“And of course, you couldn’t help seeing the exact state of things. Well, Blake, which lady do you think did it?”
“Oh, sir,” and Blake’s solemn face grew a shade more so, “I couldn’t say. I’m sure I don’t know. But, it must have been one of them, there’s no getting around that. When I saw the three, as you might say, almost in a row, and the two ladies, sir, both near to Mr. Stannard, sir, and both looking—oh, I can’t describe how they looked! Why if they were both guilty they couldn’t have looked different.”
“They weren’t both guilty!” cried Roberts. “It couldn’t have been collusion, eh, Steele?”
“Nonsense, of course not,” returned Captain Steele; “one stabbed him, and the other came in at the sound of his voice. The terror and shock of the culprit and that of the innocent one would both be manifested by the same expressions of horror and fright.”
“I believe that,” said Bobsy, after a minute’s thought. “Now, Blake, as to the actual means of getting in and out of that studio. Let’s go in there.”
It was rather early in the morning and the members of the household were as yet in their rooms. It was not the intention of the Police to intrude upon them until after the funeral, but it was desirable to make certain inquiries and investigations while the matter was fresh in the minds of the servants.
Roberts intended to interview others of them afterward, but just now Blake was proving so satisfactory that he continued to keep him by.
In the studio, both Steele and Roberts examined carefully the marks on the West window casing.
“Idiot boy!” exclaimed Bobsy. “To think he could fool us into believing this was professional work!”
“It shows a leaping mind on his part, to fly round here and fix it up so quickly,” said Steele, a bit admiringly.