
+
+"Oh, I can't marry you! I can't--I can't!"
+
+"Then what are you doing here? This is no place for a girl who isn't to
+be my wife!" and Barry caressed with his fingertips the pink cheek which
+was all of the flower-face that showed from the collar of his tweed
+jacket.
+
+"I oughtn't to be here--but--but I love you, Barry, I do--I do!"
+
+"Of course you do, my blessed infant. Now, as we didn't get along very
+well with our marriage settlement for a topic, let's try again. Beatrice
+wants to go away from here. Do you want her to?"
+
+"Oh, no! Don't let her go. I'd be lost without her. I want to go, you
+know, but I can't, I suppose. Beg her to stay as long as I do,--won't
+you, dear?"
+
+The pleading in the blue eyes was so tender and sweet that Barry kissed
+them both before replying. "I will, darling. I'll beg anybody in the
+world for anything you want, if I have to become a professional
+mendicant. Now, brace up, Sweetheart, for I want to talk to you about
+lots of things, and how can I, if you burst into tears at every new
+subject I bring up?"
+
+"I'm upset to-day, Barry mine. Don't let's talk. Just wander around the
+gardens."
+
+"Wander it is," and Barry started off obediently, still with his arm
+round her.
+
+"Unhand me, villain," she said, trying to speak gaily. But it was
+impossible, and the scarlet lips trembled into a curve that broke
+Barry's heart for its sadness. He gathered her to himself.
+
+"Dear heart, you are all unstrung. Go to your room for a time, don't you
+want to? Let Beatrice look after you,--she's kindness itself."
+
+"Indeed she is. I'll do that. And I'll come back, Barry, a new woman."
+
+"For heaven's sake, don't do that! You'd make a fine militant
+suffragist!"
+
+"No, not that. But a sensible, commonplace girl, who can talk without
+crying."
+
+"Commonplace isn't exactly the word I'd choose to describe you, you
+wonder-thing! But run away and powder your nose, it needs it. Ha, I
+thought that would stir you up!" as Natalie pouted. "Run along, and I'll
+see you at dinner time. And this evening we'll have our chat."
+
+But that evening Orienta came. Joyce had refused to listen to any one's
+objections and had made the appointment with the clairvoyant to come for
+a preliminary conference whether she gave them a séance or not.
+
+Barry and Natalie refused at first to meet the visitor, but Joyce
+persuaded them to see her, so that they might argue intelligently for or
+against her. Beatrice consented to be present, for Joyce had begged it
+as a special favour.
+
+And so, when Blake ushered the stranger into the Reception Room she was
+greeted pleasantly by all the members of the household.
+
+Nor was this perfunctory, for the charm of the guest was manifest from
+the first. At her entrance, at the first sound of her low, silvery
+voice, each hearer was thrilled as by an unexpected bit of music.
+
+"Mrs. Stannard?" she said, as Joyce rose and held out her hand. The long
+cloak of deep pansy-coloured satin fell back showing its lining of pale
+violet, and the dark Oriental face lighted with responsive cordiality,
+while she returned the greetings.
+
+Selecting a stately, tall-backed chair, Orienta sank into it, and
+crossed her dainty feet on a cushion which Barry offered. Her purple hat
+was like a turban, but its soft folds were neither conspicuous nor
+eccentric. She chose to keep her hat on, and also retained her long
+cloak, which, thrown back, disclosed her robe of voluminous folds of
+dull white silk. Made in Oriental design, it was yet modishly effective
+and suited well the type of its wearer.
+
+Though not beautiful, the woman was wonderfully charming. In looking at
+her each auditor forgot self and others in contemplation of this strange
+personality. Each of the four observing her had eyes only for her, and
+didn't even glance aside to question the others' approval.
+
+Without seeming to notice this mute tribute, Orienta began to speak. "We
+will waste no time in commonplaces," she said, her voice as perfectly
+modulated as that of a great actress, "they cannot interest us at this
+time. It is for you to tell me whether or not you wish to command my
+services in this matter of mystery. If so, well,--if not, I go away, and
+that is all."
+
+The name she had chosen to adopt was a perfect description of her whole
+personality. Her oval face was of olive complexion; her eyes, not black,
+but the darkest seal brown; her hair, as it strayed carelessly from the
+edges of the confining turban, was brown, in moist tendrils at the
+temples, as if she were under some mental excitement.
+
+It was evident,--to the women, at least,--that the scarlet of her full
+lips, and the flush on her cheek bones, was artificial, but it gave the
+impression of being frankly so, and not with intent to deceive. It was
+perfectly applied, at any rate, and the flash of her ivory white teeth
+made her smile fascinating.
+
+"That's the word," Barry Stannard thought, as it occurred to him, "she's
+fascinating, that's what she is. Not entirely wholesome, not altogether
+to be trusted, but very, _very_ fascinating."
+
+With a subtle understanding, Orienta perceived that Barry had set his
+stamp of approval on her, and turned her attention to the women.
+
+"I in no way urge or insist upon my suggestions," she said. "I only tell
+you what I can do, and it is for you to say. For you, I suppose, Mrs.
+Stannard?"
+
+"Yes," said Joyce, and her tone was decided. "Yes, it is for me to say,
+and I say I want you. I want you to tell us anything you
+can,--_anything_--about the mystery that has come to this house. I want to
+know who killed my husband, and I want to know why, and all the details
+of the deed."
+
+"Oh," Barry protested, "don't begin with that, Joyce. Let Madame Orienta
+tell us something of less importance first. Let us have a séance or a
+reading or whatever the proper term may be, and test her powers."
+
+The visitor gave him a slow smile. "It is as I am instructed," she said,
+in a matter-of-fact, every-day sort of way. "But I must inform you
+before going further, that my fees are not small. Test my powers in any
+way you choose, but I must include the test in my final statement of
+your indebtedness."
+
+"All right," said Barry. "I'll pay the test bill, and then, Joyce, if
+you want to go on with your plans, you can assume the further expense."
+
+"Can we do anything to-night?" asked Natalie. She had sat breathless,
+listening, but now, with eyes like stars, she eagerly questioned.
+
+"You are interested?" and Orienta looked at her.
+
+"Oh, so much. But I fear what you will reveal----"
+
+"Fear my revelations!"
+
+"Only because I know they will not be true, but you will make us think
+they are."
+
+Instead of being annoyed or offended, Orienta looked at her and smiled
+from beneath her heavy dark brows. "You are psychic, yourself," she
+said.
+
+"Yes," said Natalie, "I am."
+
+
+
+
+                                   XI
+                            Sealed Envelopes
+
+
+With a high hand Joyce carried the matter through. She ignored
+opposition and met remonstrance with a baffling disdain. She arranged
+for a return of Orienta for the experiments on the following evening,
+and after the departure of the medium, she declared she would listen to
+no comments on her actions and went off at once to her own rooms.
+
+Beatrice Faulkner expressed herself guardedly. "I don't care what
+revelations come," she said, "except as they affect you people here. It
+doesn't seem to me that that woman can say anything to make me think
+either Joyce or Natalie committed the crime, but I don't want her to say
+anything that will make either of them uncomfortable."
+
+"If she does, there'll be trouble," declared Barry, gloomily. "I feel as
+you do, and I want to try her on any ordinary subject first----"
+
+"But we are going to do that," put in Natalie. "I'm crazy to see the
+whole performance, but I'm scared, too. I wish Joyce would promise not
+to go on with it if any one of us doesn't like it."
+
+"She won't promise that," said Beatrice. "Joyce is bound to see it
+through. I don't know what she expects from it, but she has no fear,
+that's certain."
+
+
+Orienta had stipulated that the séance take place in the studio, saying
+that the influences of the place would go far toward producing
+favourable conditions for her.
+
+So they awaited her there, at the appointed time, and within a few
+minutes of the hour she arrived. Pausing in the hall to lay off her
+wraps, Orienta then glided into the great room where her group of
+auditors were assembled. This time she wore a robe of dark green, as
+full and flowing as the white one. There was no suggestion of Greek
+drapery, but an Oriental style of billowing folds that would have been
+hard to imitate. A jade bracelet showed beneath the flowing sleeve and a
+jade ring was on one finger of the long, psychic hand.
+
+"May I look at it?" said Natalie, as they sat a moment, before beginning
+the séance.
+
+"Certainly. It is my talisman,--my charm. Without it, I could do
+nothing."
+
+"Really? How wonderful!" and the girl looked earnestly at the carven
+stone. "Your power is occult, then?"
+
+"I think it must be. Yet I would not be classed with the people who go
+by the general title of mediums. They are, usually, frauds."
+
+Orienta made this statement simply, as if speaking of some matter
+unconnected with her own work or claims. She gave the impression that if
+fraudulent "mediums" wished to impose upon the gullible public, it was
+of no interest to her, but she declined to be considered one of them.
+And so secure was she in her own sincerity, she deemed it unnecessary to
+emphasise or insist upon it.
+
+"What is your wish?" she asked, at length. "Will you try me first on
+some outside matters or shall we proceed at once to the question of the
+mystery we seek to solve?"
+
+Just then Robert Roberts was announced.
+
+"What shall we do?" exclaimed Natalie. "Tell him to come some other
+time?"
+
+"No," said Joyce, "let him come in here with us. You don't mind, do you,
+Madame Orienta?"
+
+"No; why should I? Who is he?"
+
+"The detective who is working on the case."
+
+Orienta shrugged her shoulders. "Of course it matters not to me. But are
+you sure you want him to know what I may reveal? It may incriminate----"
+
+"I don't care who may be incriminated!" exclaimed Joyce. "I want to find
+out a few things. As a matter of fact, I asked Mr. Roberts to come."
+
+Natalie turned pale. Had Joyce laid a trap? And for whom? What might
+they not learn before the evening was over?
+
+Bobsy entered, and was duly presented to the visitor. He was courteous,
+but unmistakably curious.
+
+"What may I call you?" he asked, as he bowed before her.
+
+"Priestess, if you please," she returned. "I refuse to be called a
+medium or a seeress or even a clairvoyant. I am these things, but the
+titles have been so misused that I claim only to be a Priestess of the
+Occult. This is no academic title, I simply name myself a priestess of
+the cult I express and follow."
+
+"Priestess, I greet you," said Bobsy, and to those who knew him a shade
+of mockery might be detected in his tone. But it was the merest hint and
+quite unobservable to the one he addressed. In most decorous manner he
+took a place in the group, and Joyce announced the plan she had in mind.
+
+"First," she said, "we will have an exhibition of Oriental powers. We
+will follow her instructions and she will give us a showing of her
+methods and her feats. Then,--if I say so,--we will proceed to try the
+other experiment."
+
+"It is well," said the Priestess. "Remember, please, I make no claims to
+magic or to witchcraft. I have, within myself, some inexplicable, some
+mysterious power that enables me to see clairvoyantly through material
+substances. I have also an occult power which allows me to see
+happenings at a distance or in the past as if they were transpiring here
+and now. These two powers are at your disposal, but further than that I
+cannot go. I cannot answer questions, unless they come within the range
+of the two conditions I have mentioned to you just now. I cannot read
+the future or tell fortunes. I can only see what is shown to me, and if
+I disappoint you, I cannot help it. Now let us proceed. I will ask you
+each to write a question on a slip of paper and enclose it in an
+envelope. Sign your name to your question and seal the envelope
+securely."
+
+"Old stuff," said Bobsy Roberts to Barry, in a low whisper. But Barry
+shook his head. He would not commit himself until the experiment was
+over.
+
+"Will you get some paper and envelopes?" asked Orienta. "Any sort will
+do."
+
+Barry rose and went to the desk nearest to him. There was a small paper
+pad, and in a pigeon-hole were several small envelopes.
+
+"Will these do?" he asked.
+
+"Any kind will do," said Orienta, wearily, rather than petulantly.
+
+Bobsy looked at her closely. Surely she wasn't at all particular about
+the materials used. He must watch carefully for hocus pocus, if he was
+to discover any.
+
+"Ink or pencil?" said Barry.
+
+"It doesn't matter," and Orienta was almost irritated now. "I'm not
+doing legerdemain tricks, with prepared paraphernalia!"
+
+Barry, a little embarrassed, picked up a pencil, but in trying it, broke
+off its point. So he took ink, and wrote on the top slip of the pad a
+short question. This he tore off and passed the pad to Joyce.
+
+At last, each had written a question, signed the slip, tucked it in an
+envelope and sealed the envelope. Also each put a small private mark on
+the outside of his or her envelope to distinguish it again.
+
+"Collect them, Mr. Roberts, please," said Orienta, with a gentle smile.
+
+Bobsy put the five envelopes in a little pack and held them.
+
+"Now," said Orienta, "I propose to read these questions in the dark and
+without opening the envelopes. It is no trick, as you can readily see
+for yourselves, but I must ask you to sit quietly and not ask questions
+until I have finished. Then ask whatever you choose. If you please, Mr.
+Roberts, hand me the envelopes, and then turn off the lights. Or, stay,
+turn off the lights first, that there may be no chance of my seeing even
+a mark on the outside."
+
+Bobsy did exactly as directed. Orienta sat in a large chair, facing the
+others, who sat in a row before her. The lights were arranged so that
+Bobsy might turn off all at the main switch, save one small table light,
+which would give him opportunity to regain his seat, and then this could
+be also turned off.
+
+With everybody raptly watching, Roberts, holding the envelopes, turned
+off the lights. The room was dark, save for the one shaded lamp glowing
+on a small table. Then he handed the lot of sealed envelopes to Orienta,
+who took them in a hand-clasp that precluded her seeing any detail of
+them. In another second, Bobsy had taken his seat, and snapped off the
+last small light. The room was in perfect darkness. Barry's hand stole
+out and clasped Natalie's, but otherwise there was no movement on the
+part of any one.
+
+Not a second seemed to have passed before Orienta's soft voice was
+heard.
+
+"I will read the questions," she said, "in the order they were given me.
+This is the first: 'Who is Goldenheart?' It is signed Joyce Stannard.
+This is the answer, as my mind sees it. A woman sitting on a rocky seat
+near a rushing brook or river. There is a man near her. He bends above
+her, and speaks endearing words. He calls her Marie, she calls him Eric.
+She is small and pale. Her hair is Titian red. Though not beautiful, she
+is attractive in a pathetic way. Ah, the vision is gone."
+
+As the low voice ceased, there was a slight rustle as of some one about
+to speak.
+
+"No questions, please," said Orienta, "unless you want this experiment
+to stop right here. I will now read the contents of the next envelope.
+This is, 'Who marred my etched picture?' signed Natalie Vernon. My mind
+sees the artist who made it, himself scratching it. He is in a fury. It
+is because he does not feel satisfied with his own work. He mutters,
+'Not right! no, not right, yet!' There is no one with him. He is alone.
+The vision fades."
+
+Orienta paused, and gave a little soft sigh, as if exhausted. But in a
+moment she spoke again. "You know," she said, "if you prefer to have the
+lights, it doesn't matter at all to me. I read these in the dark because
+I think if the room were lighted you might suppose I saw the message in
+some way by means of my physical eyes. It is not so, but if you prefer
+the light, turn it on."
+
+"I do," cried Roberts, and before any one could object, he snapped on
+the table light and then the main key which flooded the big room with
+illumination.
+
+Orienta smiled. "I thought you were sceptical, Mr. Roberts," she said.
+And then, as if his doubts were of little consequence, she said, "Shall
+I proceed?"
+
+Joyce nodded, but she shot a gleam of annoyance and reproof at Bobsy
+Roberts, who looked a little crestfallen, but determined to take no
+chances.
+
+Orienta picked up the next envelope. She had laid aside on a table the
+two she had read.
+
+She did not look at the envelope she now held, but looked straight at
+Roberts, as if to convince him of her honesty.
+
+"This is signed Beatrice Faulkner, and it says, 'Where are the lost
+jewels?' My mind sees this picture. The jewels, not lost, but safely
+hidden. They are in a strong box, not a safe, more like a metal-bound
+trunk. I cannot tell where this box is, but it is in a bare place, like
+a store room or safety place of some sort. The vision goes."
+
+"May we speak?" asked Natalie, eagerly.
+
+"Not yet, please," and the Priestess smiled at her. "May I not have my
+conditions complied with?"
+
+"Keep still, Natalie," said Barry. "Let her have fair play."
+
+"This is Mr. Stannard's question," and Orienta held another envelope in
+her long fingers, "'Would it not be wiser not to attempt to solve the
+mystery, but to hush up the whole matter?' My mind sees a picture. It is
+vague, there is no detail, but it is bright and beautiful. There are
+fair flowers and soft colours. They shift, like a kaleidoscope, but
+always rosy and lovely. It means, yes, it would be better to give up
+trying to solve the riddle.
+
+"And now," Orienta spoke in a distinctly scornful voice, "there is but
+one more, Mr. Roberts' envelope. In it he has written, 'Are you a
+fraud?' I answer this as carefully as I do the others. My mind shows me
+myself, and I see my honest attempts to do my duty and to read aright.
+No, I am not a fraud. That is all."
+
+"For shame, Mr. Roberts!" cried Joyce, angrily. "I am sorry I asked you
+here to-night, and I will now ask that you go away. I am more than
+interested in Orienta's work, I am enthralled, and I refuse to have it
+interrupted or interfered with by your unjust suspicions and rude
+behaviour! Please go away, and let us continue our experiments in
+peace."
+
+"Oh, Mrs. Stannard, please let me stay," begged the penitent Bobsy;
+"I'll be good, I promise you. You see, I'm so interested in the thing, I
+wrote that to test it, and Madame Orienta came through with flying
+colours. If you will let me remain, I promise not to offend again, in
+any particular."
+
+Bobsy had a way with him, and Orienta herself smiled a little as she
+said, "Let him stay. I'm glad to convince him."
+
+So Bobsy staid.
+
+Then Barry proposed that they try the same test over again, but without
+signing their papers. "Thus," he said, "we will feel more free to ask
+what we choose."
+
+Orienta agreed, and again each wrote a question, and sealed it in an
+envelope.
+
+"Seal them with wax, if you wish," said the Priestess, smiling at Bobsy.
+"I see there is a sealing set right there on the desk."
+
+So Bobsy and Natalie sealed their envelopes, and stamped them with their
+rings.
+
+"I won't do that," said Joyce, "it's too silly. We all know there's no
+trick in it."
+
+"Shall I read these in the dark or in the light?" asked Orienta, as
+Bobsy held the five missives toward her.
+
+"Why not as you did before?" said Beatrice, "part of them in darkness
+and part in light. I think those read in the dark even more wonderful
+than in the light."
+
+"So do I," agreed Joyce. "But we'll try both ways. Which first?"
+
+"You may choose," said the Priestess.
+
+"Dark, then," replied Joyce.
+
+So again the room was made totally dark, and immediately came Orienta's
+soft, velvety tones.
+
+"'Will what I fear ever happen?'" she read slowly. Then she sighed, "I
+cannot say, my child." Every one present knew she spoke to Natalie,
+although the question had not been signed. "I hope not,--I think not,--but
+the vision is clouded. It is better that you forget all. Forget the
+past, live for a bright and happy future. The vision fades."
+
+They had come to know that that last phrase meant the end of a subject,
+and the next one would ensue.
+
+With scarcely a pause and without hesitation, Orienta went on:
+
+"'What can I do to help?'" No hint was needed, for all felt sure this
+was Beatrice Faulkner's question.
+
+The Priestess spoke impersonally, in even tones, and said: "Nothing more
+than you are doing. Your kindness, cheer and sympathy are needed here
+and they are appreciated."
+
+"The rest in the light?" asked Bobsy Roberts, impatiently.
+
+"If you choose," returned Joyce, and Roberts switched on the electrics.
+
+Orienta, with closed eyes, sat holding the next envelope in readiness.
+She seemed not to know or care whether it was light or dark.
+
+"'Am I doing right?'" she read. For an instant the long lashes on the
+cheeks of the Priestess lifted, and she flashed a momentary glance at
+Joyce. "Yes, you are doing right. Continue in the procedure you have
+planned."
