“I am sure now. At the time he said it, he spoke so thickly I could scarcely understand him, and I thought he said ‘Natalie, not Joyce.’ But we had a clairvoyant here, and she said he said ‘nor’ and then I realized at once that that was what he did say!”
“Meaning, of course, that you two women were innocent, and that some other hand had struck the blow?”
“Yes, that was what he meant.”
“And, do you not think, Mrs. Stannard, that he would have said that to shield you both, even if one had been guilty?”
Joyce Stannard turned white. “I—I never thought of that,” she stammered. “Perhaps he would.”
“But you feel sure, at this moment, that it was not Miss Vernon who killed your husband?”
Joyce looked utterly miserable. Her eyes were frightened like those of a hunted animal. But she said, bravely, “I feel sure of that, Mr. Ford. Miss Vernon is not one who could do such a thing.”
“She doesn’t seem to be. Will you go now, Mrs. Stannard, and please send Miss Vernon in here?”
Joyce went slowly out of the studio, and in a moment Natalie Vernon came in.
“Am I afraid of you?” she asked, as she sat facing Alan Ford. “Need I be?”