"Poor Courtenay, as well! Now, I think I did see him, as I came along the South lawn. I'm sure I saw some man on the bench out there, and it was much the outline of Courtenay. And then, yes, I remember now, just then the light went out, and I couldn't see him clearly. Of course, I thought nothing of the light being put out. I assumed the people were going to bed, but it was that that decided me not to return to see you again that night. Had the lights staid on, I fancy, after all, I should have entered the house again." They were alone in the studio. It was but partially lighted, and Beatrice shuddered as she looked around the great apartment. "Come out of here," she said; "I hate the place, it seems to be haunted by Eric's spirit. Come into the Reception Room." Wadsworth followed as she went through the hall, but detained her a moment. "What has become of your portrait painted on the staircase?" he asked. "It's in the studio," she replied. "It isn't quite finished, you know." "Mayn't I see it?" "Not now. Some time." "Stand on the stairs, the way the picture is painted." Humouring his whim, Beatrice went up three steps and posed her hand on the balustrade, as Eric had painted her. "Beautiful. Stannard was a wonderful genius. I want that picture, dear. I don't care if it is unfinished. If I can't have the original--yet--will you give me the duplicate?" "No, oh, no!" and Beatrice looked startled. "I'd hate you to have it, with this staircase and all----" "I thought you loved this staircase----" "As an architectural gem, yes. Mr. Faulkner prided himself on its design. But now--Eric's death----" "Oh, yes, you stood right there, when your attention was first drawn to the footman's queer actions, didn't you?" "Yes; I was just on this very step when I heard that faint moan--oh, don't remind me of it." "I won't. I was a brute to be so thoughtless. Dear heart, can't you leave this house? Why do you stay in a place of such sad memories?" "I do want to go away--and I must. And yet, Joyce needs me. She leans on me for everything. Come into this little room, and sit down." They went into the cosy, low-ceiled Reception Room, and Beatrice continued. "I was just thinking I could leave her, when she became worried about Mr. Courtenay. Now, if you can convince the police that you saw him out there, just at that critical moment when the light disappeared, you will establish his alibi. Can you do this?" "I'm sure I can. The more I think about it, the more I feel sure that it was Courtenay I saw." "Had he a hat on?" "No, but his hand on the back of the bench held a cap. I saw this clearly, for the light from the studio window was very strong. But as I looked at the man, the light went out. Understand, I was not looking at him with any curiosity or even interest. Merely he was in my line of vision, that is all. When I could not see him because of the sudden darkness, I thought no more of him, and I went home then."