+
+A look of contentment passed over Joyce's face. She showed intense
+relief, and oblivious to the others' curious glances she drew a long
+sigh and relaxed in her chair.
+
+Clearly, it made no difference to Orienta that the questions were not
+signed. She knew at once who wrote each. Next came Barry's.
+
+Still with her eyes closed, she held it out toward him, and read, "'Will
+the truth ever be known?'"
+
+There was a perceptible pause before she said, "You do not want it
+known, because you fear it. But your secret is safe. That, at least,
+will never be known."
+
+Bobsy Roberts listened attentively. So Barry Stannard had a secret.
+Pshaw! Not necessarily because this faker said so! And yet, was she a
+faker? Bobsy looked at her. He himself had put those sealed envelopes
+into that long, inert hand. There they were still, intact, seals
+unbroken, and the reader paying no more attention to them than as if
+they were so much blank paper. Whatever her power, it was superhuman. No
+physical vision could read through those opaque envelopes, or if such
+sight might be, it could not operate in total darkness. No, there was no
+chance for trickery. It was a supernatural gift of some sort.
+
+His own envelope came last. He had boldly written, "Who killed Eric
+Stannard?" a question no one else had felt like putting down in crude
+words.
+
+Orienta read it, her hand clasped over the envelope and her eyes closed.
+
+"At last," she murmured, in a strained, whispering voice, "at last we
+come to the vital question. It matters not who wrote it, it is what each
+one wanted to write. Shall I answer?"
+
+There was silence.
+
+
+Orienta opened her eyes and cast a slow glance around.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XII
+                                A Vision
+
+
+It was curious to note the various expressions that met the eyes of the
+Priestess.
+
+Bobsy Roberts regarded her with awe. All his scepticism was gone; he was
+ready to believe anything she might say. She had stood the severest
+tests, had tossed them aside without noticing them, and had come
+triumphant through the experimental ordeal. Surely, if she revealed
+anything hitherto unknown, it would be the truth. But could she do that?
+
+Natalie and Barry both showed fear. Strive to hide it as they would, it
+lurked in their staring eyes, it was evident in their restless hands,
+and as if moved by the same thought, they turned and gazed at each
+other.
+
+Beatrice Faulkner looked troubled. She saw the two young people in their
+distress, and she looked at the Detective furtively.
+
+Joyce, however, was the one to whom all turned, breathlessly awaiting
+her decision.
+
+"Yes," she said, and her voice rang out with its note of determination,
+"yes, Madame Orienta, tell all you know,--all you can learn by your
+mystic power."
+
+As if in obedience to a command, the graceful figure of the Mystic fell
+into a languid pose. Her arms fell limply, her head drooped a very
+little to one side. Her eyes were open, but seemed to be unseeing, for
+her glance was fixed, as if watching a mirage.
+
+She looked directly toward the chair where Stannard had died. Her
+half-vacant glance centred on it, and in a moment she began speaking.
+She sounded as one in a trance. She was alive but not alert, like one
+sleep-walking or talking in a dream.
+
+"I see it all,--clearly. I see the artist in his favourite chair. He is
+at his work,--no, not working, but gazing at something, criticising work
+that he has done. It is not a picture--it is a small panel. He takes up a
+tool,--an instrument, a sharp, pointed one. He hesitates, and then with a
+sudden angry exclamation, he scratches and mars the work. It pleases him
+that he has done so, and he smiles. A man enters."
+
+There was a stir among her audience. The tension was too great. Barry
+sought Natalie's hand and clasped it tightly. Roberts shot glances
+quickly from one to another, but returned his gaze at once to the
+speaker. Joyce and Beatrice leaned forward, fairly hanging on the words
+of revelation.
+
+"The man,--he is big and dark,--confronts the artist as he sits. The
+intruder, without a word, grasps the sharp tool from the fingers of the
+one who holds it, and thrusts it into the breast of his victim. He darts
+across the room, turns off all light, and--it is so black,--I cannot see
+him depart. But--I hear him--I hear his stealthy tread. He comes back,
+past the dying man,--he hears a groan,--he pauses,--I can see nothing, but
+I hear two come in at opposite doors. They stand, breathing heavily in
+fear--in horror of--they know not what. As they stand, half-dazed--I hear
+the man--the murderer slip past one of them, and out of the room. The
+light flashes on. The room is dazzlingly bright. I see the two who first
+entered. They are women. They gaze affrightedly at each other and then
+at the man in the chair. Two others have appeared. They are at the other
+end of the long room. It must have been one of these who flashed the
+light on. They are a man,--a servant he is,--and a woman. Both are
+terrorised at what they see. The two women near the chair of the dying
+man accuse each other of the crime. But this is the frenzied cry of
+shock and fright. They do not mean it--they scarce know what they utter.
+The dying man raises his head in a final effort of life. He sees the
+scene with the clearness of the dying brain. He hears the servant say,
+'Who did this?' He replies, with upraised, shaking finger--'Natalie--nor
+Joyce.' He means neither of these innocent women was concerned. He tries
+to tell more, to tell of his assailant, but Death claims him. His voice
+ceases, his heart stops beating,--he is gone. That is all. With his last
+breath he tried to say, 'Neither Natalie nor Joyce,' but his failing
+speech rendered the words unintelligible. The vision fades."
+
+Orienta ceased speaking, her eyes drooped shut and she lay back in her
+chair as one asleep.
+
+The silence remained unbroken for a minute or more. The beautiful voice
+still rang in their ears. They were still back in the scene they had
+heard described. The vividly drawn picture was still with them, and
+there was no reaction until Bobsy Roberts said, in a tone of awed
+belief, "By Jove!"
+
+Then the stunned figures moved. Beatrice looked at Joyce with a smile of
+deep thankfulness, and then turned to smile at Natalie. The girl was
+radiant. She had sensed acutely the whole scene, and she realised
+perfectly what the revelation meant. Barry was looking at her adoringly,
+and his face was full of triumphant joy.
+
+Joyce looked still a bit dazed. Had the experiment really proved so much
+more successful than she had dared to hope? She looked at Roberts. He
+was scribbling fast in a notebook, lest some point of the story escape
+his memory.
+
+Orienta opened her eyes, roused her long, exquisite figure to an upright
+posture, and passed her hand gently across her brow.
+
+"Is it enough?" she asked. "Are you satisfied?"
+
+"May we ask questions?" eagerly exclaimed Bobsy.
+
+"Yes, but only important ones. I am very weary."
+
+"Then please describe more fully the man who struck the blow."
+
+Again Orienta's eyes fastened themselves on the big armchair.
+
+"I see him clearly," she said, clasping her hands in her tense
+concentration, "but his back is toward me as he bends over his victim."
+
+"How is he dressed?"
+
+"I cannot quite tell. His figure is vague. His clothes seem merely a
+dark shadow against the light."
+
+"Does it seem to be evening dress?"
+
+"It may be. I cannot say, surely."
+
+"At any rate, it is not the rough dress of a tramp or burglar?"
+
+"No,--not that, I think."
+
+"He is not masked?"
+
+"No."
+
+"You say he is dark? Pardon me, Madame, but it is my duty to get these
+details."
+
+"Yes, his hair, as I see it, is dark."
+
+"And he has a round, smooth-shaven face?" Roberts spoke eagerly, as if
+he had in mind a distinct personality.
+
+"No," said Orienta slowly. "No, he has a long, thin face----"
+
+"Can you see his face, then?" Bobsy fairly shot out the words.
+
+"Not his face, but an indication of his profile----"
+
+"Then is he clean-shaven?"
+
+"No, he wears a beard."
+
+"Oh. A dark beard? A heavy one?"
+
+"Dark, yes. But not heavy."
+
+"Pointed or full?"
+
+"Somewhat pointed--ah, he has turned away. I cannot tell."
+
+"Is he wearing a hat? But, no, you see his hair."
+
+"I see no hat."
+
+"Is there a hat on the table? On a chair?"
+
+"I cannot tell. The vision fades."
+
+"Let up, Roberts," said Barry. "We are sure now the man was an intruder.
+Let it go at that. If you can find such a one, it won't matter whether
+he had a hat or not."
+
+"It is important," insisted Bobsy. "Now, Madame Orienta, tell us again
+of his actions. Even if the vision has faded, tell from your memory what
+he did. You saw him when he crossed the room toward the hall door. It
+was light then?"
+
+"Yes. He moved swiftly, straight to the electric switch, and pressed it.
+Then I could see no more."
+
+"Of course not. But you heard his steps returning, you said."
+
+"Yes, he went stealthily, but I heard him feel his way by the furniture
+and walls."
+
+"And at the same time you heard a sound from Mr. Stannard?"
+
+"Yes, a sort of gasp or groan."
+
+"Right. It was this, then, that attracted the attention of Mrs. Stannard
+and Miss Vernon, and they entered at about the same time?"
+
+"So far as I can judge. They were both there when the lights
+re-appeared."
+
+"And in that brief instant the man had slipped past one of them and
+escaped."
+
+"That is as the vision revealed it."
+
+"Only one more question. Past which woman did he go?"
+
+"I cannot say. I merely heard a quick footstep at that end of the room."
+
+"It couldn't have been past Miss Vernon," said Bobsy. "She was too near
+the door, according to her own account. And I don't see how he could
+have passed Mrs. Stannard, as there was a low light in the Billiard
+Room, and she must have seen him pass."
+
+"Both women were looking toward the source of the sound they heard.
+Also, at that very moment, the wounded man gave a faint cry of 'Help!'
+An instant after, the servant turned on the light. In that instant the
+man disappeared, unnoticed by any one. I am not explaining these
+occurrences, Mr. Roberts; I am describing them. It is for you to
+interpret their meaning."
+
+Bobsy fell into a brown study, and timidly Natalie put forth a question.
+
+"How do you know he said, or tried to say, 'Neither Joyce nor Natalie'?"
+
+Orienta looked at the girl with an affectionate expression.
+
+"You are a 'sensitive' yourself, Miss Vernon. It will not be difficult
+for you to understand. By my clairvoyance I read the thought in his
+mind. I know he feared one or other of the two women he saw might be
+suspected. The dying often have abnormally acute prescience. To ward off
+any such danger, and in reply to the servant's inquiry, he strove to say
+neither of you were implicated,--he raised his hand in protest,--but he
+was physically unable to articulate clearly, and so his words were
+misconstrued."
+
+"You heard the words," said Natalie to Beatrice Faulkner; "does it seem
+to you he meant that?"
+
+"Yes," was the reply. "Now that I think it over I feel sure he did. At
+the moment, you know, I could scarcely control my senses, and his voice
+sounded so queer and unnatural, it was difficult to gather his meaning."
+
+"I think so, too," broke in Joyce. "I know that's what he meant. Eric's
+very nature was against his accusing any woman of wrong-doing. He meant
+just what Madame Orienta has told us. And I am glad there can be no more
+doubt about it."
+
+"Could a man have brushed by you that moment, Mrs. Stannard?" asked
+Bobsy.
+
+"I suppose so. I came from a lighted room into one of pitch blackness. I
+heard a quick breathing from the opposite side of the room, where
+Natalie was. I daresay I involuntarily took a step forward, and the man
+slipped past, behind me. It all happened so quickly, and I was so
+frightened, I can't describe my exact sensations. But I accept Madame
+Orienta's revelation as the truth, and----" Joyce's face paled a little,
+and she spoke very sternly, "I positively forbid any further
+investigation of the whole matter."
+
+"Then you suspect some one?" asked Bobsy, quickly.
+
+"Not at all," was the haughty answer, and Joyce looked like a queen
+issuing commands. "I have no idea who the intruder was, nor do I want to
+know. But if this story is made public, a dozen men will be found to fit
+the description, and it will mean no end of trouble and injustice.
+Therefore, I request, Mr. Roberts, that you let it go no further."
+
+"I can't promise that," said Bobsy, gravely. "I am bound to report to my
+chief. But if he agrees, I will stop all investigation."
+
+"That won't do," said Joyce, her dark eyes troubled. "You must promise
+what I ask."
+
+"I think you need have no fear, Mrs. Stannard, of any injustice being
+done. One moment, Madame Orienta. You saw the footman, Blake, followed
+by Mrs. Faulkner, enter the room and turn on the light, just as they
+testified?"
+
+"The light was flashed on, and then I saw the servant, his hand still on
+the switch. Behind him, at his very shoulder, was Mrs. Faulkner, her
+face drawn with fear and horror. Naturally I turned my attention at once
+to the other end of the room, and there saw, for the first time, the two
+women whom I had heard enter a moment before."
+
+"Thank you, that is all," and rising, Bobsy Roberts made brief adieus
+and hurried away.
+
+He went straight to headquarters and sought Captain Steele.
+
+"Got Stannard's murderer," he announced excitedly.
+
+"Again or yet?" asked his unmoved listener.
+
+"Got it in the queerest way, too," Bobsy went on, as he fished for his
+notebooks in the pocket of the overcoat he had laid off. "Do you believe
+in mejums, Cap?"
+
+"Not so's you'd notice it. Spill your yarn."
+
+"Well, to begin at the beginning of this chapter of it, Mrs. Stannard
+engaged a clairvoyant lady to see visions."
+
+"Spooks?"
+
+"Not exactly that, but to--well, to reconstruct the murder
+scene,--mentally, you know,--and see who did the stabbing. And by Jove,
+she told us!"
+
+"Come now, Bobsy, I'll stand for a good deal from you----"
+
+"Now, hold on, she didn't know she told----"
+
+"What! Didn't know what she told----"
+
+"If you could listen without butting in every minute, I'd give you the
+whole story."
+
+"I'll try," and Captain Steele folded his hands and listened without a
+word while Bobsy told him every detail of the Orienta revelation.
+
+Often he referred to his notes, and again he told vividly from memory
+the exact words of the priestess.
+
+"And you fell for that?" cried Steele, as the tale ended.
+
+"Sure I did, and so would you if you'd been there. You can sort of sense
+the difference between the professional fake mediums and this--this lady.
+She was the real thing, all right. I felt just as you do, before I saw
+her, but I was soon convinced. Why, man, that reading the sealed
+messages was enough."
+
+"Pooh, they have lots of ways of doing that."
+
+"But she didn't use any of their 'ways.' I, myself, handed the bunch to
+her, and immediately she read them out, and in pitch dark, too. No,
+there was no chance for trickery. She read them in dark or light,
+equally well. And not a seal broken or an envelope torn. Now, then!"
+
+"No chance for a confederate?"
+
+"Not the least. We sat in a row, and she sat facing us, fully eight feet
+away. And what could a confederate do? I handed her the envelopes,--she
+gave them back to me,--intact. Not one of us moved. When it was dark, her
+voice proved she was in her chair, and when I flashed on the light
+suddenly, there she was, without a change of posture, holding the
+envelopes exactly as I had given them to her. I tell you she's the real
+thing. I've read up on the trickery business, and all the books say that
+while there is lots of fraud, there is also a certain amount of
+telepathy or clairvoyance or whatever you call it, that's true. And
+that's her sort."
+
+"Well, who is the man? Did she tell you?"
+
+"No, she didn't know. But I know."
+
+"Who, then?"
+
+"Eugene Courtenay."
+
+"What?"
+
+"Of course it is. I've had him in the back of my head for some time, but
+I couldn't get a peg to hang a clue on. Now, I see how he could have
+done it. He did do it, just as the lady said. He slipped in, stabbed his
+man, turned off the light, and--slipped out again, past Mrs. Stannard."
+
+"Why didn't she know it?"
+
+"She did know it! Don't you see? Those two are in love. They wanted
+Stannard out of the way. But I don't think there was collusion. I think
+it was this way. You know, it is history that Mrs. Stannard and
+Courtenay were alone in the Billiard Room. Of course he was making love
+to her, and bemoaning the fact of Stannard's existence. Now, either he
+went from her into the studio, and she knew it, or else, he went away,
+as they say, and returned, through the Billiard Room--and she didn't know
+it."
+
+"How could she help seeing him?"
+
+"Oh, say she was crying,--or had buried her face in a sofa cushion,--or
+was sitting before the fire and he passed behind her. But admit that he
+_could_ have gone through that room unknown to her,--which, of course, he
+could. Well, he goes in, and, later, in the dark, he goes out the same
+way. I don't know about her knowledge of any part of this performance,
+but I think she knew nothing of it, or she wouldn't have engaged the
+occult lady."
+
+"She did that to clear herself."
+
+"Yes, and Miss Vernon, too. But when the Priestess, as they call her,
+spoke of a tall, dark man, with a beard, Mrs. Stannard was scared to
+death and wanted it all called off."
+
+"A tall man, with a beard?"
+
+"Yes, a dark, pointed beard! Isn't that Courtenay?"
+
+"Sounds like him. Did she describe him further?"
+
+"Yes, but only when I dragged it out of her. She vowed she couldn't see
+him clearly, and I pretended I wanted her to say a round, smooth-shaven
+face, and little by little I wormed it out, and it was Courtenay to the
+life. Then, Mrs. Stannard weakened on the whole show, which proves it."
+
+"You say you've thought of him before?"
+
+"Only vaguely. But you know his story. How he sat on the lawn bench and
+watched the lights go off and on! Good work, that! He himself turned
+them off and then escaped to the lawn, and cleverly sat there to see
+what occurred, instead of going home, and thereby being suspected."
+
+"And kept still when he found those two women were accused?"
+
+"Sure. He knew they'd get off all right, and if he expected to marry
+Mrs. Stannard, he couldn't let himself get into the game. So he made up
+his simple, clever yarn, and stuck to it. Yes, sir, Courtenay's your
+man!"
+
+"Wait, what about that conversation Mrs. Stannard overheard? She says
+her husband was talking to a woman."
+
+"She made that up. Probably she had a glimmer of suspicion toward
+Courtenay, and did anything she could to make it seem somebody else."
+
+"Then she hired this visionary, and that brought about the very
+revelation she didn't want!"
+
+"But she never dreamed it would do so. She had no faith in the thing,
+and thought it would merely divert suspicion to some unknown intruder.
+And so it would, if I hadn't pinned the Seeress down to a careful
+description. Then, the more Mrs. Stannard showed discomfiture the more I
+knew I was right."
+
+"I believe you, Bobsy. Now, how shall we go about proving it?"
+
+"It will prove itself. It's a case of murder will out. You'll see!"
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIII
+                            An Alibi Needed
+
+
+Very discreetly Bobsy conducted his interview with Eugene Courtenay. The
+detective wanted to trap his man before he could realise any danger, so
+he called on him the morning after his talk with Steele.
+
+Courtenay was not a business man. He called himself a farmer, but his
+farming was of the fancy variety and was done almost entirely by expert
+gardeners. His place was not far from the Folly, and when Bobsy called,
+at about eleven o'clock, he was received courteously enough by the man
+he desired to see.
+
+"It's this way, Mr. Courtenay," said Bobsy, after a few preliminaries,
+"in the interests of law and justice, I want you to tell me a little
+more in detail the story you told at the inquest."
+
+"There are no further details than those I related, Mr. Roberts. What
+have you learned that makes you think my testimony of sudden
+importance?"
+
+Clearly, this was not a man to be easily hoodwinked. Bobsy felt his way.
+"Not of sudden importance. But all testimony is important, and sometimes
+by elaboration it becomes illuminative."
+
+"Good word, illuminative," remarked Courtenay. "But I cannot help to
+shed light for you, I fear. Just what do you want to know?"
+
+Here was an opening. Bobsy accepted it as such.
+
+"At what time did you leave the Stannard house that night?"
+
+"I don't know, really. One doesn't note hours when not on business
+matters. It must have been between eleven and half-past. That's as near
+as I can come to it. Why?"
+
+The last word was shot at him, and Bobsy almost jumped.
+
+"It is my duty to ask," he said coolly. "At what time did you reach
+home? I suppose you don't know that, either."
+
+"I do not. But I didn't come home at once----"
+
+"Yes, I know; you sat on a bench on the Folly lawn. Were you in evening
+togs, Mr. Courtenay?"
+
+"I was."
+
+"Had you on a hat?"
+
+Eugene Courtenay started. But he answered at once: "Not a hat. I wore a
+cap over there. I often do when I go to a neighbour's."
