“Do you not think, Mrs. Stannard, that a burglar intent on securing these gems might have attempted a robbery, and——”
“Come, come, Lamson,” interposed Inspector Bardon, “a burglar would scarcely make his attempt while the household was still up, the house alight, and people sauntering through the grounds.”
“No, of course not,” responded the Coroner, in no wise abashed.
Next, Barry Stannard was asked to tell what he could of the whole matter.
“It was the work of a burglar,” said young Stannard, confidently; “it simply shows his cleverness that he chose a time when he could effect an entrance easily. He need not have been a rough customer. He may have been of a gentlemanly type,—even in evening clothes. But he gained access to my father, I haven’t the slightest doubt, and brought to bear some influence or threat that he hoped would gain him his end. When my father refused his demands,—this is my theory and belief,—he either feared discovery or, in a rage of revenge, killed my father with the nearest weapon he could snatch at.”
“And then, you think, Mr. Stannard, that this intruder turned off the lights and made his exit just before the ladies entered the room?”
“I do. He was evidently a cool hand, and made a quick and clever getaway.”
“And just how did he leave the room? You know, Mrs. Stannard was in the Billiard Room and Miss Vernon on the Terrace, while Blake was at the main hall door.”
“He made his escape by the large West window,” replied Barry. “If you will examine it on the outside, you will see the marks of the jimmy, or whatever you call the tool that burglars open windows with.”
An officer was sent at once to investigate this, and returned with the information that there certainly were marks and scratches outside the window in question. It was a long, French window, opening like a double door, and near the lock were the tell-tale marks.