"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!"