+
+"And you had it on when you sat on the bench?"
+
+"Why, confound it, man. I don't know! I suppose I did. No, let me see. I
+believe I was carrying it, and laid it on the bench beside me."
+
+"And left it there?"
+
+Courtenay laughed a little self-consciously. "Yes, I did. I came nearly
+home before I thought of it. Then I went back and gathered it in. Why?"
+
+Again that direct, snapped-out question.
+
+"What was going on at the house when you went back?"
+
+"How should I know? After events prove that the tragedy in the studio
+was then being gone through with--but I had no idea of that at the time.
+I glanced at the house, of course. There was a light in the studio--in
+fact, lights over most of the house. I found my cap and came on home.
+Why?"
+
+"I'll answer your whys, Mr. Courtenay. Because the police have reason to
+think your story is not entirely true. Because we think it was you,
+yourself, who turned off the studio light."
+
+"Do I understand, Mr. Roberts, you mean that I--let us speak plainly--that
+I killed Eric Stannard?"
+
+"Did you, Mr. Courtenay?"
+
+"I refuse to answer such an absurd question! In the first place, I was
+out on the lawn, when the light went out."
+
+"So you say. But who corroborates that?"
+
+"I was also out there when the light flashed on again."
+
+"Yes, that may be true, but your first statement is not. You left Mrs.
+Stannard in the Billiard Room, you went into the studio--whether in the
+interim you had been out on the lawn or not, doesn't matter--you stabbed
+Eric Stannard, you turned off the light, and returning through the
+Billiard Room, you went back to that bench, and awaited developments."
+
+"You must be insane!"
+
+"Oh, no, I'm not insane. Neither were you. It was a clever dodge. You
+didn't know the women would be implicated, but when they were, however
+you might regret that, you couldn't confess your own guilt----"
+
+"Why couldn't I?"
+
+"Because," Bobsy looked squarely at him, "because you love Mrs.
+Stannard----"
+
+"Stop! Don't you dare to speak her name! You mischief-maker! You
+absolute and unqualified----"
+
+"Stop, yourself, Mr. Courtenay! These heroics harm your case--they don't
+help it."
+
+"But it's false! It isn't true! I didn't do it! I was----"
+
+"Yes?"
+
+"I was on that bench all the time, till I went home----"
+
+"Did you see any one, any servant or gardener, perhaps, who can vouch
+for your story?"
+
+"No--I can't remember that I did. But, man, alive, how could I get in and
+out of that room? It has been proved----"
+
+"It has been proved that you could have entered unseen and could have
+left unseen."
+
+"But how?"
+
+"Answer this question truthfully. What was Mrs. Stannard doing, when you
+left her in the Billiard Room?"
+
+"She was sitting on one of the leather seats that are built to the
+wall."
+
+"Was she looking at you, as you left?"
+
+"No. She had buried her face in a pillow against which she leaned."
+
+"Why did she do this? Was she feeling ill?"
+
+"No."
+
+"Then why the act?"
+
+"I cannot say."
+
+"You mean you will not. Was it because you had said something to her
+that caused her emotion?"
+
+"I refuse to answer, and you have no right to ask."
+
+"Very well, don't answer. But, you must admit, that if her face was
+buried in the pillow, she could not see if a man passed through the
+Billiard Room to the studio."
+
+"But no one did!"
+
+"How do you know?"
+
+"Because I should have seen him from the bench where I sat."
+
+"No, you would not, because you were the man."
+
+"You accuse me?"
+
+"I do."
+
+"I deny it. But I shall say no more to you. Have you a warrant for my
+arrest?"
+
+"I have not."
+
+"Then go--and go quickly, before I tell you what I think of you!"
+
+But Bobsy Roberts was no fool. He said, quietly, "I'd rather you would
+tell me what you think of me. It may help me to get at the truth. There
+are reasons why we are inquiring into your connection with this
+matter--you will hear the reasons soon enough. There is peculiar but
+direct evidence that you are the man who stabbed Mr. Stannard."
+
+"Evidence? What do you mean?"
+
+"Just what I say. But never mind that. You have nothing else to tell me?
+No proof to adduce that you were just where you claim to have been when
+the studio was darkened?"
+
+"No! No proof, because none is needed. You can't have evidence--it is
+impossible!"
+
+"Then that is all, Mr. Courtenay. You needn't tell me what you think of
+me. Your opinion doesn't interest me. But perhaps after you hear the
+evidence I speak of, you'll sing another tune. Oh, I'm not going to tell
+you about it. Ask Mrs. Stannard."
+
+"I asked you not to mention that lady's name. Good morning, Mr.
+Roberts."
+
+"Good morning." And Bobsy went away, filled with conviction of Eugene
+Courtenay's guilt.
+
+
+Courtenay went at once over to see Joyce.
+
+"I've missed you so," she said, simply, as she met him on the Terrace.
+"Why haven't you been here?"
+
+"I thought better not, darling. I can't control myself sufficiently to
+hide my love for you. And I feared it might bring embarrassment on you
+if I let it be seen by any one. Oh, Joyce, it seems so long to wait!
+Must it be two years? I can't live through it."
+
+"Hush, Eugene. It seems sacrilege even to speak of our love and poor
+Eric dead so short a time. Be patient, dear heart. We are both young.
+You couldn't love me, or respect me, if I failed in ordinary behaviour
+toward a husband's memory. And Eric was good to me."
+
+"Good to you! Losing his head over every pretty woman he met! Joyce, how
+could you ever marry him?"
+
+"He made me. Don't you know how some women succumb to cave-man wooing? I
+don't understand it myself, but his whirlwind love-making carried me off
+my feet, and I had promised him before I knew it."
+
+"If I had been here at the time, it would never have happened."
+
+"I think it would. I was fascinated by his very vehemence. Now, I know
+better. I want only your gentle, dear love, that will comfort and
+content me as he never could."
+
+"You poor little darling. I wish I could give it to you now. Mayn't I
+kiss you once--just once, Joyce?"
+
+"No, Eugene. Not yet. Some day--when I can't be patient any longer. When
+the hunger for your big, sweet affection becomes too intense--the craving
+too uncontrollable."
+
+She turned away from him and looked off toward the glowing richness of
+the autumn foliage.
+
+"When the robins nest again," she said, with a little pathetic smile at
+the quotation. "But now, dear, sit down, I've a lot to tell you. I'm
+glad you came over, I was going to send for you."
+
+And then, without further preamble, Joyce told him the whole story of
+Orienta and her revelations.
+
+Courtenay listened, his eyes growing dark with anxiety as the story
+progressed.
+
+"Who was the man?" he asked quietly, as she finished.
+
+"Why, I don't know. Not a tramp, of course. But, perhaps some
+blackmailer. You know--Eric's life wasn't spotless."
+
+"Listen, Joyce. The man, you say, was dark and with a pointed beard. He
+was in evening clothes, and wore no hat. He had reason to hate Eric
+Stannard. Do you know of any one who fulfils those conditions?"
+
+Joyce looked at him, and a cloud of fear came to her beautiful eyes.
+
+"Don't, Eugene," she cried, putting up her white hand, as if to ward off
+a blow. "Don't!"
+
+"I must, Joyce. And you must listen. When I left you, did you keep your
+head down on that pillow--or, did you raise it? Tell me truly, dearest."
+
+"I--I kept it down there. I was crying a little--after what--you know--what
+we had been talking about. I staid that way a long time."
+
+"Until you heard the sounds from the studio?"
+
+"Yes; until that."
+
+"Then some one could have passed you--you wouldn't have heard a soft
+step?"
+
+"No, I probably shouldn't--but, Eugene, it wasn't you? Say it wasn't
+you!"
+
+"It was not. But I have to prove this, Joyce--and it will be difficult."
+
+"Oh, does any one think it was you?"
+
+"Yes, the police think so."
+
+"The police! That Roberts man! Oh, why--_why_ did I ever have Madame
+Orienta come here? But we will prove it was not you, my Eugene--we will
+prove it."
+
+"Yes, Joyce, my darling, we will, for we must. To whom have you told
+this story of sitting with your face bowed in the pillow?"
+
+"To no one. Oh, yes, to the people in the house, of course. Barry and
+Beatrice, and, of course, little Natalie. Oh, Eugene, I was so glad when
+the Priestess' story seemed to clear Natalie and me of all suspicion of
+guilt. But if it has implicated you, that is a thousand times worse!"
+
+"No, not worse. A man can fight injustice better than a woman. Have you
+told Roberts?"
+
+"About the pillow? No, I don't think so. But he'll find it out. That man
+digs into everything."
+
+"You invited him, yourself, to the séance?"
+
+"Yes. I thought it wise. I thought it would implicate some stranger and
+I wanted him to hear."
+
+"Why did you think it would accuse a stranger? Look here, Joyce, you
+didn't employ that woman to cook up a yarn, did you?"
+
+"Mercy, no!" and Joyce opened her eyes full at him. "Eugene! What an
+idea! Of course I didn't. Why, I believe in her as fully as--as I do in
+you! I can't say more than that! She is honest and earnest in what she
+tells. Whether she sees truly, is another thing, and one over which she
+has no control. But all she says is in sincerity and truth."
+
+"It may be. But she has surely woven a web around me. That is, if others
+share your belief in her. Now, I'm going to work, Joyce, to find my
+alibi."
+
+"What do you mean?"
+
+"I'm going to scare up somebody who saw me on that bench and will swear
+to it."
+
+"Swear falsely?" Joyce whispered the words.
+
+"If need be. But I hope to get an honest witness. May I speak to your
+outdoor servants? And the house staff, too, if necessary?"
+
+"Of course. Find the head gardener, Mason, he'll round up the rest. Oh,
+Eugene, you will find some one, surely. They are about the grounds every
+night. And perhaps Barry saw you. He was out with the dogs."
+
+"I'll find some one, dear. Don't worry."
+
+Courtenay went away, and Joyce went into the house. She went to Beatrice
+Faulkner's room, and found her there.
+
+"May I come in?" asked Joyce, at the door.
+
+"Always, any time. Why, what is the matter, dear?"
+
+"Beatrice! You don't think Eugene killed Eric, do you?"
+
+"Of course not! What nonsense!"
+
+"Well, they suspect him of it, and he's going to make up an alibi--or
+whatever you call it."
+
+"Not make one up! Don't ever say that, Joyce. You mean, he's going to
+find proof of his own testimony."
+
+"Yes, it's all the same. But, oh, Beatrice, if he did do it--I can never
+marry him----"
+
+"Hush, Joyce! You mustn't talk like that! Don't you want to save
+Eugene?"
+
+"Of course I do, if he's innocent."
+
+"Then believe him innocent! You wrong-minded woman, to doubt the man who
+loves you, at the first breath of suspicion!"
+
+"Then is he innocent, Beatrice? Is he?"
+
+"Look in your heart and answer that yourself."
+
+"I do look," said Joyce, solemnly, "but I can't read the answer."
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIV
+                         From Seven to Seventy
+
+
+"Listen, Joyce, dear. You are nervous and excited, or you never would do
+Mr. Courtenay such injustice. Think back; remember how he has always
+loved you--long before you married Eric. How patient and good he has
+been, never showing any undue interest in you or any animosity toward
+Eric. Why, then, imagine that he would do this desperate thing?"
+
+"That's just it, Beatrice. He restrained his feelings as long as he
+could, and that night--in the Billiard Room, he--he lost control--and he
+said he--he c-couldn't stand it. You know he thought Eric didn't treat me
+right----"
+
+"And Eric didn't. But even if Mr. Courtenay did lose his head for a
+moment, that doesn't mean he was the murderer, and you mustn't suspect
+him, Joyce."
+
+"But you know what Orienta said--about a dark man with a pointed beard.
+Who else could it have been?"
+
+"Other men have dark hair and beards. And Orienta couldn't see him
+clearly, you know."
+
+"I know. And you are a comfort, Beatrice. But I never can marry Eugene
+if he has even a shadow of doubt hanging over him. I want him cleared."
+
+"Of course you do. And as he is innocent, he will clear himself."
+
+"Maybe not. If he can't find anybody who saw him out there on the bench,
+he will be arrested, and----"
+
+"Oh, no, he won't. Why, somebody must have seen him!"
+
+"If any of the servants had, they would have said so."
+
+"They weren't asked. What about Barry?"
+
+"Oh, I think Barry was off in the other direction, down by the orchards.
+But, Beatrice, maybe Mr. Wadsworth saw him. Didn't he leave you just
+about that time?"
+
+"Yes, or a few moments sooner. Shall I ask him?"
+
+"Oh, no. He's a fine man, and if he did see Eugene, his word will stand.
+Are you going to--do you care for him, Beatrice?"
+
+"No, Joyce. He is, as you say, a fine man, and he has asked me many
+times to marry him, but I do not love him in that way. I admire and
+respect him, that is all."
+
+"Poor Mr. Wadsworth. He worships the ground you walk on. Perhaps later,
+when all this horror is a thing of the past, you may change your mind."
+
+"Never, Joyce. But I'll ask Mr. Wadsworth about Eugene. You telephone
+him to come over here. If I do----"
+
+"He'll take it as encouragement. Yes, I know. I'll do it."
+
+Joyce called him up on the telephone, and Wadsworth came over to the
+Folly that evening.
+
+"Why, yes, I think so," he said, when questioned by Beatrice. "Let me
+see; when I left here, I walked a couple of times round the Italian
+garden paths, hesitating as to whether I should come back for one last
+appeal, or accept your refusal as final. I decided on the latter course,
+and was planning to go away on a long trip, to--to make myself keep away
+from you." He looked tenderly into the troubled face gazing into his
+own. "I don't want to persist too hard, dear, but I am of a determined
+nature, and I can't give you up. So, I'm going away, but I warn you I
+shall yet return and ask you once more--yes, once more, Beatrice."
+
+"That is in the future," she returned, gravely, "but now, let us see if
+we can help poor Joyce."
+
+"Poor Courtenay, as well! Now, I think I did see him, as I came along
+the South lawn. I'm sure I saw some man on the bench out there, and it
+was much the outline of Courtenay. And then, yes, I remember now, just
+then the light went out, and I couldn't see him clearly. Of course, I
+thought nothing of the light being put out. I assumed the people were
+going to bed, but it was that that decided me not to return to see you
+again that night. Had the lights staid on, I fancy, after all, I should
+have entered the house again."
+
+They were alone in the studio. It was but partially lighted, and
+Beatrice shuddered as she looked around the great apartment.
+
+"Come out of here," she said; "I hate the place, it seems to be haunted
+by Eric's spirit. Come into the Reception Room."
+
+Wadsworth followed as she went through the hall, but detained her a
+moment.
+
+"What has become of your portrait painted on the staircase?" he asked.
+
+"It's in the studio," she replied. "It isn't quite finished, you know."
+
+"Mayn't I see it?"
+
+"Not now. Some time."
+
+"Stand on the stairs, the way the picture is painted."
+
+Humouring his whim, Beatrice went up three steps and posed her hand on
+the balustrade, as Eric had painted her.
+
+"Beautiful. Stannard was a wonderful genius. I want that picture, dear.
+I don't care if it is unfinished. If I can't have the original--yet--will
+you give me the duplicate?"
+
+"No, oh, no!" and Beatrice looked startled. "I'd hate you to have it,
+with this staircase and all----"
+
+"I thought you loved this staircase----"
+
+"As an architectural gem, yes. Mr. Faulkner prided himself on its
+design. But now--Eric's death----"
+
+"Oh, yes, you stood right there, when your attention was first drawn to
+the footman's queer actions, didn't you?"
+
+"Yes; I was just on this very step when I heard that faint moan--oh,
+don't remind me of it."
+
+"I won't. I was a brute to be so thoughtless. Dear heart, can't you
+leave this house? Why do you stay in a place of such sad memories?"
+
+"I do want to go away--and I must. And yet, Joyce needs me. She leans on
+me for everything. Come into this little room, and sit down."
+
+They went into the cosy, low-ceiled Reception Room, and Beatrice
+continued. "I was just thinking I could leave her, when she became
+worried about Mr. Courtenay. Now, if you can convince the police that
+you saw him out there, just at that critical moment when the light
+disappeared, you will establish his alibi. Can you do this?"
+
+"I'm sure I can. The more I think about it, the more I feel sure that it
+was Courtenay I saw."
+
+"Had he a hat on?"
+
+"No, but his hand on the back of the bench held a cap. I saw this
+clearly, for the light from the studio window was very strong. But as I
+looked at the man, the light went out. Understand, I was not looking at
+him with any curiosity or even interest. Merely he was in my line of
+vision, that is all. When I could not see him because of the sudden
+darkness, I thought no more of him, and I went home then."
+
+"And you will go to the police and tell them this?"
+
+"I certainly will, the first thing to-morrow morning. To-night, if you
+prefer."
+
+"No, wait till morning. Stay here a little longer. I feel lonely
+to-night."
+
+"Dear heart, can't you learn to look to me to cheer that loneliness?"
+
+"Don't--you promised you wouldn't. But let's chat a bit. Tell me, do you
+believe at all in spiritism?"
+
+"Spiritualism?"
+
+"No; spiritism. They're quite different. Spiritualism is the
+old-fashioned table-tipping, rapping performance. Spiritism is the
+scientific consideration of life after death."
+
+"Of course, I believe in life after death----"
+
+"But do you think the dead can return and communicate with us?"
+
+"By rapping and tipping tables?"
+
+"No, not at all. By silent communion, or by a restless haunting of
+places they used to occupy? There! didn't you hear a faint sound then? A
+soft rustle, as of wings?"
+
+"No, I didn't, and neither did you. That Orienta person has you all
+unnerved. I won't stand it. I insist on your leaving this house. If I
+see to it, that the police are fully informed of my evidence regarding
+Courtenay, will you get away at once?"
+
+"I'd be glad to, if Joyce is willing I should go. Natalie is fond of me,
+too. But Barry will look after her. Yes, if Mr. Courtenay is freed of
+all suspicion, I will go away at once."
+
+
+Roger Wadsworth's story carried weight with the police, who were already
+rather sceptical of testimony obtained from a clairvoyant.
+
+And as Courtenay himself said to Captain Steele, "Your precious
+detective, Roberts, forced that woman to describe me. Even granting she
+had an hallucination, or whatever those people have, she didn't say
+anything about a pointed beard, or evening clothes and no hat, until he
+suggested it. Then she said 'yes.' If he'd said, 'hasn't he red hair and
+freckles?' she would have said 'yes,' also! It's auto-suggestion. Her
+mind was a blank, and any hint took form of a picture which she thought
+she saw. But since you've put me on the rack, I'm going into this thing
+myself. For reasons of my own, I'm going to hunt down the murderer of
+Eric Stannard. There's nobody on the job that has any push or
+perseverance. Young Stannard doesn't want the truth known. Why, I can't
+say. Nobody suspects him. But from now on, count on my untiring efforts.
+I'm ready to work with you, Captain Steele, or with Roberts, or any one
+you say. Or I'll work alone. But solve the mystery I'm bound to!"
+
+Courtenay's manner went far to convince all who heard him of his own
+innocence, though Bobsy Roberts afterward growled something about
+"protesting too much." But when Courtenay said he would be at their
+bidding if they learned anything against him, they agreed to let him go
+in peace to pursue his own inquiries.
+
+And he went first to Lawyer Stiles, to look into the matter of
+Stannard's will.
+
+"The first motive to consider," Courtenay said to the surprised lawyer,
+"is always a money motive. Who benefits by this will, aside from the
+principals?"
+
+Stiles produced the document, and they went over its possibilities.
+Suddenly Courtenay started in astonishment.
+
+"Have you noticed anything peculiar about this will?" he asked.
+
+The lawyer looked at him with a somewhat blank expression.
+
+"Just what do you mean?" he said.
+
+"Ah, then you _have_ seen it! Were you going to let it pass unnoted?"
+
+"I must ask you to explain your enigmatical remarks."
+
+"And I will do so. That will has been tampered with, and you know it!"
+
+"Tampered with?"
