“And,—now think carefully,—could you not have been sitting with your back to the door, or—perhaps, had you your face hidden in your hands, or for any such reason, could some one have passed you without your knowing it?”
Joyce hesitated a moment, and then she said, “No; positively not. I was sitting on one of the side seats, and I may have had my eyes closed, for I was thinking deeply, but if any one had passed through the room I should have heard footsteps, of course.”
“On the soft, thick rug?”
“Much of the floor is bare, and my hearing is very acute. Yes, Mr. Roberts, I must have heard the intruder, if one came in that way.”
“I do not think one did, but there is no other way for any one to have entered the studio.”
“Why not by coming in the Terrace door, and passing Natalie instead of me?”
“The probability is less. The Terrace door was closed, and, too, Miss Vernon sat back on the Terrace, and must have seen any one passing in front of her.”
“But suppose she did see him, and chooses to deny it for his sake?”
Bobsy looked at her. “I’ve been waiting for this,” he said. “You mean Barry Stannard. There is room for thought in that direction. He had reason to be angry at his father, first because of his refusal to let Barry marry the girl, and also, because of Eric Stannard’s annoyance of the little model. The father out of the way, the son steps into a fortune and wins his bride beside.”
“But Barry never did it! I confess I’ve thought of it as a theory, but I can’t believe it of Barry,—I simply can’t.”