“Can you remember about the light going out and the cry for help,—and all that, exactly?”
“No,—I’ve tried to, but it’s all mixed up in my mind. I think, if Joyce,—I mean, whoever did it,—must have struck the blow, and then turned off the light, and then gone out of the room, and—and come back again.”
“And that could have been you—as well as Mrs. Stannard! You were both discovered in practically the same circumstances!”
“You’re trying to trip me, Mr. Roberts. But you can’t do it. Now, look here, if that note had been written to me, wouldn’t it mean that these emeralds were mine, and wouldn’t I claim them?”
“But it states distinctly that you know where they are, and the presumption is, that you have them in your possession.”
“Indeed, I haven’t! I wish I had! I mean, I wish I had them rightfully in my possession! They’re wonderful stones! Look here, Mr. Roberts, why don’t you suspect Mr. Truxton? He’s gem crazy,—and you know gem enthusiasts often go to any length to get the stones they covet.”
“I hadn’t thought of him. And, supposing he did commit crime to steal Mr. Stannard’s jewels, just how did he get away afterward, without discovery?”
“Well, suppose he stabbed Mr. Stannard, then turned off the light, and then slipped out through the Billiard Room when Joyce’s back was turned?”
“Too unlikely. Besides, Mr. Courtenay, who sat on the bench on the lawn, just then, would have seen him leave the house.”
“I suppose he would.” Natalie drew a deep sigh. “Do give it up, Mr. Roberts. You never can untangle it.”