+
+"Don't repeat my words like a parrot! Yes, tampered with. The original,
+written in Mr. Stannard's own hand, has been added to by some one else."
+
+"What makes you think so?"
+
+"I don't think so, I know so. Now, why haven't you made it known? You
+must have seen it?"
+
+"Where is the fancied alteration?"
+
+Courtenay looked at the stern face of the lawyer, and wondered if he
+could be dishonest or if he had been blind. He laid his finger on one
+clause, the one stating Natalie Vernon's bequest, and said, "There, that
+is the place. That was written seven thousand dollars, it has been
+changed to read seventy thousand dollars."
+
+Lawyer Stiles peered at the words through his rubber-rimmed glasses. "It
+is in letters and figures both," he demurred, "it would be difficult----"
+
+"I know it is. And it was not very difficult to add _ty_ to the written
+seven, and there chanced to be room for an extra cipher after the
+original naughts, thus giving the inheritor ten times as much as was
+intended by the testator."
+
+"Well?"
+
+"Well, do you, as a reputable lawyer, admit that you overlook a palpable
+fraud like that?"
+
+"I'm sorry you saw that, Mr. Courtenay. In explanation, I have nothing
+to say, but justice to myself compels me to remind you that I am in the
+confidence of the Stannard family, and this is their affair--not yours."
+
+"Whew!" Courtenay gave a short whistle. "I begin to see. They know it,
+and make no objection."
+
+"Y--yes."
+
+"Who knows it?"
+
+"Barry Stannard."
+
+"And Mrs. Stannard?"
+
+"I can't say. She read the will, but made no comment."
+
+"You're sure Barry knows?"
+
+"I am."
+
+"And he stands for it because Miss Vernon did it! That baby! Who'd think
+her capable of such a thing?"
+
+"Hush, Mr. Courtenay. You've no right to accuse her. You've no evidence
+that she did it. In fact, I'm told Miss Vernon writes a large, dashing
+hand, and this----"
+
+"And Eric Stannard's hand is small and cramped. Yes, a clever forgery.
+It looks quite a bit like his own writing. But the ink is different, the
+slant is different, why, a half blind man could see the words have been
+changed!"
+
+"Granting that. What matter, if Barry Stannard doesn't care? Moreover,
+he is going to marry Miss Vernon, and the fortune will be theirs
+jointly."
+
+"But don't you see? If Natalie Vernon altered that will, she wanted that
+larger sum, and--she----"
+
+"Don't say it. At least, don't say it to me. If you want to put the
+matter up to Barry, go ahead. But I decline to express an opinion or
+form a conclusion."
+
+"What does Barry say?"
+
+"He ignores it. I called his attention to it, and he said, 'Changed
+figures? Oh, I guess not. It doesn't matter, anyway; that, and more,
+will be at Miss Vernon's disposal some day.' So I said no more."
+
+
+Eugene Courtenay went straight to Joyce.
+
+"Do you know anything about a changed figure in Eric's will?" he asked,
+bluntly.
+
+"No," she returned; "what do you mean?"
+
+"Natalie Vernon altered her bequest from seven thousand dollars to
+seventy thousand."
+
+"How could she?"
+
+"It wasn't difficult. Eric wrote the will himself. He wrote seven and
+she made it seventy--the words, I mean. Then he wrote a figure seven and
+three ciphers, and she squeezed in another cipher. Mighty clever work,
+but as plain to be seen as a blot on a letter."
+
+"What possessed the child?"
+
+"Don't call her a child. The woman who could and would do that, is a
+Machiavelli in petticoats. But don't you see where the knowledge of her
+act leads us?"
+
+"You mean----" Joyce could not say it.
+
+"Of course I do. I've thought all along there was still a doubt of her."
+
+"Oh, I haven't. Even if she did alter the will, that doesn't prove----"
+
+"It doesn't prove--anything. But you know this will was made very
+recently----"
+
+"Of course; Natalie has only been here two months."
+
+"I know it. Well, say, Eric made this bequest to her, soon after she
+came--you know, Joyce, he was crazy over her from the very beginning----"
+
+"Yes, I know it, Eugene."
+
+"And then, when she got a chance, she changed it, and, why, _why_ would
+she do this, except to inherit--at once?"
+
+"Natalie! That dear little thing! Never! I did suspect her the least
+mite, just at first--but I don't now."
+
+"Barry does."
+
+"Oh, no! He can't."
+
+"He does. And that's why he didn't want any fuss made about her
+forgery----"
+
+"Don't call it that!"
+
+"It _is_ that. What else can I call it?"
+
+"But I can't believe it. Maybe--maybe somebody else did it. Barry----"
+
+"Nonsense! Why should Barry do it, when he fully intended to marry her?"
+
+"Oh, I don't know! It's all so confusing."
+
+"Not confusing; there's no doubt she did the forging. But it's a
+terrible state of affairs. I don't want to be the one to accuse her."
+
+"Must you?"
+
+"Well, I'd determined to sift things to the bottom to lay my hand on
+Eric's murderer. Primarily to clear myself--for your sake. And, too, for
+the sake of justice and right. I'll go now, Joyce, I must think this out
+alone. Good-bye, darling. Don't worry. I'll do only what is right,
+and--what you approve."
+
+
+
+
+                                   XV
+                           Natalie in Danger
+
+
+"Natalie! What _are_ you doing?"
+
+Joyce entered Natalie's room, to find her on her knees before an open
+trunk. Hats and gowns lay about the room, the wardrobe shelves were
+empty, and as the girl was fairly flinging wearing apparel into the
+tills, the question was superfluous.
+
+"I'm packing," the model answered, "to go away."
+
+"Why, what has happened? Why do you want to go?"
+
+Natalie rose to her feet. A negligée of pale green Liberty silk fell in
+lovely folds about her, her slender arms were bare, and her gold hair
+hung in two long braids.
+
+"I can't stand it any longer, Joyce," she said, her voice quivering.
+"It's all so dreadful. Suspicion everywhere, and everybody looking on me
+as a murderer, and----"
+
+"Now, Natalie, dear, don't talk like that. And, anyway, you can't go. I
+don't believe they'd let you----"
+
+"Why not? I'm not under arrest, or surveillance, or whatever they call
+it."
+
+"You would be, if you tried to go away. Don't you know we are all
+watched--whatever we do or wherever we go?"
+
+"But they don't suspect _you_ any more, Joyce, and you were found just
+as near Eric as I was, when--when he----"
+
+"Hush, Natalie, you don't know what you're talking about. Why, now they
+suspect Eugene."
+
+"I know they do, but he didn't do it. He'll soon convince them of that."
+
+"I'm not sure that he can. And--suppose he did do it----"
+
+"Kill Eric? Joyce, you're crazy! Why would he?"
+
+"You know, well enough----"
+
+"That he loved you, yes, but that wouldn't make him commit crime. Why,
+you wouldn't marry him if he won you in that way."
+
+"Of course, I wouldn't. And that's what's worrying me. If he and Eric
+quarrelled about me, and if--oh, I can't tell you just what I mean----"
+
+"I know. If Eugene reproved Eric for his neglect of you, or--for his
+attentions to me, it might have led to high words, and Mr. Courtenay is
+a very impetuous man, and Eric never would brook a word of criticism--oh,
+of course I understand, Joyce!"
+
+"But Eugene must be cleared--he _must_ be, at any cost. Look here,
+Natalie, did you know Eric had left you such a big bequest?"
+
+Natalie flushed, and began to walk nervously up and down the room.
+"Why," she said, not looking at Joyce, "he told me he'd leave me a nice
+little sum, but he said he wasn't going to die till he was ninety, so I
+didn't pay much attention to the matter."
+
+"But didn't you know the sum he mentioned in his will? Had he never told
+you?"
+
+"Why do you ask that?"
+
+"Because that will was altered. The sum he wrote for you was made ten
+times greater."
+
+"Was it?" Natalie spoke slowly, as if to gain time.
+
+"Yes, it was. You knew this?"
+
+"How could I know it? I never saw the will."
+
+"They think you did. They think you altered it."
+
+"Who thinks so?"
+
+"The police and Mr. Stiles. And Eugene asked me about it. I thought I'd
+ask you before anybody else did."
+
+"That was dear of you, Joyce." Natalie sat down on a couch, and taking
+her chin in her two palms, sat silent a moment. "Joyce," she said, at
+last, "why are you good to me? You think I killed Eric----"
+
+"No, I don't, Natalie----But, oh, don't you see? I don't want to think it
+was Eugene, and--I don't know which way to turn."
+
+"You're not in such a terrible strait as I am, Joyce," and Natalie's
+blue eyes turned dark with sadness unutterable. "I don't know _what_ to
+do--I've no one to ask, no one to confide in----"
+
+"Can't you tell me?"
+
+"You, least of all. Mrs. Faulkner is a dear, but she is so unwilling to
+admit she suspects anybody--I mean, anybody we know. She insists it was
+some stranger--and, it wasn't--I mean--oh--what am I saying? Joyce, I shall
+go crazy."
+
+Natalie looked distraught. Her eyes had a wild look, as of a hunted
+animal. Her little fingers plucked at the silk of her robe, and her
+slippered foot tapped the rug continuously.
+
+"You didn't love Eric, did you?" and Joyce looked at the girl, as if
+seized with a new idea.
+
+"No! I hated him! Forgive me, Joyce, but I can't help it. He was almost
+repulsive to me. Not physically--he was handsome, and most
+correct-mannered, and all that. But I was afraid of him. I've only posed
+for a few artists, but they were all--you know--impersonal in their
+relations with me. But Eric made love to me from the first."
+
+"I know it. I saw it."
+
+"And you didn't resent it?"
+
+"I felt more pity for you than jealousy of you. I know Eric, and oh,
+Natalie, I tried so hard to be good, and to do my duty--but Eugene was
+always around, you know--and, must I confess it? I was rather glad that
+Eric's attention was taken up with his model."
+
+"I know. I saw all that. But you see, I care for Barry. And Eric told
+me----"
+
+"What, Natalie?"
+
+"No, I can't tell you. Oh, Joyce, I am in danger. I can't ward it off,
+and I can't meet it. What shall I do? What can I do?"
+
+"May I come in?" and Barry appeared at the door of the boudoir.
+
+"Yes," Joyce answered. "Come on in. This child says she is going away."
+
+"She isn't!" and Barry slammed the trunk lid shut, turned the key,
+removed it and put it in his pocket.
+
+"Oh," cried Natalie, forced to smile at this high-handed piece of
+business. "There's a lot of things in there I want!"
+
+"Can't have 'em," returned Barry, "unless you promise to put 'em back in
+that very empty wardrobe I see yawning at us."
+
+"Barry, I _must_ go away. I've--I've good reasons."
+
+Joyce had left the room, and Barry sat down beside the trembling little
+figure and put an arm round her.
+
+"Don't speak of going away, Natalie. Don't think of it. It would look
+like confession."
+
+"Have you heard about the will?" she asked, an awestruck note in her
+voice.
+
+"Yes, but never mind about that. When we can get married, all my half
+the fortune will be yours anyway. That item of seven thousand or seventy
+thousand makes no difference to us."
+
+"But you don't think I--forged it--do you, Barry?"
+
+"Of course not, darling. I don't think you ever did a wrong thing in
+your life, of any sort or description--and I wouldn't care if you had."
+
+"Wouldn't you care if I had committed--crime?"
+
+"Oh, if you put it that way, I suppose I'd care--but I'd love you just
+the same."
+
+"_Just_ the same?"
+
+"Just exactly, darling."
+
+"And you don't think I changed that will?"
+
+"I do not."
+
+"Who did, do you think?"
+
+"How do you know anybody did?"
+
+"Joyce says so."
+
+"Well, never mind about it. If I know who did it, I won't tell you--and
+you needn't ask."
+
+"It was a very strange thing for anybody to do, Barry."
+
+"Except you----"
+
+"Yes, except me! Oh, you _do_ think I did it!"
+
+"Hush, sweetheart, don't talk so loud. Now, listen, Natalie. You're in a
+tight place. There's no use denying it, you are. Now I want you to
+promise me to do exactly as I tell you, in every instance. You trust me
+to do only what is best for both of us, don't you?"
+
+"For both of us--yes, Barry." The blue eyes were very sad, but the soft
+voice did not falter.
+
+"That's a trump, my own little trump! There are some dark hours ahead,
+darling. I don't know just how things will turn. But I'm tying to head
+off trouble, and I hope to succeed."
+
+"Barry, Eugene Courtenay didn't kill Eric, did he?"
+
+"No, Natalie, he didn't. That clairvoyant business was all poppycock."
+
+"Then how did she read those questions, Barry? I think that was
+wonderful."
+
+"It was, Natalie. I concede you that. She couldn't have used any
+trickery there--there was absolutely no chance."
+
+"She really read them, then, by clairvoyant sight?"
+
+"I don't see any other explanation."
+
+"Nor do I. Then, why wasn't her vision of the--the scene in the studio,
+the truth?"
+
+"I don't say it wasn't. I don't say but what somebody did slip past
+Joyce and get into the room that way. But it wasn't Courtenay."
+
+"I don't think it was, either."
+
+"Of course you don't. Now, my own little girl, remember, you've promised
+me----"
+
+"To love, honour and obey you----"
+
+"You darling!" and Natalie's speech was interrupted by an impulsive
+kiss. "You blessed angel! But you mustn't say such things, they unnerve
+me--and I've a hard row to hoe, my girl."
+
+"Can't I help?"
+
+"Only by doing the things you just promised to do. I want you to, of
+course; it was only the suggestion in the phrase you used that drove me
+crazy! Some day, sweetheart, you shall promise before witnesses; but
+just now, swear to me alone, that you will obey my least dictate in
+this--this trouble."
+
+"I will, Barry," and, solemnly, Natalie lifted her scarlet, curved lips
+for the kiss that sealed the compact.
+
+"Mr. Roberts is here," said Joyce, looking in at the door; "he wants to
+see Natalie."
+
+"Oh, I can't see him!" and Natalie clung tremblingly to Barry, "what
+shall I do?"
+
+"Do just as I tell you, dearest. See him, of course. And----"
+
+"Then I'll have to dress. Go on down, Barry, and talk to him till I
+come."
+
+Natalie seemed to turn brave all in a moment at Barry's words. Stannard
+went downstairs, and Joyce helped the girl to slip into a house-gown.
+
+"A pretty one," she stipulated. "I want him to like me."
+
+"As if any one could help doing that," and Joyce selected a little grey
+velvet, with lots of soft lace falling away from the round-cut bodice.
+
+"There," she said, as Natalie hastily twisted up her hair and thrust a
+couple of shell pins in it, "you look a dream! a demure little dream.
+Natalie, be careful, won't you?"
+
+The girl gave Joyce a long look, and said softly, "Yes--for his sake."
+Then she went slowly downstairs.
+
+Bobsy Roberts was talking with Mrs. Faulkner as Natalie entered. He
+jumped up, and greeted the lovely girl with an impulsive, "So sorry to
+trouble you, but I must ask you a question or two, and I promise to cut
+it short."
+
+"What is it?" and Natalie gave him one of her confiding smiles.
+
+Bobsy hesitated. How could he ask a fairy like that, a rude, blunt
+question. But it had to be done, and he said, "It's--it's about Mr.
+Stannard's will. Did you ever see it?"
+
+Clearly, Natalie was surprised. It seemed to be not the query she had
+looked for. But she was calm. After the slightest pause, she said
+slowly, very slowly, as if choosing her words, "No, Mr. Roberts, I have
+never seen Mr. Stannard's will. Why should I see it?"
+
+"You know he left you a large sum of money?"
+
+"Of course I know that. Mr. Stiles informed me."
+
+"Did you not know of it before Mr. Stiles told you?"
+
+Natalie glanced at Barry, who smiled at her.
+
+"Yes; that is, I knew Mr. Stannard had left me a bequest, but I did not
+know how much. Nor did I care!" Natalie lost her self-control. "Do you
+suppose I wanted that money? I did not, and I do not! I refuse to take
+it!"
+
+"My dear child," said Beatrice Faulkner, rising and going to sit beside
+her, "don't say such things. The money is honestly yours----"
+
+"Not so fast, Mrs. Faulkner," said Roberts, amazed at Natalie's excited
+words; "we cannot feel sure the money honestly belongs to Miss Vernon
+until we know who altered Mr. Stannard's will. Did you?"
+
+He turned quickly to Natalie with his question, as if anxious to get the
+miserable business over.
+
+"Certainly not," she replied, with disdain in every line of her face.
+"In the first place, Mr. Bobsy--I mean, Mr. Roberts----"
+
+The light laugh that greeted her slip of the tongue served to break the
+tension of the moment. "Forgive me," she said, and her dimpling smile of
+embarrassment would have turned the head of an anchorite. "You see, I've
+heard you called that, and, though I didn't mean to be familiar, I--I got
+sort of mixed up."
+
+"All right, Miss Vernon, it doesn't matter at all. One Robert's as good
+as the other."
+
+"It's funny to have two names alike, isn't it?" and Natalie's voice
+shook a little.
+
+"Yes," and then with an effort, Bobsy returned to the attack. "You know
+nothing of the change in the will, then, Miss Vernon?"
+
+"I certainly don't. Did somebody change the text?"
+
+"Yes. It's a mysterious affair. But if you know nothing about it, we
+must ferret it out as best we can."
+
+He spoke lightly, but his eyes never left Natalie's face. In fact,
+Roberts was by no means asking her because he attached any importance to
+her spoken answer, but because he hoped by her expression or by some
+inadvertent slip, to learn the truth, even though she tried to conceal
+it.
+
+"Mr. Roberts," she said, suddenly, "if I wish to go away from this
+house, is there any reason I should not do so?"
+
+"I'd rather you would ask somebody else that, Miss Vernon."
+
+"Whom shall I ask?"
+
+"Captain Steele, or----"
+
+"I am answered. You mean I would not be allowed to go."
+
+"I think it would be better for you to remain where you are. There may
+be developments shortly, that will call for your presence, though they
+may not affect you seriously. Please don't plan to go away just now,
+but, also, don't think my advice more indicative than it is meant to
+be."
+
+Roberts went off, and the four people he left behind him sat in a
+constrained silence.
+
+At last, Beatrice spoke. "We must all band together to save Natalie,"
+she said, very seriously. "There is no use deceiving ourselves; Natalie
+is in danger. We know and love her, so we can't connect her in our minds
+with any wrong-doing, but to outsiders the case looks different. Let us,
+then, face conditions that exist, and plan how we can best help her."
+
+"There's only one way," said Joyce, "and that is to find the real
+murderer. I wish I had never let that Orienta mix herself into the
+matter. It's her talk that turned suspicion toward Eugene. And we all
+know he's innocent. But when we try to find out who is the criminal,
+Eugene's name comes up."
+
+"I'm not sorry we had the clairvoyant," said Beatrice, thoughtfully. "As
+you say, we all know Mr. Courtenay is innocent, but if there was an
+intruder, Orienta explained how he could have entered. You wouldn't have
+heard any one pass you in the Billiard Room that night, would you,
+Joyce?"
+
+"No, I'm sure not; I was--I was crying--and I gave no thought to anything
+but my own troubles."
+
+"Then somebody may have slipped by you--of course, not Mr. Courtenay, but
+somebody----"
+
+"I wish that woman had seen the intruder's face," said Natalie,
+suddenly. "You know, I believe in clairvoyance--I'm psychic myself--I
+wonder--oh, I wonder if I could find out anything--in that way!"
+
+"What are you talking about?" said Barry, impatiently. "Don't you mix
+yourself up in those witchcraft things----"
+
+"'Tisn't witchcraft. And, anyway, I've a notion to try it. Don't you
+think I might, Mrs. Faulkner?"
+
+"Might what, dear?"
+
+"Find out something about the mysteries that are growing deeper and more
+numerous all the time?"
+
+"I don't know, I'm sure," began Beatrice, with a helpless look, but
+Barry said, sternly, "I forbid it," and turning on his heel, he left the
+room.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XVI
+                         Confession and Arrest
+
+
+That evening Barry Stannard was not at home, and Natalie declared her
+intention of trying to learn something by psychic or clairvoyant
+revelation. The three women sat in the Billiard Room, and were for the
+thousandth time discussing the tense situation.
