"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."