"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."