+
+"Why, if you want to try it, Natalie, go ahead," said Joyce, wearily.
+"It certainly can't do any harm. Barry only objects because he thinks it
+will get you into a nervous state----"
+
+"Nonsense! It makes me more nervous to be forbidden to do what I wish.
+Come on, let's go in the studio, and try it, at any rate."
+
+"I'd rather not," said Beatrice Faulkner. "In a way, Barry has asked me
+to keep you from this sort of thing, and I feel a certain
+responsibility----"
+
+"I understand," said Natalie; "and you needn't take any part. Just sit
+by and look on."
+
+"No, I'd rather not If you don't mind, I'll go to my room. I've letters
+to write, and I'm sure you'll get along better without a disturbing
+element."
+
+"I agree with Beatrice," Joyce said, after she had gone. "If you can do
+anything at all, you can do it better with only approving minds present.
+What are you going to do, anyway? I mean, how are you going to attempt
+it?"
+
+"I'm not sure, but I think I can go into a trance, like Orienta did----"
+
+"She didn't go into a trance."
+
+"Not exactly. But she had a sort of trancelike condition come over her.
+Well, come on in the studio, and I'll see."
+
+The two went into the big room, and Natalie sat down in a small chair,
+directly facing the chair in which Eric Stannard had died. She held in
+her hand the scratched and defaced etched picture of herself.
+
+"You sit beside me, Joyce. I somehow feel if you hold my hand it will
+help. Now I'll concentrate on the etching, and perhaps there will be a
+manifestation of some sort from Eric, or I may have a vision--of the
+truth."
+
+Interested, but not very hopeful of success, Joyce sat beside the girl,
+and they concentrated their thoughts on the empty chair in front of them
+and the man who used to use it.
+
+For ten minutes they sat in silence. Natalie quivered and occasional
+shudderings shook her slender frame, but there was no trance or vision.
+And then, just as Joyce was about to exclaim that she could bear it no
+longer, her nerves were giving way, they heard a sound that was exactly
+the same as the sighing groan that had reached their ears when Eric was
+dying. Startled, they gazed wildly at each other, then back to the great
+armchair. Was his spirit still hovering about the place it had last been
+in the flesh? Again they waited, and again they heard that ghastly
+sound. Faint, almost inaudible, but unmistakably the voice of the dying
+man. It seemed to say "Help!" but so low was the tone they could scarce
+be sure. And then the light went out and they were in utter darkness.
+
+Natalie gasped out a faint scream, and Joyce gripped her hand, with a
+whispered, "Hush! Don't scream! The servants will come in. I'll make a
+light."
+
+She rose and tremblingly made her way across the room to the main
+switch. It was turned off, and with a twist, she flashed on the light.
+Quickly she stepped out into the hall. There was no one there but Blake,
+and as the door had been closed, he had noticed nothing. He said nobody
+had passed through the hall.
+
+Upstairs Joyce ran, conscious only of a desire to find some one who
+would admit having turned off the light. She ran to Beatrice Faulkner's
+room and entered without knocking.
+
+"What is it?" said Mrs. Faulkner, looking up from the letter she was
+writing, "Oh, Joyce, what has happened?"
+
+"Somebody turned off the studio lights! Beatrice, who could have done
+it?"
+
+"Turned off the lights! What do you mean?"
+
+"Yes, Natalie and I sat there, Natalie thought she would go into a
+trance, you know----"
+
+"That foolish girl! Did she?"
+
+"No. But we heard--oh, I can't tell you now! Come with me back there,
+do!"
+
+Rising hastily from her desk, Beatrice followed Joyce downstairs and
+into the studio. There they found Natalie standing by a table in the
+middle of the room, looking with a staring gaze at a large leather case
+that was on the table.
+
+"The jewels!" cried Joyce. "Eric's jewels! Where did you find them,
+Natalie?"
+
+"Right here on this table. I haven't touched them."
+
+"What do you mean?" and Beatrice looked curiously at the girl. "How did
+they get there?"
+
+"I don't know," said Natalie, dully. She seemed as one bereft of her
+senses. "When Joyce turned on the lights----"
+
+"Who turned them off?" put in Beatrice, unable to hold back the
+question.
+
+"Eric did," said Natalie, her eyes wide with awed wonder. "He--that is,
+his spirit, was here--we heard him sigh--and he turned the lights off and
+then put the jewels on the table----"
+
+"Oh, Natalie, what nonsense! It couldn't have been Eric's spirit that
+brought that box in here!"
+
+"Then who did?"
+
+Beatrice looked at the girl, and said, "Did you do it, Natalie? Did you
+know where they were all the time?"
+
+"No, I didn't do it. Neither did Joyce. We sat right there by Eric's
+chair--and Eric was present--we heard him, didn't we, Joyce?"
+
+"We did, Beatrice, we surely did. I'd know that voice among a thousand.
+It was the same groan--the same cry for help that he uttered that--that
+awful night. Can it be that he came back at Natalie's wish?"
+
+"It's too incredible," returned Beatrice. "I can't believe it. Joyce, it
+must have been one of the servants, who turned off the light and put the
+box in here. One who had stolen it."
+
+"No, Blake saw nobody."
+
+"Was he in the hall?"
+
+"Yes, just where he was that other night. Oh, it's too weird. I don't
+know what to think!"
+
+"Maybe some one came in from outside----"
+
+"No, we were as silent as death itself. We would have heard a window or
+door open. There was no sound whatever, was there, Natalie?"
+
+"No. Spirits make no sound."
+
+The girl was still in a half-dazed state. Almost in a trance she was,
+even now, or, rather, she appeared so.
+
+"I can't stand it," she said. "I feel giddy. I'll go to my room."
+
+She went away, and the two other women stood, looking at each other.
+
+"It must have been Natalie," said Joyce, reluctantly. "You see, she did
+know where the jewels were and got them out of some hiding-place when I
+ran up to your room."
+
+"But how could she turn off the lights?"
+
+"I don't know, unless she has an accomplice among the servants.
+Sometimes I think Blake----"
+
+"No, Joyce, don't implicate Blake. I feel sure he is entirely innocent.
+Did you hear that voice clearly?"
+
+"Not clearly, but unmistakably. As I say, it was so still that every
+sound seemed exaggerated. But I heard Eric's voice as truly as I stand
+here. Explain it, Beatrice."
+
+"How can I? Except to say that there must have been some human agency. I
+don't believe for a minute that Eric's ghost returned the jewels."
+
+"But Natalie says he has haunted this studio ever since he died. She
+says he will continue to do so, until his murderer is found and
+punished."
+
+"I have heard of such things, but I can't believe it in this case."
+
+"What will Barry say? He was so imperative that Natalie should not try
+the trance business."
+
+"I know it. But I can't see that she has done any real harm. The jewels
+are here--isn't it marvellous, Joyce? How could they have been brought in
+without your knowing it?"
+
+"Oh, as to that, I'm sure Natalie produced them after I left the room. I
+wish now I'd stayed here. My one thought was to get somebody else to
+corroborate the mysterious happenings."
+
+"You're sure the jewels were not here on the table when you went out of
+the room?"
+
+"I can't say positively. They might have been. You see, I never thought
+of looking for them. I looked about the room to see if any person were
+present, and I looked thoroughly, too. But I didn't look on the table."
+
+"Nobody could have come in at the Billiard Room door?"
+
+"No, we sat right there, you know. The case is just the same as on the
+night of the murder. That's why Natalie insists that Eric's spirit
+turned off the lights and put the jewels on the table."
+
+"Are the jewels all there? Are any missing?"
+
+"I've not looked them over. At a first glance, they seem to be all
+right."
+
+"It must be that some one stole them, and just now returned them.
+There's no other possible explanation, Joyce. It throws suspicion back
+to Mr. Truxton or----"
+
+"Or Eugene Courtenay, you were going to say! Now, he didn't do it,
+Beatrice--I know he didn't."
+
+Weary and afraid, full of nameless horrors and uncertainties, Joyce
+locked the jewels in her dressing-room safe, and went to bed.
+
+She and Beatrice both felt they could stand no more that night, and
+notifying the police of the finding of the jewels must wait until the
+next day.
+
+And next day, when Bobsy Roberts came and heard the strange story he was
+probably the most bewildered man on the force.
+
+"Tell it all over again," he said, after hearing the tale from Joyce.
+
+Patiently she repeated the details.
+
+"Where is Miss Vernon?" he asked abruptly.
+
+"You can't see her to-day," returned Joyce, "the poor child is
+prostrated."
+
+"What did she hope to gain by her trance performance?" asked Roberts,
+mulling over Joyce's story.
+
+"She hoped to get some sort of manifestation that would tell her who was
+the murderer. She never thought of having the jewels restored."
+
+"Now, Mrs. Stannard, there's no use trying to dodge the issue. We've
+been pretty suspicious of Miss Vernon from the first. This last matter
+settles it, to my mind. You know that unsent letter found in Mr.
+Stannard's desk was without doubt meant for Miss Vernon. You know it
+said that she knew where the jewels were hidden. Now, she has proved
+that she did know, and she produced them in this hocus-pocus way, to
+hide her theft."
+
+"No, no, Mr. Roberts, I cannot believe it! Natalie is not bad enough for
+all that maneuvering; nor would she, I'm sure, be capable of it. Again,
+granting you're right in suspecting her of making up last evening's
+events, how could she imitate Mr. Stannard's voice----"
+
+"Oh, that was hypnotism. Miss Vernon is psychic, and, too, she evidently
+possesses the power of hypnotising at will. She made you believe you
+heard those sounds. She made you believe the lights went out----"
+
+"Oh, I know the light went out! I couldn't be mistaken as to that!"
+
+"No, but I mean she went and turned them out while you thought she still
+sat by your side. Weren't your eyes closed?"
+
+"No, they were wide open. She did not leave her seat. The lights were
+turned off by a hand other than hers, whether mortal or spirit, I cannot
+say."
+
+"Well, the whole affair was of her invention and carrying out. She is
+responsible for your husband's death, Mrs. Stannard. There is no doubt
+whatever of Miss Vernon's guilt."
+
+"Just take that back, Roberts," and Barry Stannard came into the
+Reception Room where the speakers were sitting. "Miss Vernon is as
+innocent as an angel in this business. I'm ready to confess. I killed my
+father, and I own up to it, rather than have Natalie suspected. If you
+had been any sort of a detective you would have known from the first
+that I did it. But you had your head set in one direction and nothing
+could change you. You know perfectly well I had motive and opportunity.
+It was not premeditated, I did it on the spur of sudden indignation."
+
+"Barry," cried Joyce, "what are you saying? You didn't kill Eric!"
+
+"Yes, I did. I thought it might blow over, and remain an unsolved
+mystery. But if Natalie is to be suspected of my crime, I would be less
+than a man to keep still. Take me along, Roberts, I give myself up."
+
+Bobsy Roberts stared at him. "My plan worked," he said, slowly. "I
+thought it was you, really, all along, but I thought, too, the only way
+to get a confession from you, was to seem to suspect Miss Vernon. As you
+say, no man could sit still and see a woman bearing the blame that
+belongs to him. You came in through the Billiard Room?"
+
+"Yes," said Barry. "Mrs. Stannard didn't see or hear me pass her. I went
+on through to the studio. I accused my father of persecuting Miss
+Vernon, and he turned on me in a furious rage. We are both impetuous, we
+said little, but those few low words roused all my worst nature, and,
+snatching up the etching needle, I stabbed him, scarce knowing what I
+did. It was all over in a moment, and I had but one thought, how to
+escape from that room. I flew across and turned off the lights as a
+precautionary measure, and then----"
+
+"Then how did you get out?" asked Bobsy, breathless with interest.
+
+"I was behind the hall door, when Blake opened it, and after he turned
+on the light, I slipped behind him and Mrs. Faulkner out into the hall.
+They were so bewildered at the sudden flash of light--and--what it
+revealed, that they didn't see me at all."
+
+"Barry!" exclaimed Joyce, "I would have seen you if you had done that."
+
+"No, you had eyes for nothing but Eric's wounded body. You couldn't have
+torn your gaze from that if you had wanted to."
+
+"What did you do after leaving the room?" asked Roberts.
+
+"I went out and walked about the lawn. My head was spinning round from
+excitement and shock at my own deed."
+
+"You stayed near the house?"
+
+"Yes, Halpin came out and found me. He told me what had happened and I
+went right back into the studio."
+
+"You have kept this secret so long. Why?"
+
+"Surely you can understand. I love Miss Vernon. I want to marry her. Can
+I ask her to marry a murderer?"
+
+"You mean if she knows it?"
+
+"I mean if she knows it. I wanted to keep the secret forever, I hoped to
+do so. When she was suspected last week, I felt sure she would be
+cleared. Then when the will was seen to be changed----"
+
+"One moment. Did you change the will?"
+
+"I did."
+
+"What for?"
+
+"Because of what has just now happened. If I had to confess, of course,
+I could never marry Miss Vernon. And in that case, I wanted her to be
+provided for."
+
+"That will cannot stand."
+
+"I don't care anything about that. I've confessed now, my life is
+practically ended. I can will my own fortune to Miss Vernon."
+
+"And the jewels? Did you return those last night? And the emeralds to
+Mrs. Stannard last week?"
+
+"No," said Barry, slowly. "I don't know anything about the jewels.
+Perhaps there was a robber, after all. Say a jewel fancier----"
+
+"Or say a little girl who was fond of jewelry."
+
+"No," and Barry shook his head, "Miss Vernon knew nothing of the
+jewels."
+
+"But the letter to her----"
+
+"That letter wasn't to her, it was to some woman my father knew and
+feared. He never would have given the emeralds to Natalie. The idea is
+preposterous."
+
+"That must be found out. Then the rigamarole the clairvoyant told was
+true, about a man coming into the studio----"
+
+"Yes, it was all true. I was the man."
+
+Barry's voice was infinitely sad and despairing. Joyce looked at him
+pityingly. His white face was drawn and his eyes were full of grief.
+
+"I think, Mr. Stannard, if all you've told me is true, I must ask you to
+go with me to Headquarters."
+
+"I am ready," said Barry, simply, and the two men went out.
+
+
+
+
+                                  XVII
+                               Alan Ford
+
+
+Joyce went up to Natalie's room and found the girl sitting up in bed
+trying to eat some of the dainty breakfast a maid had just brought her.
+A cap of lace and tiny rosebuds confined the gold hair, and a breakfast
+jacket of pale blue brocade was round her shoulders.
+
+"Joyce," she said, staring at her with big blue eyes, "where did those
+jewels come from?"
+
+"I don't know, Natalie. It's the most mysterious thing I ever heard of.
+But listen, dear, I've something to tell you. Barry has confessed----"
+
+"What!" Natalie almost shrieked the word. "What do you mean?"
+
+"Just what I say. Barry has confessed that he killed his father. You
+suspected him all the time, didn't you?"
+
+"Did you?"
+
+"Oh, I couldn't--and yet who else could it have been? I did think of
+Barry at first, and then I decided it couldn't be."
+
+"And then you suspected me?"
+
+"Oh, Natalie, how can I say? I did and I didn't. I had no notion which
+way to turn. But now, even though he says so, I can't believe it was
+Barry."
+
+"Barry! Of course it wasn't Barry!"
+
+"But he confessed, Natalie."
+
+"Of course he confessed. He couldn't help it!" As she spoke, Natalie was
+getting out of bed, and seating herself at her dressing table began to
+do up her hair. "If you don't mind going, Joyce, I want to dress. Run
+along now, I'll be down very soon."
+
+"What are you going to do?" Joyce looked at the girl uncertainly, for
+she was brushing her hair with unwonted vigour. Her eyes were
+tear-filled, but her face showed a brave, determined expression, and she
+hurried her toilet as if important matters impended.
+
+"Go now, Joyce," and rising, Natalie pushed her gently toward the door.
+
+Some minutes later, Natalie came downstairs, in a trim out-of-door
+costume. Her smart little hat was veiled, and she had a motor coat over
+her arm.
+
+"May I take the little electric, Joyce, and drive it myself?"
+
+"Why, yes, of course. Where are you going?"
+
+"First, to see Mr. Roberts. And if I'm not home for some hours, don't be
+alarmed. I may go to--well, I may take a long drive. But I'll be back to
+dinner."
+
+In a moment Joyce saw the little electric coupé whirling down the drive.
+
+Straight to Headquarters Natalie went, and found Bobsy Roberts.
+
+"Barry Stannard didn't kill his father," she said, without preamble.
+"You had no right to arrest him."
+
+"But he confessed the crime, Miss Vernon."
+
+"Don't you know why he did that?" The lovely eyes fell before Bobsy's
+surprised glance.
+
+"No, why? If he is not the criminal?"
+
+"Of course he isn't. He said all that to--to save me."
+
+Bobsy looked sharply at her. "Is that so? And how am I to know that
+you're not telling me this to save him?"
+
+"You can't know! That's just it. You've not wit enough to know what is
+the truth and what isn't."
+
+"Thank you for the implied compliment."
+
+"Don't be sarcastic. This isn't the time for it. Please help me, Mr.
+Roberts."
+
+It would have been a far less impressionable man than the detective who
+could have refused the pleading glance of those pansy-blue eyes.
+
+"How can I help you, Miss Vernon?"
+
+"This way. Tell me of some detective, some really great one, who can
+unravel this tangle. I didn't kill Mr. Stannard. Barry didn't, either.
+But he says he did, to save me. Now, I want some one who can find the
+real criminal and so clear both Barry and myself."
+
+"And you expect me to recommend somebody?"
+
+"Oh, I do, Mr. Roberts, I do. I know you're big enough and honest enough
+to admit that you are at the end of your rope, and if you know of any
+one--I don't care how much he costs, I must have him--I _must_! Tell me,
+won't you?"
+
+"Yes, I'll tell you, because I can't refuse you, but also because I know
+he will only verify our conclusions. You must know, Miss Vernon, we've
+had our eye on young Stannard all the time."
+
+"Oh, I thought you were sure the criminal must be Mrs. Stannard or
+myself."
+
+"We did think that at first--you see, we have to think what the evidence
+shows."
+
+"Well, never mind that now. Who is this man you have in mind?"
+
+"Alan Ford. He's not one of the story-book wizards, but he's a big light
+in the detective field, and he can find out if any one can."
+
+"Where is he?"
+
+Bobsy gave her the New York address of the detective, and Natalie rose
+to go. Then, acting on a sudden impulse, "Come with me," she said.
+
+"To New York?" cried the amazed Bobsy.
+
+"Yes. It's only a couple of hours' run, and I don't want to go alone."
+
+"Why, I'm glad to go, if I can arrange it."
+
+"Do arrange it. I want you so much."
+
+Now, when a little flower-faced girl looks pleadingly out of heavenly
+colored eyes, and her red mouth quivers with fear of being refused, few
+men have the power to say no. Anyway, Bobsy hadn't, and he managed to
+"arrange" it, and in a few moments they were on their way.
+
+"I thought you'd want to see Stannard," he said.
+
+"No, I'd rather not, until I see if I can get the great Mr. Ford."
+
+The little car ate up the miles, and soon they were in the crowded
+streets of the city.
+
+Alan Ford was in his office, and received them with his characteristic
+quiet dignity.
+
+The tall, big man looked taller than ever as he stood beside the petite
+model, his grey eyes looking down into her eager blue ones.
+
+"What can I do for you?" he asked, kindly, and smiled at her because he
+couldn't help it. The winsome face made everybody smile from sheer
+gladness of looking at it.
+
+"Can you take a case, Mr. Ford? An important murder case?"
+
+"The Stannard case?"
+
+"Yes."
+
+"I'd like to say yes, but I am just starting on a Western trip, and I
+shall be gone at least a month."
+
+Great crystal tears formed in Natalie's eyes and one rolled down her
+cheek. She couldn't possibly help this, the teardrops were beyond her
+control. But they stood her in good stead, for Alan Ford couldn't bear
+to see a woman cry. It unnerved him as no danger or terror could do.
