The Abandoned Room

  CHAPTER III

  HOWELLS DELIVERS HIMSELF TO THE ABANDONED ROOM

  For a long time no one spoke. The body of Silas Blackburn had been alonein a locked room, yet before their eyes it lay, turned on its side, as ifto inform them of the fashion of this murder. The tiny hole at the baseof the brain, the blood-stain on the pillow, which the head hadconcealed, offered their mute and ghastly testimony.

  Doctor Groom was the first to relax. He raised his great, hairy hand tothe bed-post and grasped it. His rumbling voice lacked its usualauthority. It vibrated with a childish wonder:

  "I'm reminded that it isn't the first time there's been blood from aman's head on that pillow."

  Katherine nodded.

  "What do you mean?" the detective snarled. "There's only one answer tothis. There must have been a mechanical post-mortem reaction."

  For a moment Doctor Groom's laugh filled the old room. It ceasedabruptly. He shook his head.

  "Don't be a fool, Mr. Policeman. At the most conservative estimate thisman has been dead more than thirteen hours. Even a few instants afterdeath the human body is incapable of any such reaction."

  "What then?" the detective asked. "Some one of us, or one of theservants, must have overcome the locks again and deliberately disturbedthe body. That must be so, but I don't get the motive."

  "It isn't so," Doctor Groom answered bluntly.

  Already the detective had to a large extent controlled his bewilderment.

  "I'd like your theory then," he said dryly. "You and Mr. Paredes haveboth been gossiping about the supernatural. When you first came youhinted dark things. You said he'd probably died what the world would calla natural death."

  "I meant," the doctor answered, "only that Mr. Blackburn's heart mighthave failed under the impulse of a sudden fright in this room. I alsosaid, you remember, that the room was nasty and unhealthy. Plenty ofpeople have remarked it before me."

  Graham touched the detective's arm.

  "A little while ago you admitted yourself that the room wasuncomfortable."

  Doctor Groom smiled. The detective faced him with a fierce belligerency.

  "You'll agree he was murdered."

  "Certainly, if you wish to call it that. But I ask for the sharpinstrument that caused death. I want to know how, while Blackburn lay onhis back, it was inserted through the bed, the springs, the mattress,and the pillow."

  "What are you driving at?"

  Doctor Groom pointed to the dead man.

  "I merely repeat that it isn't the first time that pillow's been stainedfrom unusual wounds in the head. Being, as you call it, a triflesuperstitious, I merely ask if the coincidence is significant."

  Katherine cried out. Bobby, in spite of his knowledge that sooner orlater he would be arrested for his grandfather's murder, steppedforward, nodding.

  "I know what you mean, doctor."

  "Anybody," the doctor said, "who's ever heard of this house knows what Imean. We needn't talk of that."

  The detective, however, was insistent. Paredes in his unemotional wayexpressed an equal curiosity. Bobby and Katherine had been frightened aschildren by the stories clustering about the old wing. They nodded fromtime to time while the doctor held them in the desolate room with thedead man, speaking of the other deaths it had sheltered.

  Silas Blackburn's great grandfather, he told the detective, had beencarried to that bed from a Revolutionary skirmish with a bullet at thebase of his brain. For many hours he had raved deliriously, fightingunsuccessfully against the final silence.

  "It has been a legend in the family, as these young people will tell you,that Blackburns die hard, and there are those who believe that people whodie hard leave something behind them--something that clings to thephysical surroundings of their suffering. If it was only that one case!But it goes on and on. Silas Blackburn's father, for instance, killedhimself here. He had lost his money in silly speculations. He stood whereyou stand, detective, and blew his brains out. He fell over and lay wherehis son lies, his head on that pillow. Silas Blackburn was a moneygrubber. He started with nothing but this property, and he made afortune, but even he had enough imagination to lock this room up afterone more death of that kind. It was this girl's father. You were tooyoung, Katherine, to remember it, but I took care of him. I saw it. Hewas carried here after he had been struck at the back of the head in apolo match. He died, too, fighting hard. God! How the man suffered. Heloosened his bandages toward the end. When I got here the pillow wasredder than it is to-day. It strikes me as curious that the first timethe room has been slept in since then it should harbour a death behindlocked doors--from a wound in the head."

