Natalie rose to her feet. A negligée of pale green Liberty silk fell in lovely folds about her, her slender arms were bare, and her gold hair hung in two long braids. "I can't stand it any longer, Joyce," she said, her voice quivering. "It's all so dreadful. Suspicion everywhere, and everybody looking on me as a murderer, and----" "Now, Natalie, dear, don't talk like that. And, anyway, you can't go. I don't believe they'd let you----" "Why not? I'm not under arrest, or surveillance, or whatever they call it." "You would be, if you tried to go away. Don't you know we are all watched--whatever we do or wherever we go?" "But they don't suspect _you_ any more, Joyce, and you were found just as near Eric as I was, when--when he----" "Hush, Natalie, you don't know what you're talking about. Why, now they suspect Eugene." "I know they do, but he didn't do it. He'll soon convince them of that." "I'm not sure that he can. And--suppose he did do it----" "Kill Eric? Joyce, you're crazy! Why would he?" "You know, well enough----" "That he loved you, yes, but that wouldn't make him commit crime. Why, you wouldn't marry him if he won you in that way." "Of course, I wouldn't. And that's what's worrying me. If he and Eric quarrelled about me, and if--oh, I can't tell you just what I mean----" "I know. If Eugene reproved Eric for his neglect of you, or--for his attentions to me, it might have led to high words, and Mr. Courtenay is a very impetuous man, and Eric never would brook a word of criticism--oh, of course I understand, Joyce!" "But Eugene must be cleared--he _must_ be, at any cost. Look here, Natalie, did you know Eric had left you such a big bequest?" Natalie flushed, and began to walk nervously up and down the room. "Why," she said, not looking at Joyce, "he told me he'd leave me a nice little sum, but he said he wasn't going to die till he was ninety, so I didn't pay much attention to the matter." "But didn't you know the sum he mentioned in his will? Had he never told you?" "Why do you ask that?" "Because that will was altered. The sum he wrote for you was made ten times greater." "Was it?" Natalie spoke slowly, as if to gain time. "Yes, it was. You knew this?" "How could I know it? I never saw the will." "They think you did. They think you altered it." "Who thinks so?" "The police and Mr. Stiles. And Eugene asked me about it. I thought I'd ask you before anybody else did." "That was dear of you, Joyce." Natalie sat down on a couch, and taking her chin in her two palms, sat silent a moment. "Joyce," she said, at last, "why are you good to me? You think I killed Eric----" "No, I don't, Natalie----But, oh, don't you see? I don't want to think it was Eugene, and--I don't know which way to turn." "You're not in such a terrible strait as I am, Joyce," and Natalie's blue eyes turned dark with sadness unutterable. "I don't know _what_ to do--I've no one to ask, no one to confide in----" "Can't you tell me?"