+
+"Don't, please," he said, impulsively.
+
+"But I'm so disappointed! You see Barry Stannard has confessed----"
+
+"What! Young Stannard confessed! Then what do you want of me?"
+
+"Because Barry didn't do it. He confessed to save me."
+
+"And did you do it?" The question was in the tone of a casual every-day
+inquiry, but few people would have replied anything but the truth with
+Alan Ford's gaze upon them.
+
+"No, I didn't. You _must_ come up there and find out who did do it. Oh,
+can't you manage somehow?"
+
+The coaxing face was brightened by a sudden hope, and Alan Ford couldn't
+bring himself to dash that hope from the lovely beseeching girl.
+
+"It makes a difference, now that they've arrested Stannard," he said,
+slowly.
+
+"Oh, of course it does! Arrested him wrongfully, too. You see, he had to
+say he did it, or I would have been arrested."
+
+"Tell me the main facts," said Ford to Bobsy. And in straightforward
+terms, Bobsy told the great detective all that the force had been able
+to accomplish.
+
+"It would seem," said Alan Ford, speaking with deliberation, "that the
+criminal must be one of the four people most nearly connected with the
+dead man. His wife, Miss Vernon here, Barry, the son, or Mr. Courtenay,
+the lover."
+
+"I don't like for you to use that term," said Natalie, gently. "For Mr.
+Courtenay and Mrs. Stannard could not be called lovers during Mr.
+Stannard's life."
+
+"Good for you, for standing up for her. Well, I will postpone my Western
+trip for a few days at least."
+
+"He's coming," said Natalie, briefly, as in the late afternoon she
+arrived at The Folly.
+
+"Who is?" asked Joyce, "and where have you been?"
+
+Joyce and Beatrice were having tea in the Reception Room, for by common
+consent all the household avoided the Studio.
+
+The servants shuddered as they were obliged to pass it or go through it,
+and Natalie declared it was haunted.
+
+"I've been to New York," the girl replied, as she flung off her motor
+coat, and threw herself into a big armchair. "Give me some tea, please,
+and I'll tell you all about it. I've engaged Alan Ford."
+
+"Who is he?" asked Beatrice, fixing a cup of tea as Natalie liked it.
+
+"He's a great, big, splendid detective--I mean big in his profession--and
+he's also the biggest man I ever saw, physically."
+
+"Well, I am glad!" exclaimed Joyce. "I think Mr. Roberts has done all he
+could, but I don't think he has much real cleverness. Do you, Beatrice?"
+
+"No. And yet, we oughtn't to judge him too harshly. He's had a hard time
+of it, for every new bit of evidence he gets, or thinks he gets, seems
+to point to some one of the family here."
+
+"I know it," agreed Natalie, "but Alan Ford will find the real murderer
+and then we'll all be freed of suspicion."
+
+"What's that, Natalie? Alan Ford!" And into the room strode Barry
+Stannard.
+
+Natalie's face shone with welcome. "How did you get here?" she cried; "I
+thought you were arrested!"
+
+"Even a murder suspect can get bail if he has money enough," said Barry,
+"and there were other reasons. They wouldn't swallow my confession
+whole. But never mind that now; tell me, did you say Alan Ford is
+coming?"
+
+"I did, Barry, dear. I went and got him. And just in time, too, for he
+was going West at once. But he's staying over for us, and he's coming
+out here to-morrow morning. Isn't it fine!"
+
+"Splendid! You're a trump, Natalie. You know, girl, don't you, why I
+confessed?"
+
+"Of course I do. I was sure you couldn't make the police believe you,
+and then I knew it would swing back to me. So I had to take desperate
+measures, and I did."
+
+"Barry," said Joyce, "your attempts to get suspicion turned your way, or
+any way, are too transparent. You scratched up the window frame to make
+it appear a burglar had entered there, and nobody believed it for a
+minute."
+
+"I know it, I'm no good as a deceiver. But, oh, Natalie, don't think I
+suspected you, but I knew others would, and did, and I was frantic. And
+I vowed I did it, in an effort to distract their attention from you. But
+your going yourself for Ford, clears you in every one's eyes, and now
+he'll find the man. It was some man who came in--it has to be. There is
+no other explanation--positively none."
+
+"It wasn't Eugene!" whispered Joyce, her face drawn with new
+apprehension.
+
+"Of course it wasn't," said Beatrice, soothingly. "Don't worry over
+that, Joyce, dear. Mr. Wadsworth has exculpated Mr. Courtenay."
+
+"But nothing seems sure," Joyce said, with a sad shake of her head.
+
+"Well, it will be sure, once Alan Ford gets here," declared Barry. "I
+can hardly wait to see him."
+
+Alan Ford arrived the next morning. When he entered the Reception Room,
+his tall, commanding presence seemed to fill the whole room. With
+perfect courtesy, he greeted Joyce first, and then the others, and
+finally seated himself, facing the group.
+
+Though not to be called handsome, his face was fine and scholarly, and
+his iron grey hair made him look older than his fifty years. His manner
+was quiet, but alert, as if no hint or lightest word could escape his
+attention.
+
+"Let us waste no time," he began, "for my business engagements are
+pressing, and what I do here must be done as quickly as possible. I can
+promise you nothing, for the accounts I have read of this case make it
+seem to me that your local workers have done all that could be expected
+of them. The whole affair is mysterious, but sometimes a new point of
+view or the opinions of a different mind may lead to something of
+importance."
+
+"You know the main details, then?" asked Barry.
+
+"The main details as told in the papers, yes. Also, I've seen Mr.
+Roberts this morning, and I've discussed matters with him and with
+Captain Steele. But never mind those sources of information. I want the
+stories of each one of you here. And, if you please, I want them
+separately, and in each instance, alone. Otherwise, I cannot take the
+case."
+
+"Why, of course, Mr. Ford," said Joyce, "we will agree to anything you
+stipulate. Please direct us, and we will obey."
+
+"Then first, I will talk with Mr. Stannard, and later with the ladies.
+Also, I must ask that the interviews be in the Studio, the room where
+the crime took place. This is not only because it is more appropriate,
+but I can think better in a large room. This little low-ceiled box of a
+room doesn't give me space to think!"
+
+Ford's winsome smile took all hint of rudeness from the words, and as he
+rose, his great height and proportionate bulk seemed to bear out his
+statement, and the assumption that his mind was of wide scope and
+far-reaching limits, made it seem plausible that he felt stifled in a
+small or low room.
+
+"But you haven't yet been in the studio," said Natalie. "How do you know
+it is big and high?"
+
+"It was so described in the newspaper accounts. That is why I took an
+interest in the case. Also, I am willing to admit, I paused for a glance
+in at the studio door, as I came into the house, and before I entered
+this room."
+
+"A queer man," thought Natalie. "Why should a great detective talk about
+such foolish details as large or small rooms? Why should he take an
+interest in a case because of them?"
+
+The others had similar thoughts, but no comment was made on the
+visitor's peculiarities, save that Beatrice Faulkner seemed to feel
+obliged to defend her husband's architectural ideas.
+
+"The rooms are carefully proportioned," she said, pleasantly, but with a
+touch of pride in the fact. "The architect who designed them knew just
+what measurements were most effective from a technical and artistic
+point of view."
+
+"The rooms are all right," said Mr. Ford, smiling kindly at the speaker,
+"the trouble is with my own foolish vagaries."
+
+Then led by Barry, they all went into the studio.
+
+Alan Ford looked around him, with the most intense admiration expressed
+on his fine face.
+
+"Magnificent!" he said. "Mrs. Faulkner, your late husband was indeed a
+genius. I have never seen a more perfectly proportioned room, or one
+more appropriately and effectively decorated. The windows are marvels
+and the furniture is in every respect fitting."
+
+"Oh," said Joyce, "Mr. Stannard furnished the room. It was not built for
+a studio."
+
+"It is, then, the joint product of two geniuses. I know of Mr.
+Stannard's reputation."
+
+For a few moments Alan Ford seem to forget the errand on which he had
+come. He was, it was plain to be seen, deeply impressed with the
+beautiful apartment, and his dark, deep-set grey eyes roved about from
+pictures to statues, from furniture to decorations with admiring and
+approving gaze.
+
+"Have you a picture of Mr. Stannard?" he said at last.
+
+"Yes," and Joyce took a photograph from a small chest full of portraits.
+"This is a photograph of a painting done by himself. It was made about
+four years ago, but he changed little since."
+
+Ford took the card and studied it. He saw a noble head and brow, fine
+features, and a general air of self-appreciation that was, however, not
+to be called conceit. The mouth had a few weak lines about its corners,
+but on the whole it was the presentment of a man of genius.
+
+"Have you a photograph of the subject in life?" he asked; "not taken
+from a painting."
+
+"Yes, but not a recent one," replied Joyce. "Except for some little
+snapshots," and she put a half-dozen small pictures in the hands of the
+detective.
+
+"Better yet," Ford said, and he carefully scrutinized the papers.
+
+But all the pictures of Eric Stannard gave the same impression of power,
+self-confidence and dominance.
+
+
+
+
+                                 XVIII
+                         Questions and Answers
+
+
+Still studying the face of the artist, Alan Ford indicated his desire to
+begin the successive interviews with the members of the household. All
+but Barry left the room, and the young man sat down near the absorbed
+detective.
+
+"Your father was a handsome man," Ford said, as he laid aside the
+pictures.
+
+"Yes," agreed Barry. "I wish I might have been more nearly his type."
+
+"Physically, you mean?"
+
+"Yes, and mentally, too. I admit my father's moral weakness, yet he was
+not a bad man, as men go. His artistic temperament was responsible for
+his being blamed far more than was just or right."
+
+"That is probably true," said Ford, seriously. "To a man of that
+sensitiveness to beauty many things seemed right that were not. Now, Mr.
+Stannard, will you please tell me everything about the actual facts as
+you know them, regarding the hour or half hour in which the crime was
+committed? Don't shade or colour your story to shield Miss Vernon, for
+such a bias will only prejudice my judgment against her. Tell me exactly
+the events as they followed one another to your positive knowledge, and
+nothing more."
+
+"Very well, Mr. Ford, I will do just as you ask. But let me say this
+first; there are three suspects----"
+
+"Excuse me, there are four suspects."
+
+"If you count Mr. Courtenay, yes. But the three in the house, my
+stepmother, Miss Vernon and myself, have been definitely suspected and,
+probably, are still. So I want to say, that if one of us must remain
+under suspicion, let it be me. It is impossible that a woman did this
+deed. So investigate along the line of Courtenay or myself, but as I
+feel quite sure you can get no real evidence against him, use me for a
+scapegoat, while you are finding the real criminal."
+
+"Then you are not the criminal, Mr. Stannard?"
+
+"If I were, would I be apt to tell you?"
+
+"You couldn't help telling me. Not in words, but in manner, in glance,
+in intonation, in a dozen ways, over which you have no control."
+
+"Have I told you so?"
+
+"You have not. I know positively you did not kill your father. But, go
+on, please, with your recital."
+
+"Well, after dinner, Miss Vernon and I sat on the terrace----" Barry
+paused. "By Jove," he broke out, "how can I tell you the straight truth?
+It sounds exactly as if Natalie did it!"
+
+Alan Ford almost smiled at the boy's impetuous exclamation, but merely
+prompted him, "Yes. Go right on, remember the truth will help Miss
+Vernon more than any falsehood possibly could. Have you never heard of
+seemingly incriminatory evidence of one leading straight to another?"
+
+"All right, then. We sat there a long time, and then we talked
+about--about getting married. I was bothered about it, for Dad had vowed
+if I married Natalie, he'd cut me out of his will."
+
+"That's why you altered the will in Miss Vernon's favour?"
+
+"I didn't alter that will! This is man to man, now, Mr. Ford. I'm
+telling you the truth. I didn't change that will, and Miss Vernon
+didn't, either. I don't know who did."
+
+"We'll find that out. It won't be a great surprise to learn the truth
+about that."
+
+"How do you know it won't? Do you know who did the forgery?"
+
+"I think so. Or perhaps there wasn't any forgery. But go on, my dear
+boy, with your story. I told you, you know, I've not much time to give
+you."
+
+"All right. We talked about getting married, and I got awful mad and I
+said if Father didn't stop his nonsense with her, I'd kidnap her and run
+away. And Natalie knew that if we did that, Dad would cut us both out of
+his will,--and she isn't a bit mercenary, it wasn't that."
+
+"What was it, then?"
+
+"Why, only that we're--why, hang it all, decent people don't do those
+things."
+
+"Decent people don't commit murder, either," said Ford, very gravely.
+
+"No, I know that. Well, Natalie begged me not to quarrel with
+father,--said she could manage him herself. And I thought she meant by
+being sweet to him, and all that, and I got mad at her, and--I walked off
+and left her there."
+
+"Without a word?"
+
+"No. I told her I was going to give the dogs a run. I was going to, too,
+but as I walked away, I fell a-thinking, and I just strolled round the
+place alone."
+
+"Whom did you see?"
+
+"Nobody at all. Maybe Courtenay or Mr. Wadsworth or some of those people
+passed me, I don't know. I was just thinking about Natalie, and then
+Halpin came running out and told me to come in the house, my father was
+ill."
+
+"And you went right in?"
+
+"Yes, and when I saw what had happened, I felt afraid Natalie had killed
+him--and I ran out and tried to make the window frame look as if a
+burglar had broken in. I suppose it was foolish."
+
+"It certainly was. But I don't blame you. It was natural to try to
+shield the girl you loved from possible suspicion."
+
+"Possible suspicion! If you had seen the situation! There were the two
+women, both shivering with fear and terror, and there was the dead or
+dying man between them! Why, Mr. Ford, it wasn't suspicion, it was
+certainty that one or the other had stabbed him!"
+
+"And why have you changed your mind since?"
+
+"Partly because of that clairvoyant person. I don't believe in those
+things, but--well--do you?"
+
+"I do not. But I can see how she would turn suspicion away from the two
+women in question. Who sent for the clairvoyant?"
+
+"Mrs. Stannard did, but, first, the Priestess, as she likes to be
+called, wrote and asked for a séance."
+
+"She did! How did she know she was wanted?"
+
+"She didn't know. Said she read about the case, and got interested."
+
+"Ah, a professional medium."
+
+"She said not. Said she only offers to help in cases that appeal
+especially to her."
+
+"H'm. Well, then she turned all your thoughts toward Mr. Courtenay, I am
+told."
+
+"But she didn't intend to. I mean, she described a man who entered the
+room, and who stabbed my father, but it was Bobsy Roberts' questions
+that made anybody think of Eugene Courtenay."
+
+"How?"
+
+"Oh, he kept saying, Bobsy did, 'Has he a pointed beard?' and 'is he
+tall and dark?' and such leading hints. The woman said 'Yes' every time,
+but I don't believe she knew what she was talking about."
+
+"And her mysterious reading of those sealed papers? You see, I know all
+the main facts, I just want your opinions."
+
+"Well, you've got me there! That woman _had_ to read those by
+supernatural power, because there's no other explanation. I know a bit
+about legerdemain and parlour magic and there was no opportunity
+whatever for any trickery. We wrote the things, sealed them, Bobsy
+Roberts collected them and handed them to her. Then in the same instant
+he switched off the light, and it wasn't half a minute before she was
+reading them aloud to us."
+
+"In the dark?"
+
+"Absolutely dark. And she hadn't moved from her chair, for her voice
+came from the place she was sitting."
+
+"Ventriloquism?"
+
+"Oh, no. Not a chance. Anyway, where could she go to have a light? The
+studio doors were all closed, and--why, of course, she didn't leave her
+chair, for when Bobsy switched on the light, suddenly, there she sat,
+eyes closed, hands quiet, composed and unruffled. No, sir, there's no
+explanation for that reading business but honest-to-goodness second
+sight! And, she gave us back our envelopes intact, seals unbroken."
+
+"Well, but, Mr. Stannard, if she had power to do all that, and I don't
+doubt your word in the least particular, isn't it strange that she
+couldn't see exactly who that murderer was?"
+
+"Suppose it was some one she didn't know?"
+
+"But oughtn't her powers of second sight, if she has such, reveal to her
+the identity of the man? She didn't know what was in your envelopes, but
+she told you. Why didn't her supernatural powers inform her the man's
+name?"
+
+"I don't know, Mr. Ford. I'm only telling you what I saw and heard."
+
+"That's all I want." And after a short further conversation, Alan Ford
+dismissed Barry and asked Mrs. Stannard to come to him next.
+
+"It will be hard for you, I know," he said gently, as he placed a chair
+for her, "but I want you to tell me just what occurred at the time of
+Mr. Stannard's death. Tell only your own part, only what you, yourself,
+did or saw."
+
+"You suspect I killed my husband?" said Joyce, in a choking whisper.
+
+"It will depend on your story, what I suspect. Do not be afraid and do
+not distrust me, Mrs. Stannard. I want to help you, in any case.
+Whatever the truth, I can help you, and I want to assure you of that."
+
+The infinite gentleness of his tone, the kind light in his eyes and the
+utter sympathy evident in his whole manner reassured Joyce, and in a low
+voice she began.
+
+"I have told it so many times, I know it by heart. I was in the Billiard
+Room with Mr. Courtenay. I will not explain or defend the fact that I
+was there alone with him, but merely state that I was. He left me, and
+as I was heartsick over my own private and personal affairs, I buried my
+head in a sofa-cushion and cried. Not a real crying spell of sobs and
+tears, but an emotion which I endeavoured to restrain or control that I
+might meet others without causing comment. As I bowed my head there, I
+am positive I heard my husband talking to some woman."
+
+"Miss Vernon?"
+
+"I thought so at first, now I am not sure it was she."
+
+"Mrs. Faulkner?"
+
+"Oh, no. She was in the Drawing Room at the other end of the house. No,
+it must have been either my imagination or some woman who had somehow
+entered and who afterward disappeared."
+
+"Go on."
+
+"I heard him say, or I thought I did, that she could have the emeralds,
+but he refused to marry her."
+
+"Yes," a little impatiently. "I know about that. Tell me what happened."
+
+"Then I heard a strange, gasping sound, and I rushed in----"
+
+"Was the room light then?"
+
+"No, dark. The light went out that instant or a moment before. I pushed
+in, and I heard a sound opposite--on the other side of the room. At
+first, I thought it was my husband, but it was a quick, frightened
+breathing, and then the light flashed on and I saw it was Miss Vernon,
+huddled against the wall--no, against a small table, and looking scared
+to death. Do you wonder that I thought she had done something wrong? For
+just then I caught sight of my husband, stabbed, dying--oh, I knew in
+that first glance that he had been murdered. Then, I saw Blake and Mrs.
+Faulkner at the other end of the room. They were shocked and frightened,
+too, but I paid no attention to them, I looked right back to Eric. And
+he--well, the footman did ask him who did it--and he raised his hand and
+said 'Neither Natalie nor Joyce.'"
+
+"Are you sure that's what he said?"
+
+"I am sure now. At the time he said it, he spoke so thickly I could
+scarcely understand him, and I thought he said 'Natalie, not Joyce.' But
+we had a clairvoyant here, and she said he said 'nor' and then I
+realized at once that that was what he did say!"
+
+"Meaning, of course, that you two women were innocent, and that some
+other hand had struck the blow?"
+
+"Yes, that was what he meant."
+
+"And, do you not think, Mrs. Stannard, that he would have said that to
+shield you both, even if one had been guilty?"
+
+Joyce Stannard turned white. "I--I never thought of that," she stammered.
+"Perhaps he would."
+
+"But you feel sure, at this moment, that it was not Miss Vernon who
+killed your husband?"
+
+Joyce looked utterly miserable. Her eyes were frightened like those of a
+hunted animal. But she said, bravely, "I feel sure of that, Mr. Ford.
+Miss Vernon is not one who could do such a thing."
+
+"She doesn't seem to be. Will you go now, Mrs. Stannard, and please send
+Miss Vernon in here?"
+
+Joyce went slowly out of the studio, and in a moment Natalie Vernon came
+in.
