"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!"