“No, we sat right there, you know. The case is just the same as on the night of the murder. That’s why Natalie insists that Eric’s spirit turned off the lights and put the jewels on the table.”
“Are the jewels all there? Are any missing?”
“I’ve not looked them over. At a first glance, they seem to be all right.”
“It must be that some one stole them, and just now returned them. There’s no other possible explanation, Joyce. It throws suspicion back to Mr. Truxton or——”
“Or Eugene Courtenay, you were going to say! Now, he didn’t do it, Beatrice—I know he didn’t.”
Weary and afraid, full of nameless horrors and uncertainties, Joyce locked the jewels in her dressing-room safe, and went to bed.
She and Beatrice both felt they could stand no more that night, and notifying the police of the finding of the jewels must wait until the next day.
And next day, when Bobsy Roberts came and heard the strange story he was probably the most bewildered man on the force.
“Tell it all over again,” he said, after hearing the tale from Joyce.
Patiently she repeated the details.