+
+"Am I afraid of you?" she asked, as she sat facing Alan Ford. "Need I
+be?"
+
+Her questions were not prompted by coquetry, that was evident. Her tone
+was serious, and she looked at the detective wistfully.
+
+"No, Miss Vernon," he answered, seriously, "you have no reason to be
+afraid of me, but I will tell you frankly, you have great reason to fear
+the consequences if you tell me anything but the exact truth. Pardon me,
+if that seems a rude speech, but great issues are at stake and
+prevarication on your part to the slightest degree would baffle all my
+plans and hopes."
+
+"I will tell the truth," Natalie sighed, "so far as I know it. But
+sometimes it's very hard to be sure of what is true."
+
+"Yes, I know it. Now, Miss Vernon, just one word about the time and
+scene of the crime. When you came into the studio, because you
+heard--what did you hear?"
+
+Alan Ford's manner was calculated to set the nervous girl at her ease,
+and his kindliness made her calm and un-self-conscious.
+
+"I heard Eric moan."
+
+"Did you know at once it was Mr. Stannard?"
+
+"Oh, yes. It sounded like him, and I suppose he was in there."
+
+"What did you think ailed him?"
+
+"I don't believe I thought of that. I just heard the curious gasping
+sound, as of somebody choking, and I ran in. I didn't think,--I only
+wondered what was the trouble."
+
+"And when you entered the room was it light or dark?"
+
+"Honestly, I don't know, Mr. Ford. I've been so quizzed and questioned
+about it, that I can't seem to remember clearly."
+
+"But the lights went out?"
+
+"Yes, just as I entered, or a minute before."
+
+"Well, then, what was the first thing you saw?"
+
+"Must I tell that?"
+
+"Yes, and truly."
+
+"Then, the first thing I saw, as the light flashed on,--and it rather
+blinded me at first, you know. You see, I had been sitting on the
+Terrace, which was almost dark, then I entered the dark room, and so
+when the light came suddenly, it dazzled me, and I naturally looked
+straight ahead of me. I saw Mrs. Stannard, behind her husband, and near
+the Billiard Room door."
+
+"As if she had just come in from that room?"
+
+"I think so,--now. I didn't think so then. I thought she had killed him,
+and had sort of stepped back, you know----"
+
+"Why did you change your mind?"
+
+"Oh, because of Madame Orienta. Haven't you heard about her? She cleared
+up the mystery as far as Joyce,--Mrs. Stannard and I are concerned."
+
+"Yes, I've heard all about her. You believe in her supernatural powers?"
+
+"Oh, yes. Only I don't use that word. I call them psychic powers."
+
+"But it was supernatural to read the sealed messages as she did?"
+
+"Well, I suppose it was. I suppose clairvoyance is supernatural, but we
+psychics prefer other terms. You know I'm a psychic."
+
+"Ah, is that so? And you can read sealed messages in the dark?"
+
+"No, indeed, I can't. I wish I could. But perhaps I shall be able to
+some day. I can--Mr. Ford, you believe me, don't you?"
+
+Natalie looked at him, and a slight flush came to her pale cheek as she
+saw his slightly quizzical expression.
+
+"Miss Vernon, I believe all you've said, so far. I want to continue my
+confidence in your statements, so please be very careful not to
+exaggerate or over-colour the least mite. Now, just to what extent do
+you _know_ you're a psychic? Not imagine or hope or think, but _know_."
+
+"Well, I only know that I've heard the voice of Mr. Stannard's spirit
+since his death, as clearly as I heard his mortal voice that night he
+died."
+
+"You are sure of this?"
+
+"I am sure, Mr. Ford."
+
+"Tell me the exact circumstances."
+
+
+
+
+                                  XIX
+                               Ford's Day
+
+
+"Mrs. Stannard and I were alone, here in the studio----"
+
+"Where was Mr. Stannard?"
+
+"I don't know. He wasn't in the house."
+
+"Was Mrs. Faulkner?"
+
+"Yes, but she wouldn't stay here with us. She doesn't approve of any of
+these psychic investigations, but she doesn't say much against them, out
+of respect to Mrs. Stannard's and my wishes."
+
+"Go on."
+
+Natalie told the story of hearing faint groans, as of a dying man, and
+of the sudden extinguishing of the lights.
+
+"One moment, Miss Vernon. When the lights went out, the room was quite
+still, was it not?"
+
+"Deathly silent, Mr. Ford. Joyce and I were breathless, listening for
+further sounds of any sort."
+
+"And, tell me, did you hear the click of the switch as the light went
+out?"
+
+"Yes, I did. I heard it distinctly."
+
+"And did that mean nothing to you?"
+
+"Why, what could it mean?"
+
+"It meant, Miss Vernon, that the light was switched off by a
+mortal,--flesh and blood hand. Had it been supernaturally extinguished
+there would have been no sound."
+
+"I heard it,--I'm sure I heard it. But I think the spirit of Mr. Stannard
+haunts the whole room, and it was he who turned the light off."
+
+"By means of a material switch?"
+
+Natalie looked a little uncertain. Varying expressions passed over her
+face as she thought it out. Then she said, "Don't spirits ever use
+material means?"
+
+"Not to my individual knowledge," returned Alan Ford gravely. "I fear,
+Miss Vernon, your belief in the spiritual influences at work in this
+affair is about to be rudely shattered. Now, did you hear any other
+sound,--a click or thud,--after the light went out?"
+
+"No. You see, Joyce,--Mrs. Stannard jumped right up and ran across the
+room and turned on the light."
+
+"Turned it on? It had been really turned off, then?"
+
+"Oh, yes. And she turned it on. Then she opened the door and Blake was
+in the hall, where he belonged. He had seen no one and had heard
+nothing."
+
+"I must have a chat with Blake. And Mrs. Faulkner, she knew nothing of
+it all?"
+
+"Not till Mrs. Stannard told her. She ran at once to Mrs. Faulkner's
+room----"
+
+"Where is that room?"
+
+"At the other end of the house, on the third floor. And there she found
+Mrs. Faulkner writing letters. And Mrs. Stannard told her and they came
+down stairs together. Well, and after Mrs. Stannard left the room, of
+course, I looked around, and there was the case of jewels on the table."
+
+"Where did they come from? How did they get there?"
+
+"The spirit of Mr. Stannard placed them there," said Natalie, solemnly.
+"You may scoff, Mr. Ford, you may suspect Blake of being mixed up in it,
+but you're all wrong. The studio doors were locked----"
+
+"While you and Mrs. Stannard were in there?"
+
+"Yes, I locked them myself. All three. There are but three, you know.
+See, the one to the front hall, the outside one to the Terrace and the
+one to the Billiard Room. I locked them, and the windows were fastened
+too. Nobody mortal could have come into that room."
+
+"So it would seem. Now, who else has these leanings toward spirit forces
+beside you? Who sent for the clairvoyant lady?"
+
+"Nobody. That is, she wrote herself to Mrs. Stannard, asking if she
+might come."
+
+"You liked her? You believed in her?"
+
+"In Orienta? Oh, yes. She is not an ordinary person,--I mean she is
+refined, educated, cultured,--as correct in every way as we are
+ourselves. She's not a professional medium, you know."
+
+"I know. And did Mr. Barry Stannard want her to come?"
+
+"No; he strongly opposed it."
+
+"And Mrs. Faulkner?"
+
+"She deferred to Mrs. Stannard's wishes. But she had no faith in her. Of
+course, after Orienta read the sealed letters, Mrs. Faulkner had to
+believe in that, she couldn't well help it."
+
+"No. Now, Miss Vernon, when you heard the groan or sigh as if the spirit
+of Mr. Stannard were expressing itself, where did the sound come from?"
+
+"It seemed to come from that chair,--the chair he died in. Joyce and I
+sat facing it----"
+
+"Your backs to the hall door, then?"
+
+"Yes, but nobody could open that door, it was locked. Mrs. Stannard
+unlocked it when she ran out of the room."
+
+"You're sure of this?"
+
+"Positive. We've gone over the scene a dozen times or more."
+
+"That seems to let Blake out, doesn't it? Well, that's all for the
+present, Miss Vernon, and thank you for your courteous attention. Now,
+there's no one to interview but the servants."
+
+"Mrs. Faulkner? She expects you to talk to her, I think."
+
+"What could she tell me? She wasn't in this part of the house at the
+spiritual séance, and as to the moment of the crime, she tells no more
+than Blake. However, I'll see her for a brief interview. It's always
+well to get all the accounts possible."
+
+Natalie left the studio, and in a few moments Beatrice Faulkner came in.
+
+"Just a question or two, Mrs. Faulkner," said Ford, "I know you people
+are all nearly distraught with these strange and sudden developments.
+But, tell me, what do you think of Miss Vernon's story of the spirit
+manifestations in this room?"
+
+"I think it was all the girl's imagination, Mr. Ford. She is not only of
+an exaggerated artistic temperament, but excessively nervous and
+susceptible to hallucinations."
+
+"She is all that, I think. Now, please tell me, very honestly and very
+carefully, exactly how Mrs. Stannard looked and acted when she ran up to
+your room to tell you of the strange occurrence in the studio."
+
+"She was terribly excited, Mr. Ford, and she could scarcely speak. She
+stumbled up the stairs----"
+
+"Why, did you see her?"
+
+"No, I heard her. I was at my writing desk, and the house was still.
+Then she flew into my room, without knocking----"
+
+"Is it her custom to knock?"
+
+"Oh, yes, she always does. And she begged me to go down stairs with her,
+and I did. The rest you know?"
+
+"Yes, and a strange tale it is. How do you suppose the jewels came to be
+on that table?"
+
+"I cannot say," Beatrice looked sad. "There seems to be only one
+explanation. That whoever had them or knew where they were, placed them
+there."
+
+"And how did the bearer of the box get into the locked room?"
+
+"I can't imagine. The only thing I can think of is that Natalie didn't
+lock the door as thoroughly as she thinks she did."
+
+"Mrs. Faulkner, tell me this. I assure you I will not use your
+information unless absolutely necessary. Do you suspect the footman
+Blake of any connivance--or of any wrong doing in the whole matter?"
+
+Beatrice Faulkner hesitated. Then she said, "No, Mr. Ford, I do not. I
+think Blake a thoroughly honest and trustworthy servant."
+
+"And who is the criminal?"
+
+"That I cannot say. I am, as you know, merely a visitor, who chanced to
+be here at this unfortunate time. I have hesitated to express my
+opinions lest I do harm to the innocent or retard the quest of the
+guilty. I can only answer your questions in so far as they are not
+leading up to suspicion of any of my friends."
+
+"That is the right attitude, Mrs. Faulkner. I thought there was no
+necessity for troubling you at all, but one or two minor points I prefer
+to ask of you rather than Mrs. Stannard. Do you know the identity of
+'Goldenheart'?"
+
+"I imagine her to be one of Mr. Stannard's early inamoratas. He had
+many, and, moreover, I should not be surprised to learn that he called
+more than one by that name. You know there was a small gift found in his
+desk addressed to some one of that name, which had never been sent. It
+has occurred to me that the Goldenheart of that matter, and the one to
+whom he wrote more recently, were not the same person."
+
+"That may well be. You have a logical mind, Mrs. Faulkner. I say this to
+you, because I want your help. If I should tell you that I do not
+suspect Mrs. Stannard or Miss Vernon or Barry Stannard, would you then
+be willing to assist me in my investigation?"
+
+Beatrice Faulkner looked at the detective an instant, and then said, in
+a low tone, "Mr. Courtenay?"
+
+"Hush! Don't mention names. Let us close this conversation right here,
+and I will tell you at some other time what I want you to do for me."
+
+Beatrice went away, and locking the door after her exit, Alan Ford
+remained alone in the studio for an hour or more.
+
+Then he went for a walk which lasted another hour, and when he joined
+the family at luncheon, he was merely a courteous, friendly guest, with
+no suggestion of a detective.
+
+In the afternoon, he requested permission to go over all of Eric
+Stannard's papers and correspondence and spent his time until dusk at
+this work.
+
+At tea time, he rejoined the others, and during the tea hour he talked
+of the visit of Orienta and her wonderful performance. Over and over it
+was discussed, and at each fresh detail or opinion Alan Ford grew more
+and more interested.
+
+"Tell me of her costume," he said, at last, when it seemed he had heard
+about every other bit of possible interest.
+
+"It was beautiful!" exclaimed Natalie. "A long, full robe of a sort of
+sage green----"
+
+"What material?" asked Ford, and Barry looked at him in surprise. What
+kind of a great detective was this who inquired concerning the texture
+of a costume?
+
+"Why, it was silk, I think,--yes, heavy silk, wasn't it, Joyce?"
+
+"That, or a silk poplin. It was not a modern, modish gown at all; it was
+like a draped shawl."
+
+"Drapery hanging from the shoulders?"
+
+"Yes," Natalie answered, her mind so intent on giving Ford the right
+idea, that she didn't think of the queerness of the question.
+
+"Double skirt?"
+
+"Yes--or, that is, a skirt, and then an over drapery in full long folds.
+Oh, it was lovely!"
+
+"Are you apt with your pencil, Miss Vernon? Could you draw a rough
+sketch of that gown?"
+
+"I can't but Mrs. Faulkner can. She's good at sketching draperies.
+Here's a paper pad, Beatrice. Will you draw it for Mr. Ford?"
+
+"Certainly," and taking the paper, Beatrice rapidly sketched an
+indication of Orienta, in her flowing robe.
+
+"That's just right," said Natalie, "but the folds were fuller, I think."
+
+"Never mind," said Ford, "this will do. I only wanted to get a mental
+picture of how she looked," and tearing the picture into strips he
+tossed them into a waste basket.
+
+The talk drifted to the house and its architecture.
+
+"The whole house is a gem," said Alan Ford, enthusiastically, "but the
+staircase is a marvel. Nowhere in this country have I seen its equal.
+Your husband studied abroad, Mrs. Faulkner?"
+
+"For years. He took great pride in building this house, as he intended
+it to be a masterpiece."
+
+"Which it certainly is. Have you the plans of it? I should like to see
+them. Architecture is one of my hobbies."
+
+"No, I haven't the plans, Mr. Ford."
+
+"Oh, of course, they went to Mr. Stannard with the title deeds. Have you
+them, Mrs. Stannard?"
+
+"No, we never had them. I never thought about them."
+
+"Doubtless they are among Mr. Stannard's belongings. They must have been
+given to him. It doesn't matter. I oughtn't to take time to look at
+them, anyway. But one thing I do want to see, and that is the picture of
+Mrs. Faulkner that Mr. Stannard was engaged on at the time of his death.
+I'm told it is an example of his best work. May I have a glimpse of it?"
+
+Beatrice Faulkner looked a little flattered at this request, but she
+said only, "Certainly, Mr. Ford. It is in the studio."
+
+They all went in to see it, and Barry arranged the portrait on an easel
+and adjusted a light for it.
+
+"It is indeed splendid," said Ford, in genuine admiration. The portrait
+was excellent and lifelike, but more than that it was a work of art.
+Beatrice, in a gown of deep ruby velvet, with the great staircase for a
+background, was at her very best. Her face, always handsome, was imbued
+with a fine spiritual grace, and she looked the embodiment of happiness.
+The whole conception was, perhaps, a little idealised, but it was a
+magnificent portrait, and a stunning picture.
+
+"I'm so glad you have it, Beatrice," said Joyce, softly. "You've been so
+good and dear, and have done so much for us all ever since Eric's death,
+I'm happy for you to have this remembrance of him."
+
+"I'm glad, too," and Beatrice looked at the reflection of herself
+through misty eyes.
+
+Bobsy Roberts came in while they were looking at the portrait, and he,
+too, was charmed with its beauty.
+
+"That staircase makes a wonderful setting. I'm a fancier of staircases,
+and I think this one beats any I ever saw."
+
+"A fancier of staircases, what do you mean?" asked Natalie.
+
+"Yes, I've studied architecture, more or less, but the stairs have
+always especially interested me. I've just run across an old book,
+called 'Staircases and Steps,' and it's most interesting."
+
+"I agree with you," said Alan Ford. "And the staircase here is a gem.
+That's why I wanted to see the plans of the house."
+
+"Mayn't we see them?" asked Bobsy, turning to Joyce.
+
+"Why, I haven't them, Mr. Roberts. Perhaps they're among my husband's
+belongings, but I've never seen them."
+
+"You see," observed Ford, stepping out into the hall, "it's the
+wonderful proportion of one part to another that makes the beauty of it.
+The stair-well, clear to the roof, the arcaded hall, the noble
+high-ceiled studio and this little low-ceiled Reception Room, fitted in
+just here, make up a splendid whole. Did not your late husband feel
+this?" Ford added, turning to Beatrice.
+
+"Yes," she replied, briefly, and then Bobsy tore himself away from the
+fascinating subject of architecture to ask Alan Ford if he had made any
+progress in his investigations.
+
+"I have," replied Ford. "I have found out a lot of things that seem to
+me indicative. But it all hinges on whether there are spiritual
+influences at work or not. It seems to me, if the spirit of Mr. Stannard
+could return to earth and manifest itself in any way, it would prove----"
+
+"Prove what?" asked Mrs. Faulkner, as the detective paused.
+
+"Well, I may be foolish, but it would seem to me to prove that he wanted
+us to stop these investigations and let the matter remain a mystery."
+
+"You really think that!" exclaimed Bobsy, as his estimation of Alan
+Ford's genius for detective work received a sudden setback.
+
+"I think I agree with Mr. Ford," said Beatrice, thoughtfully. "If Eric
+wanted us to continue our inquiries he would rest quiet in his grave."
+
+"Oh, Mr. Ford," and Natalie gave a little gasp, "do you really think,
+then, it was Mr. Stannard's spirit that I heard in the studio? Do you
+think I am enough of a sensitive to bring about a real manifestation?"
+
+"Those things are hard to tell, Miss Vernon. But I am going to ask the
+privilege of spending to-night alone in the studio. Then if any
+demonstration occurs, I shall, as I told you, think there is reason to
+believe----"
+
+Ford's pause was eloquent of deep feeling. Truly the man was in earnest,
+whether he was right or not.
+
+"May I not stay there with you?" asked Roberts, a little diffidently.
+
+"No, please. I want to be alone. I shall lock myself in, and I must ask
+not to be disturbed in any way."
+
+"I wish I could stay with you," and Natalie sighed. "But I suppose you
+wouldn't want me to."
+
+"No, please," said Ford, gently. "I must be alone."
+
+
+
+
+                                   XX
+                            On the Staircase
+
+
+At Ford's request, the evening was spent without reference to the matter
+that was uppermost in every mind. At dinner the detective was merely a
+pleasant and entertaining guest. Afterward, in the Drawing Room he
+proved himself a good talker and a good listener, and the conversation,
+on all sorts of topics, was casual and interesting.
+
+It was nearly midnight when Ford bade them good night, and went to the
+studio to hold his vigil. The others followed him in, Joyce asking if he
+would like any refreshment served during the night.
+
+"No," he replied. "It will not be so very long until daylight. And, too,
+perhaps nothing will happen, and I may fall asleep. Don't worry about
+me, Mrs. Stannard, I shall not be at all uncomfortable. See, I shall sit
+just where Miss Vernon sat the other night. Right here, facing the chair
+in which Mr. Stannard died. Thus, I have my back to the hall door, and
+the North window, but I shall make sure that all are securely locked,
+and then if any manifestation occurs, I shall have every reason to be
+sure it is of supernatural origin."
+
+"And that would make you give up the case?" asked Beatrice,
+incredulously.
+
+"I think so," returned Ford. "I should probably leave here to-morrow."
+
+"Well, of all queer detectives!" said Barry Stannard, as they went from
+the room and heard the click of the key as it was turned in the door
+behind them.
+
+True to his word, Alan Ford examined with minutest care every door and
+window. He made sure no lock or catch was left unfastened, and then, the
+lights burning brightly, he took his seat just where he had said he
+would, facing the chair in which Eric Stannard had met his fate. Also,
+he faced the two doors that led respectively to the Billiard Room and
+the Terrace. This left more than half the room behind him and out of his
+line of vision. But the detective paid no attention to that part of the
+studio, and rested his contemplative gaze on the great armchair which
+had helped to stage the tragedy.
