Ford’s pause was eloquent of deep feeling. Truly the man was in earnest, whether he was right or not.
“May I not stay there with you?” asked Roberts, a little diffidently.
“No, please. I want to be alone. I shall lock myself in, and I must ask not to be disturbed in any way.”
“I wish I could stay with you,” and Natalie sighed. “But I suppose you wouldn’t want me to.”
“No, please,” said Ford, gently. “I must be alone.”
XX
On the Staircase
At Ford’s request, the evening was spent without reference to the matter that was uppermost in every mind. At dinner the detective was merely a pleasant and entertaining guest. Afterward, in the Drawing Room he proved himself a good talker and a good listener, and the conversation, on all sorts of topics, was casual and interesting.
It was nearly midnight when Ford bade them good night, and went to the studio to hold his vigil. The others followed him in, Joyce asking if he would like any refreshment served during the night.
“No,” he replied. “It will not be so very long until daylight. And, too, perhaps nothing will happen, and I may fall asleep. Don’t worry about me, Mrs. Stannard, I shall not be at all uncomfortable. See, I shall sit just where Miss Vernon sat the other night. Right here, facing the chair in which Mr. Stannard died. Thus, I have my back to the hall door, and the North window, but I shall make sure that all are securely locked, and then if any manifestation occurs, I shall have every reason to be sure it is of supernatural origin.”
“And that would make you give up the case?” asked Beatrice, incredulously.