They diverged to the place of the murder, the Point. The last person who had been there was Shine, somewhere round six-thirty, though he couldn’t swear to the time. He’d stayed there perhaps ten minutes, walking round, and had then gone up to the garden. As far as he could see the place was deserted. In answer to the question had he seen any one on his way back, he said he had seen Mrs. Stokes walking along the ocean bluffs and Mr. Stokes reading a paper on the balcony. This ended the interrogations for the time being. The company was told they might retire to their rooms. But they were to understand that they were held on Gull Island for the present, no going off on any pretext or holding communication with any one on the mainland. Also--and Mr. Rawson was emphatic--once in their rooms they were to stay in them unless sent for by him. He did not want any wandering about in the halls or talking together. They rose weariedly and prepared to go. Stokes helped his wife to her feet and Bassett edged between the chairs toward Anne. “How are you?” he murmured, for her appearance shocked him. “All right. There’s nothing the matter with me.” “Try to get some rest.” “Will they want us any more to-night?” “I don’t think so--not you anyway.” Stokes and Flora moved toward the hall door, the woman limply hanging on her husband’s arm. Rawson’s voice arrested them: “Mr. and Mrs. Stokes, just wait a minute.” Everybody stopped in mid-transit, holding their positions as if they were standing to be photographed. “Where is your room or rooms?” “We’re together in a room on this floor out in the hall here opposite the stairs.” “I’d rather Mrs. Stokes went up to the second floor.” He turned to Bassett, “You have space up there I suppose?” “Space!” It came from Miss Pinkney before Bassett had time to answer--these hirelings of the law did not realize where they were. “We’ve put up more people here than you could get into one of those flea-bitten hotels up your way.” “Take her things up there. You help her.” Flora turned stricken eyes on her husband. He said nothing but very gently loosened her fingers on his arm. They trailed away, Miss Pinkney stalking ahead. Mrs. Cornell and Anne made their exit by the opposite door. Both were silent as they climbed the stairs. Mrs. Cornell’s door opened and closed on her, and Anne fared on to hers on the side stretch of the gallery. She looked down into the lighted room, saw Shine move toward the entrance, heard his voice, loud and startled: “Why, there’s some one down by the dock!” The other men wheeled sharply, on the alert. She stopped, head bent, listening. “Patrick--the damned fool.” It was Williams. “Told to watch the causeway and standing up there like a lighthouse.” “Oh, it’s your man. I’ll go down and tell him.” Shine wanted to help all he could before his retirement to the butler’s bedroom. “He ought to be where he won’t show, is that it?”