"It is my duty to ask," he said coolly. "At what time did you reach home? I suppose you don't know that, either." "I do not. But I didn't come home at once----" "Yes, I know; you sat on a bench on the Folly lawn. Were you in evening togs, Mr. Courtenay?" "I was." "Had you on a hat?" Eugene Courtenay started. But he answered at once: "Not a hat. I wore a cap over there. I often do when I go to a neighbour's." "And you had it on when you sat on the bench?" "Why, confound it, man. I don't know! I suppose I did. No, let me see. I believe I was carrying it, and laid it on the bench beside me." "And left it there?" Courtenay laughed a little self-consciously. "Yes, I did. I came nearly home before I thought of it. Then I went back and gathered it in. Why?" Again that direct, snapped-out question. "What was going on at the house when you went back?" "How should I know? After events prove that the tragedy in the studio was then being gone through with--but I had no idea of that at the time. I glanced at the house, of course. There was a light in the studio--in fact, lights over most of the house. I found my cap and came on home. Why?" "I'll answer your whys, Mr. Courtenay. Because the police have reason to think your story is not entirely true. Because we think it was you, yourself, who turned off the studio light." "Do I understand, Mr. Roberts, you mean that I--let us speak plainly--that I killed Eric Stannard?" "Did you, Mr. Courtenay?" "I refuse to answer such an absurd question! In the first place, I was out on the lawn, when the light went out." "So you say. But who corroborates that?" "I was also out there when the light flashed on again." "Yes, that may be true, but your first statement is not. You left Mrs. Stannard in the Billiard Room, you went into the studio--whether in the interim you had been out on the lawn or not, doesn't matter--you stabbed Eric Stannard, you turned off the light, and returning through the Billiard Room, you went back to that bench, and awaited developments." "You must be insane!" "Oh, no, I'm not insane. Neither were you. It was a clever dodge. You didn't know the women would be implicated, but when they were, however you might regret that, you couldn't confess your own guilt----" "Why couldn't I?" "Because," Bobsy looked squarely at him, "because you love Mrs. Stannard----" "Stop! Don't you dare to speak her name! You mischief-maker! You absolute and unqualified----" "Stop, yourself, Mr. Courtenay! These heroics harm your case--they don't help it." "But it's false! It isn't true! I didn't do it! I was----" "Yes?" "I was on that bench all the time, till I went home----" "Did you see any one, any servant or gardener, perhaps, who can vouch for your story?" "No--I can't remember that I did. But, man, alive, how could I get in and out of that room? It has been proved----" "It has been proved that you could have entered unseen and could have left unseen." "But how?"