"Yes," said Barry. "Mrs. Stannard didn't see or hear me pass her. I went on through to the studio. I accused my father of persecuting Miss Vernon, and he turned on me in a furious rage. We are both impetuous, we said little, but those few low words roused all my worst nature, and, snatching up the etching needle, I stabbed him, scarce knowing what I did. It was all over in a moment, and I had but one thought, how to escape from that room. I flew across and turned off the lights as a precautionary measure, and then----" "Then how did you get out?" asked Bobsy, breathless with interest. "I was behind the hall door, when Blake opened it, and after he turned on the light, I slipped behind him and Mrs. Faulkner out into the hall. They were so bewildered at the sudden flash of light--and--what it revealed, that they didn't see me at all." "Barry!" exclaimed Joyce, "I would have seen you if you had done that." "No, you had eyes for nothing but Eric's wounded body. You couldn't have torn your gaze from that if you had wanted to." "What did you do after leaving the room?" asked Roberts. "I went out and walked about the lawn. My head was spinning round from excitement and shock at my own deed." "You stayed near the house?" "Yes, Halpin came out and found me. He told me what had happened and I went right back into the studio." "You have kept this secret so long. Why?" "Surely you can understand. I love Miss Vernon. I want to marry her. Can I ask her to marry a murderer?" "You mean if she knows it?" "I mean if she knows it. I wanted to keep the secret forever, I hoped to do so. When she was suspected last week, I felt sure she would be cleared. Then when the will was seen to be changed----" "One moment. Did you change the will?" "I did." "What for?" "Because of what has just now happened. If I had to confess, of course, I could never marry Miss Vernon. And in that case, I wanted her to be provided for." "That will cannot stand." "I don't care anything about that. I've confessed now, my life is practically ended. I can will my own fortune to Miss Vernon." "And the jewels? Did you return those last night? And the emeralds to Mrs. Stannard last week?" "No," said Barry, slowly. "I don't know anything about the jewels. Perhaps there was a robber, after all. Say a jewel fancier----" "Or say a little girl who was fond of jewelry." "No," and Barry shook his head, "Miss Vernon knew nothing of the jewels." "But the letter to her----" "That letter wasn't to her, it was to some woman my father knew and feared. He never would have given the emeralds to Natalie. The idea is preposterous." "That must be found out. Then the rigamarole the clairvoyant told was true, about a man coming into the studio----" "Yes, it was all true. I was the man." Barry's voice was infinitely sad and despairing. Joyce looked at him pityingly. His white face was drawn and his eyes were full of grief.