“And tell us about that clairvoyant woman,” said Barry. “If she was a fake, how did she read those papers in the dark?”
“I realised, before I came up here at all,” said Ford, “that there had to be some secret means of entrance to the studio. I see now, it was never meant to be secret. The architect made the Reception Room ceiling lower than the studio ceiling, because it was a smaller room and he observed due proportions. This left a space there, but it was not concealed or hidden. The catches on both doors are merely small ones and inconspicuous but not concealed. Mr. Faulkner left all the house plans in that loft and Eric Stannard knew of it. He chose to conceal his jewels there as being a convenient place. Only he and Mrs. Faulkner knew of the space, but that was merely a chance happening. He, in no sense, kept it a secret. When I read the accounts in New York papers I felt the case must hinge on another entrance of some sort. When I reached here I saw at once that there was a discrepancy in the heights of those two ceilings, and I worked from that. I was sure the spirit manifestations were made possible by human means working through that concealed space, and I found I was right. I assumed it was probably Mrs. Faulkner who played the spirit as she refused to show the plans of the house, and my theories, based on those plans, left her free to do all she did do, without being discovered. I found she could have placed the jewels on the table that night and returned to her room through the little loft, and be seated at her desk, writing, when Mrs. Stannard reached her room. She said she heard Mrs. Stannard coming up stairs, but as the door was shut and the stairs thickly carpeted, this was unlikely. So I assume she was expecting her. All facts pointed to the guilt of Mrs. Faulkner, but they were by no means obvious. So, when I said if spirits came to the studio last night I should drop the case to-day, I meant because it would be solved. But Mrs. Faulkner thought I would give it up as unsolvable, so she played ‘spirit’ again. I had in my hand a tiny mirror of the sort that shows what is passing at one’s back. I heard, as I sat there, the soft opening of the panel in the studio balcony, and I knew she was coming down the little stair. I heard her click off the light, and just as she did so, I caught a glimpse of her in my mirror. So I went out at the hall door, snapping on the light as I passed, and went up on the grand staircase, knowing I would head her off, and have her practically penned in there. Mrs. Stannard found me waiting there, and I arranged for her to witness the confession that I knew must come. I did not foresee that Mrs. Faulkner would take her own life, but perhaps it is as well. There was no happiness or peace for her in this world, it was better she should expiate her own sin. Poor soul, she was a victim of a love that proved too great for her human nature to strive against. As to the will, I felt sure Mr. Stannard had made that change himself. It looked like his writing, and I felt sure neither Miss Vernon nor Mr. Barry Stannard would have done it.”
“And you picked out the truth from the maze of probabilities and suspicion and false evidence——” Bobsy looked at the great detective in an awed way.
“I gained most of my information and formed most of my conclusions from my talks with each one separately. I am a fairly good judge of character, and I saw at once neither Mrs. Stannard nor Miss Vernon was guilty. They were both uncertain and indefinite in their testimony. They scarcely knew even the sequence of events at the time of the tragedy; if they had been telling untruths, they would have been positive in their statements. Also, I saw at once Barry Stannard and Miss Vernon more than half feared each other guilty and each was ready for any sacrifice or effort to save the other. This let them both out, for neither could be guilty and suspect some one else! Mr. Courtenay had practically no real evidence against him, so it came back to Mrs. Faulkner. I talked to her enough to strengthen my suspicion in that direction and then tested her by the night in the studio. She proved herself the source of the ‘spiritual’ manifestations, and showed how she did it. That left only the matter of getting her confession. I feel deep pity for the poor woman; she led a sad, miserable existence because of a mistaken love. Also, I must admit that she was of a different stamp from the people here. Mrs. Faulkner was capable of strong passion that did not stop at crime. I judge the rest of you would not be, and I do not think I am mistaken in that.”
Alan Ford looked around at the pure sweet face of Natalie, the noble countenance of Joyce, and the brave boyish frankness that shone in Barry’s glance and sighed as he thought of the smouldering fires in the deep eyes of the woman who was conquered by her own evil passion.
“But tell us about the sealed reading,” insisted Bobsy, as Ford rose to go.
“Oh, yes,” cried Natalie, “how was that done?”
“One of the tricks of the trade,” said Ford. “You know there are dozens of ways to read sealed writings.”
“Yes, but what way did she use?”
“This way. You know, I insisted on a full description of her dress. When I found it was of full pattern and made of an opaque material, I understood. You see, if a message is written with ink, and if the paper is slipped, unfolded, into a moderately thin envelope, the writing can be read with ease in the dark by holding an electric pocket flashlight behind the envelope. Orienta, the room being darkened, drew the loose folds of her gown over her head, and thus shielded, took a little flashlight from her pocket, read them all, by its aid, then returning the light to her pocket, remembered the questions and spoke them out, both with and without a light. The second time, I believe, she read the first ones in the dark and the others in the light. There were no signatures, but she had learned each one’s hand-writing from the first lot. The thing is simple, and is the most mystifying of all sealed paper readings.”