“I agree with you. I will go and ask her, myself, and advise her to see you. Shall I go now?”
“In a moment, please; but first, one more question. We are trying to discover who last saw Mr. Stannard alive, prior to the time of the murder. What can you tell us as to this?”
“Only that I was in the studio, just before the first of the guests went away. At that time we were all there, I think, except Barry and Natalie, who were out on the Terrace. The two Truxtons went home, and at the same time Mr. Wadsworth and I went up to the Drawing Room——”
“To be by yourselves?”
A certain kindliness in Bobsy’s tone robbed the question of impertinence, and Beatrice smiled a little, as she said, “Yes, exactly. We stayed there perhaps a half hour, and then Mr. Wadsworth went home. I did not go downstairs with him, but sat a moment in the Drawing Room,—thinking over some personal matters. Then when I went downstairs, it was to see Blake listening at the door,—and the rest you know.”
“Yes; now whom did you leave in the studio, when you and Mr. Wadsworth and the Truxtons went out of it?”
Beatrice thought a moment. “Only Mr. Stannard, his wife and Mr. Courtenay.”
“Then Mrs. Stannard and Mr. Courtenay went into the Billiard Room?”
“Yes, and Mr. Stannard went, too. But he went back in the studio,—Joyce told me that,—and he must have been there alone when—the person who killed him came in.”
“This would make it, that Mr. Stannard returned to his studio from the Billiard Room at a little after eleven, say, five or ten minutes after. The fact that he cried out for help at about eleven-thirty narrows the time down rather close. We have only about twenty minutes for the intruder to enter and commit the deed. This is long enough if the crime was premeditated, but scarcely giving time for a quarrel or argument to take place.”