"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.