He was convinced of Mrs. Stokes’ guilt and ran over the reasons. A hysterical woman, frantic with jealousy--that alone was enough. But that woman had been the only member of the party who at the time of the shooting had been some distance from the house. She had taken the pistol with the intention of using it if an occasion offered. Her walk had been undertaken with the hope that she might find that occasion in the hour before supper when they were all in their rooms. The occasion _had_ offered. Miss Saunders, unable to resist the beauty of the evening, had gone to the Point alone. He set no store by Rawson’s opinion that the woman’s state of mind was too genuinely distracted. He considered it as part of a premeditated plan carried through with nerve and skill. She would have known that the report of the pistol would have been heard at the house. This, when Miss Saunders did not return, would have suggested foul play. And she, Mrs. Stokes, was the only person out on the island. A later entrance, with an assumption of ignorance, would have turned suspicion on her like a pointing finger. She was too intelligent for that--had called her abilities as an actress to her aid and put them all off with her screaming excitement. Another point that he wanted to look into was the length of time she had been at the shore after the report--a great deal too long for what she said she had done. Too paralyzed to think or move, her explanation was stunned. Williams was divided in his opinion as to that--either pulling herself together for the grand-stand play she was to make or possibly pushing the body into the water. It was at this juncture that he suddenly cocked his head and let his hands drop softly to the arms of the chair. From the stairs outside came a faint creak, a pause and then again, step by step a bare or stockinged foot in gradual descent. The big man arose as noiselessly as he could and made for the hall. But his bulk and his boots were not adapted to rapid movements or silent surprise. As he reached the hall he heard the pattering flight of light feet and cursed under his breath as he felt for the electric button. Her room--the one he had seen Miss Pinkney put her in--was just beyond the stair-head to the right. And her husband’s--he turned and faced the secretive panels of its closed door. Williams dropped his head and trod thoughtfully back to the library, but this time he left the hall lights on. Also he lit the library ones and allowed himself the solace of a cigar. “She won’t try that again to-night,” he said to himself and dropped into an easy chair.