+
+The hours went by. Alan Ford scarcely moved from the easy, relaxed
+position he had taken at first. He closed his eyes for the most of the
+time, now and then slowly opening them for a moment.
+
+His left hand, lying on his knee, clasped some small object.
+
+It was shortly after three o'clock in the morning, when there was the
+sound of a click and the lights went out.
+
+The studio was in absolute darkness.
+
+Ford rose quickly and crossed the room to the light switch by the hall
+door. He knew the position of the furniture, and felt his way by the
+chairs. As he did so, he heard a long, gasping sigh, and a faint cry of
+"Help!"
+
+By this time he had reached the switch and turned it on. The sudden
+flash of light showed no one in the room save himself, but not pausing
+to look about, he unlocked the hall door, passed quickly through and ran
+up the first steps of the stairs.
+
+On he went to the second great square landing, and there he paused. He
+did not stand still, but stepped about on the landing, making
+exclamations to himself, and breathing heavily. He leaned against the
+baluster, tapping on the newel post with his fingers. Then, he sat down
+on the lowest step of the third or upper division of the flight. He sat,
+tapping his foot against the stair, he even whistled a little under his
+breath. He seemed anxious not to be silent.
+
+There was a low light in all the halls, and occasionally Ford leaned his
+head over the baluster and commanded a view of the hall below.
+
+Half an hour passed, and then Joyce Stannard appeared from the hall
+above. She wore a boudoir gown and slippers, and her weary eyes
+betokened a sleepless night.
+
+She started with surprise at sight of Alan Ford on the stairs. But he
+made a motion requesting her to be silent, and taking a bit of paper
+from his pocket he wrote:
+
+"Say no word. Go back to the hall above and remain there, but out of
+sight of this spot, until I summon you. Overhear all you can, but on no
+account let yourself be seen."
+
+Joyce read the strange message, and going back up the few steps she had
+descended, she sat on a hall window seat, concealed by a light curtain.
+
+Then Alan Ford, with a short, sad sigh, stood up and approached the
+panelled wall of the staircase. Down the flights the panels of course
+slanted, but on the landing they were in level row.
+
+Placing his lips to the wall itself, Ford said in a clear low whisper,
+"Will you come out?"
+
+From behind the wall he heard an agonised moan.
+
+"It would be better," he said, gently. "Do come."
+
+Another moment passed, and then, a panel of the wainscot slid open and
+Beatrice Faulkner stepped forth onto the landing.
+
+"You know all?" she said, and her great despairing eyes looked into
+those of the detective.
+
+"Almost all," he returned, and his glance at her was infinitely sad.
+"You killed Stannard?"
+
+"Yes," she said, and swayed as if she would fall to the floor.
+
+Ford assisted her to stand and then gently aided her to a seat on the
+stair where he had sat a moment since.
+
+Beatrice sank to the step and Ford closed the panel she had left open.
+He did not look into the place to which the panel gave entrance, for he
+knew what it was. It was the space above the Reception Room. He had seen
+when he entered the house that since the Reception Room and the studio
+were next each other and yet there was five or six feet difference in
+the height of their respective ceilings, that space must be a sort of
+loft or waste room. It showed from none of the sides. Both hall and
+studio were high ceiled. The staircase well reached to the roof. There
+was no explanation of the discrepancy but a waste space the size of the
+Reception Room and about six feet in height.
+
+This space, of course, abutted on the studio, the hall, the stairs, and,
+on the other side, the outer or Terrace wall.
+
+In the studio the balcony ran along the wall at about the height of the
+stair landing on the other side. Ford guessed at once that ingress to
+that waste space must be had from the studio or the stair landing or
+both. He now was sure that panels from both opened into it.
+
+As he closed the panel, he noted that there was no secret or concealed
+fastening. Merely an ordinary flush spring catch, inconspicuous but not
+hidden.
+
+Ford turned to the woman on the stairs. He sat down beside her. "Tell me
+about it," he said, and his voice was so gentle, his face so sad, that
+Beatrice turned to him as to a friend.
+
+"There is little to tell," she said, wearily. "It is the story of a
+great love, a love too big and strong to be conquered by a weak-willed
+woman. I tried--oh, I tried----"
+
+"Don't give way, Mrs. Faulkner, just tell me the main facts. You knew
+Mr. Stannard years ago?"
+
+"I was his first love. We were schoolmates. I always loved him--more than
+loved him. I worshipped, adored him. He loved me,--but he was always
+fickle. He loved every woman he saw. Then,--he married--his first wife, I
+mean, and I thought I should die. But never mind the past. I married,
+and I tried to forget Eric. My husband built this beautiful home, but he
+had financial troubles and couldn't keep it. Eric Stannard bought it,
+and meanwhile his wife had died, and he married my friend Joyce. I tried
+to be reconciled, but the demon of jealousy tore my very heart out. I
+gave over this house to them and went away. A portrait of myself was to
+be part of the purchase price, and--even though I knew it would be acute
+torment to see Eric happy here with Joyce, I came to stay a month and
+have the picture painted. As I feared, the necessarily intimate
+association between the artist and myself quickened my never-dying love
+for him, until I was almost frantic. I could have stood it, though, had
+it been only his wife. But when he fell desperately in love with the
+model, I resented it for Joyce and myself both. But I had no thought of
+killing him,--don't think that!"
+
+"It was done on a sudden impulse, then." Ford was watching her closely.
+He knew that her enforced calm might give way at any instant and he
+strove to speak quietly and lead her gently on to a confession.
+Moreover, he trusted that Joyce was listening, as he had asked her to
+do. Thus the confession would be witnessed.
+
+"It was this way," and Beatrice looked piteously into his kind eyes.
+"Mr. Wadsworth asked me that night to marry him. We were in the Drawing
+Room, as you know. I wouldn't say yes, for I still had a faint hope of
+winning Eric. It was absurd for me to think it, but I was desperate.
+After Mr. Wadsworth left me, I sat a moment in the Drawing Room, and
+then I resolved to go to Eric, by the secret passage, of which only he
+and I knew, and beg him to put Joyce away and take me. I say this
+without shame, for I was--and am, still, so madly in love with him, that
+I had no shame regarding it, and would have suffered any ignominy or
+humiliation to win him. I went through that small space; it is not
+really secret, but no one has ever noticed it, and I went through to the
+studio, and stepping in the room, on the little balcony, I saw Eric
+below me, gazing at the etching of Natalie with an adoring look. He bent
+down and kissed the picture, and then I descended the stairs and spoke
+to him. I told him that Natalie loved Barry and hated him. I urged him
+to divorce Joyce and let her marry Eugene Courtenay and I begged him to
+marry me. He laughed at me! I shall never forget that laugh! But that
+wasn't why I killed him. It was because he turned again to that picture
+of Natalie and into his face came a look that I had never seen there. A
+look of love such as I had never been able to call forth on his face, a
+worshipping passion that transcended all love I had ever dreamed of. And
+that he felt for a little girl who hated him. Jealousy maddened me, and
+snatching up an etching tool I marred the wax beyond recognition. He
+turned on me, his face livid with rage. The contrast,--the look of love
+he had for the girl, the look of venomous hate he gave me, bereft me of
+my senses. No, I do not mean I did not know what I was doing,--I did
+know. I fully meant at that moment to kill him, and then to kill myself,
+that we might at least die together. I should not have thought of
+killing him if I hadn't chanced to have that tool in my hand. Nor should
+I have wanted to kill him but for his scorn of me and his love for her.
+The two together drove me wild, and I stabbed him in a moment of fierce
+passion that was love, not hate. Then, as I was about to draw forth the
+needle and stab myself, I saw that he was not dead. He looked at me, and
+I couldn't say it was with hatred. I think--I honestly think--that he
+gloried in my deed,--you cannot understand,--it is a strange idea, but I
+think he realised at last the depth of my love and appreciated it.
+Anyway, I read that in his face, and I couldn't bring myself to leave a
+world that still held him. I didn't dare remove the needle, lest it
+bring about his death,--I didn't dare remain and be found there with him.
+My mind fairly flew. I thought so fast and so clearly, I concluded to
+escape by the panel and return quickly through the hall and thus coming
+upon him, apparently innocently, save his life."
+
+"You crossed the room," Ford prompted, for the speaker's strength was
+failing.
+
+"Yes, I crossed the room, as deliberately as if nothing had happened. I
+turned off the light, that I might make good my escape. I flew through
+the panelled space, and in a few seconds I was out at this end, here on
+this landing and down the stairs. I saw at once that Blake had heard
+something, but whether it was a sound from Eric, or the noise of my
+departure I did not then know. I spoke to the man,--and the rest you
+know."
+
+"You were surprised when the light was turned on to see the two women
+there?"
+
+"I was dumfounded. I couldn't think at first what it would mean to me--or
+to them. I had no thought of allowing them to be suspected of the crime,
+but circumstances were too strong for me. They were found there, near
+the dying man,--I had, to all appearances come in from the other end of
+the room,--naturally they were suspected. And then reaction had come; no
+longer was I keyed up by that torment of jealousy, that spur of scorned
+love. I had time to think,--even when all were wondering and questioning,
+I had time to think. And I concluded I would never confess unless I was
+obliged to do so, to save some one else. I decided to devote every
+energy and use every effort to divert suspicion from all in the
+household. It was I who really arranged for----"
+
+"For the clairvoyant," said Ford, as Beatrice paused from sheer weakness
+of breath.
+
+"Yes, you understand that?"
+
+"You hired her, instructed her to write to Mrs. Stannard, and you told
+her what to say."
+
+"Yes, I wanted her to make it appear that the murderer was a man who had
+entered through the Billiard Room. I meant for the man's identity to be
+absolutely unknown. But they managed to fasten it on Mr. Courtenay and
+my plan failed utterly."
+
+"And then?"
+
+"Then I had about decided to tell the truth. When they arrested Barry, I
+quite decided. And then you came. I knew that was my death knell. But
+when you said if the spirit manifestation appeared in the studio
+to-night--that was a trap, wasn't it?"
+
+"Yes, Mrs. Faulkner, it was a trap. I knew whoever had been playing
+'spirit' by the use of the panelled space, would do it again to-night at
+my words, and I felt sure it would be you. I am sorry----"
+
+"I believe you are, Mr. Ford. I know from your whole attitude you are
+sorry for me. Otherwise, I could not have told you all this as I have
+done. You are more like a father confessor than a detective. It helps a
+little to know you are sorry for me----"
+
+"How did Orienta read the papers? The pocket-light method?"
+
+"Yes. She is very clever; I've known her for years. She is not a medium
+at all. I persuaded her that to do as I asked would save innocent people
+from being suspected. Of course, she didn't know I was guilty."
+
+"And you were 'Goldenheart'?"
+
+"Yes. It was Eric's old pet name for me. He wrote that letter to me,
+giving me the emeralds if I would cease asking for his love. He said I
+knew where the jewels were, because he always kept them in the panelled
+space,--that's what we called it,--and Joyce did overhear him saying to me
+in the studio practically what he had written in the letter. Had she not
+been so wrapped up in her own heart trouble, she would have heard it
+clearly. Of course, too, that little golden heart that was bought and
+never presented was meant for me."
+
+"You told Orienta to say that Mr. Stannard said 'Neither Natalie _nor_
+Joyce.'?"
+
+"Yes, for I really think that was what he did mean to say. He wouldn't
+implicate me, even with his dying breath, but he tried to clear them. He
+was a wonderful man, Mr. Ford. Not a good man, perhaps, but a brave one.
+He would have defended any or all of us, but he had no chance. My love
+for him has been the mainspring of my whole life. Instead of forgetting
+him, I grew more madly in love with him year by year. I had no business
+to come here, and let him paint me. Those hours when I posed for him
+were the happiest I have ever known. That's why the portrait is of a
+happy woman. I hoped against hope that I could yet win him back. But I
+couldn't--I can only follow him."
+
+The quietness of Beatrice's voice had lulled any suspicions Ford might
+have had of her intent, and when she drew from the folds of her bodice
+an etching needle, exactly like the one that had killed Eric, and drove
+it into her own breast, Ford wheeled suddenly and grasped her hand,--but
+too late. The deed was done.
+
+At his exclamation, Joyce ran down from the hall above, where she had
+been listening to Beatrice's story. She sank down beside the wounded
+woman and took the drooping figure in her arms.
+
+"Forgive----" moaned Beatrice. "Joyce,--forgive,--I--I loved him so."
+
+"Yes,--yes," soothed Joyce, scarce knowing what she said. "What can we
+do, Mr. Ford? Oh, what can we do?"
+
+"Nothing, I fear. Call help. Shall I ring?" Ford hastened to the nearest
+bell he could notice and rang it. Immediately people began to gather,
+servants, family,--and all sorts of contradictory orders were given. But
+with his finger on the pulse of the dying woman the detective tried to
+learn yet more facts. "The will," he asked, bending above her. "Who
+changed it?"
+
+"Eric himself," Beatrice answered, "that's why--oh, Eric!" Her faced
+beamed with a strange radiance, and then sinking back in Joyce's arms,
+Beatrice Faulkner breathed her last.
+
+The next day Alan Ford declared he must hasten away as his engagements
+were pressing.
+
+"But tell us more of your work," implored Bobsy Roberts, "give us a few
+moments more."
+
+"And tell us about that clairvoyant woman," said Barry. "If she was a
+fake, how did she read those papers in the dark?"
+
+"I realised, before I came up here at all," said Ford, "that there had
+to be some secret means of entrance to the studio. I see now, it was
+never meant to be secret. The architect made the Reception Room ceiling
+lower than the studio ceiling, because it was a smaller room and he
+observed due proportions. This left a space there, but it was not
+concealed or hidden. The catches on both doors are merely small ones and
+inconspicuous but not concealed. Mr. Faulkner left all the house plans
+in that loft and Eric Stannard knew of it. He chose to conceal his
+jewels there as being a convenient place. Only he and Mrs. Faulkner knew
+of the space, but that was merely a chance happening. He, in no sense,
+kept it a secret. When I read the accounts in New York papers I felt the
+case must hinge on another entrance of some sort. When I reached here I
+saw at once that there was a discrepancy in the heights of those two
+ceilings, and I worked from that. I was sure the spirit manifestations
+were made possible by human means working through that concealed space,
+and I found I was right. I assumed it was probably Mrs. Faulkner who
+played the spirit as she refused to show the plans of the house, and my
+theories, based on those plans, left her free to do all she did do,
+without being discovered. I found she could have placed the jewels on
+the table that night and returned to her room through the little loft,
+and be seated at her desk, writing, when Mrs. Stannard reached her room.
+She said she heard Mrs. Stannard coming up stairs, but as the door was
+shut and the stairs thickly carpeted, this was unlikely. So I assume she
+was expecting her. All facts pointed to the guilt of Mrs. Faulkner, but
+they were by no means obvious. So, when I said if spirits came to the
+studio last night I should drop the case to-day, I meant because it
+would be solved. But Mrs. Faulkner thought I would give it up as
+unsolvable, so she played 'spirit' again. I had in my hand a tiny mirror
+of the sort that shows what is passing at one's back. I heard, as I sat
+there, the soft opening of the panel in the studio balcony, and I knew
+she was coming down the little stair. I heard her click off the light,
+and just as she did so, I caught a glimpse of her in my mirror. So I
+went out at the hall door, snapping on the light as I passed, and went
+up on the grand staircase, knowing I would head her off, and have her
+practically penned in there. Mrs. Stannard found me waiting there, and I
+arranged for her to witness the confession that I knew must come. I did
+not foresee that Mrs. Faulkner would take her own life, but perhaps it
+is as well. There was no happiness or peace for her in this world, it
+was better she should expiate her own sin. Poor soul, she was a victim
+of a love that proved too great for her human nature to strive against.
+As to the will, I felt sure Mr. Stannard had made that change himself.
+It looked like his writing, and I felt sure neither Miss Vernon nor Mr.
+Barry Stannard would have done it."
+
+"And you picked out the truth from the maze of probabilities and
+suspicion and false evidence----" Bobsy looked at the great detective in
+an awed way.
+
+"I gained most of my information and formed most of my conclusions from
+my talks with each one separately. I am a fairly good judge of
+character, and I saw at once neither Mrs. Stannard nor Miss Vernon was
+guilty. They were both uncertain and indefinite in their testimony. They
+scarcely knew even the sequence of events at the time of the tragedy; if
+they had been telling untruths, they would have been positive in their
+statements. Also, I saw at once Barry Stannard and Miss Vernon more than
+half feared each other guilty and each was ready for any sacrifice or
+effort to save the other. This let them both out, for neither could be
+guilty and suspect some one else! Mr. Courtenay had practically no real
+evidence against him, so it came back to Mrs. Faulkner. I talked to her
+enough to strengthen my suspicion in that direction and then tested her
+by the night in the studio. She proved herself the source of the
+'spiritual' manifestations, and showed how she did it. That left only
+the matter of getting her confession. I feel deep pity for the poor
+woman; she led a sad, miserable existence because of a mistaken love.
+Also, I must admit that she was of a different stamp from the people
+here. Mrs. Faulkner was capable of strong passion that did not stop at
+crime. I judge the rest of you would not be, and I do not think I am
+mistaken in that."
+
+Alan Ford looked around at the pure sweet face of Natalie, the noble
+countenance of Joyce, and the brave boyish frankness that shone in
+Barry's glance and sighed as he thought of the smouldering fires in the
+deep eyes of the woman who was conquered by her own evil passion.
+
+"But tell us about the sealed reading," insisted Bobsy, as Ford rose to
+go.
+
+"Oh, yes," cried Natalie, "how was that done?"
+
+"One of the tricks of the trade," said Ford. "You know there are dozens
+of ways to read sealed writings."
+
+"Yes, but what way did she use?"
+
+"This way. You know, I insisted on a full description of her dress. When
+I found it was of full pattern and made of an opaque material, I
+understood. You see, if a message is written with ink, and if the paper
+is slipped, unfolded, into a moderately thin envelope, the writing can
+be read with ease in the dark by holding an electric pocket flashlight
+behind the envelope. Orienta, the room being darkened, drew the loose
+folds of her gown over her head, and thus shielded, took a little
+flashlight from her pocket, read them all, by its aid, then returning
+the light to her pocket, remembered the questions and spoke them out,
+both with and without a light. The second time, I believe, she read the
+first ones in the dark and the others in the light. There were no
+signatures, but she had learned each one's hand-writing from the first
+lot. The thing is simple, and is the most mystifying of all sealed paper
+readings."
+
+"Will it always work?" asked Roberts, greatly interested.
+
+"In total darkness, yes. Go into a dark closet and try it. Of course,
+Orienta's drapery served to aid her and also to conceal the light from
+her audience."
+
+"And all the answers she made up,--or Beatrice had told her," said
+Natalie, thoughtfully.
+
+"Yes," said Ford. "And now I must go. I shall hope to meet you all again
+some day, and if I can tell you anything more you care to learn about
+these make-believe wizards, I shall be glad to do so."
+
+He went away, and Barry and Natalie went off by themselves, to rejoice
+in the fact that all veils of suspicion were lifted from them and that
+they had long years ahead to help one another to forget the past and
+make a radiant, happy future.
+
+Joyce had a quiet knowledge that some time in the coming years she, too,
+would again know happiness, and all united in a sad pity for the
+beautiful but misguided woman whose hand wrought the tragedy of
+Faulkner's Folly.
+
+
+                                THE END
+
+
+
+
+                          Transcriber's Notes
+
+
+--Copyright notice provided as in the original--this e-text is public
+  domain in the country of publication.
+
+--In the text versions, delimited italics text in _underscores_ (the
+  HTML version reproduces the font form of the printed book.)
+
+--Silently corrected palpable typos; left non-standard spellings and
+  dialect unchanged.
+
+
+
+
+
+
+
+End of the Project Gutenberg EBook of Faulkner's Folly, by Carolyn Wells
+
+*** END OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK 59126 ***