“Why?” asked Beatrice Faulkner. “Why do you condemn her because of that?”
“Look at it squarely, Mrs. Faulkner. Assume for a moment my theory is right. Then, Mrs. Stannard, being guilty, and wishing to throw suspicion on Miss Vernon, claims that the jewels were put in her room surreptitiously during the night. She is sure Miss Vernon will be suspected of having had the jewels, and, frightened, restored them secretly. This will militate against Miss Vernon, and imply her greater guilt also.”
“Why, what an idea!” exclaimed Natalie. “As if I ever had the emeralds!”
“That letter said you knew where they were.”
“That letter was not written to me.”
“To whom then?”
“I’ve no idea. But not to me. I’m—I’m engaged to Barry.”
“You weren’t engaged to the son while the father was alive,” probed Roberts.
“N—no. But only because his father wouldn’t allow it. I’m going to look after Joyce,” and without a backward glance, Natalie ran from the room, and up the stairs.
“You see,” began Roberts, looking at Mrs. Faulkner and Barry Stannard, “you two are the only ones I can talk to frankly. Those two ladies suspected by the police have to be handled carefully. You are both material witnesses, and as such are bound to tell me truthfully all you can of anything bearing on the case. Now, however painful it may be for you, Mr. Stannard, I must tell you that it is rapidly coming to a show-down between the two suspects, and the probability is, it seems to me, that the burden of evidence rests more strongly on the wife than on the model. The direct evidence is perhaps evenly balanced, but it seems to the police that the motive is greater and the opportunity easier for Mrs. Stannard than for Miss Vernon. The wife, let us say, had reason for jealousy, and had reason for wishing to be free of her uncongenial husband. The little model, while irritated at her employer’s attentions, was in love with another man, and could easily get away from the artist without resorting to crime.”