Captain Steele remembered the switch was near the hall door, and the armchair where Stannard died was at the South end of the room.
“Yes,” he agreed, “but that’s only a few seconds’ work.”
“But when she did it, the man was not dead. You know he groaned after the light went out, and later, he spoke.”
“Well?”
“Well, can you imagine that little girl having nerve enough for all that? Mrs. Stannard is a much older woman, and a self-possessed one. My opinion leans toward her.”
“What about the dying words of the man, and also, what about that letter to the model?”
“There’s too much evidence instead of not enough! But before we sift it out, which we can do elsewhere, let’s try to learn something more from the people here.”
“Servants or the others?”
“The others, if possible. If not, then some servants beside Blake.”
The breakfast table on the Terrace had been visited only by Mrs. Faulkner and Barry Stannard. The other ladies had not appeared. The two had quite evidently finished, as the men could see from their lace curtained window, and Roberts proposed they request an interview with one or both of them.