  Paredes's fingers were restless, as if he missed his customary cigarette.The detective strolled to the window.

  "Very interesting," he said. "Extremely interesting for old women andyoung children. You may classify yourself, doctor."

  "Thanks," the doctor rumbled. "I'll wait until you've told me how thesedoors were entered, how that wound was made, how this body turned on itsside in an empty room."

  The detective glanced at Bobby. His voice lacked confidence.

  "I'll do my best. I'll even try to tell you why the murderer came backthis afternoon to disturb his victim."

  Bobby went, curiously convinced that the doctor had had the better ofthe argument.

  For a moment Katherine, Graham, Paredes, and he were alone in themain hall.

  "God knows what it was," Graham said, "but it may mean something to you,Bobby. Tell us carefully, Katherine, about the sounds that came to youacross the court."

  "It was just what I heard last night when he died," she answered. "It waslike something falling softly, then a long-drawn sigh. I tried to pay noattention. I fought it. I didn't call at first. But I couldn't keepquiet. I knew we had to go to that room. It never occurred to me that thedetective or the coroner might be there moving around."

  "You were alone up here?" Graham said.

  "I think so."

  "No," Bobby said. "I was in my room."

  "What were you doing?" Graham asked.

  "I was asleep. Katherine's call woke me up."

  "Asleep!" Paredes echoed. "And she didn't call at once--"

  He broke off. Bobby grasped his arm.

  "What are you trying to do?"

  "I'm sorry," Paredes said. "Now, really, you mustn't think of that. Ishouldn't have spoken. I'm more inclined to agree with the doctor'stheory, impossible as it seems."

  "Yesterday," Katherine said, "I would have thought it impossible. Afterlast night and just now I'm not so sure. I--I wish the doctor were right.It would clear you, Bobby."

  He smiled.

  "Do you think any jury would listen to such a theory?"

  Katherine put her finger to her lips. Howells and the doctor camefrom the corridor of the old wing. At the head of the stairs thedetective turned.

  "You will find it very warm and comfortable by the fire in the lowerhall, Mr. Blackburn."

  He waited until Katherine had slipped to her room until Graham, Paredes,the doctor, and Bobby were on the stairs. Then he walked slowly into thenew corridor.

  Bobby knew what he was after. The detective had made no effort todisguise his intention. He wanted Bobby out of the way while he searchedhis room again, this time for a sharp, slender instrument capable ofpenetrating between the bones at the base of a man's brain.

  Paredes lighted a cigarette and warmed his back at the fire. The doctorsettled himself in his chair. He paid no attention to the others. Hewouldn't answer Paredes's slow remarks.

  "Interesting, doctor! I am a little psychic. Always in this house I haveresponded to strange, unfriendly influences. Always, as now, the approachof night depresses me."

  Bobby couldn't sit still. He nodded at Graham, arose, got his coat andhat, and stepped into the court. The dusk was already thick there.Dampness and melancholy seemed to exude from the walls of the old house.He paused and gazed at one of the foot-prints in the soft earth by thefountain. Shreds of plas
ter adhered to the edges, testimony that thedetective had made his cast from this print. He tried to realize thatthat mute, familiar impression had the power to send him to hisexecution. Graham, who had come silently from the house, startled him.

  "What are you looking at?"

  "No use, Hartley. I was on the library lounge. I heard every wordHowells said."

  "Perhaps it's just as well," Graham said. "You know what you face. But Ihate to see you suffer. We've got to find a way around that evidence."

  Bobby pointed to the windows of the room of death.

  "There's no way around except the doctor's theory."

  He laughed shortly.

  "Much as I've feared that room, I'm afraid the psychic explanation won'thold water. Paredes put his finger on it. I would have had time to getback to my room before Katherine called--"

  "Stop, Bobby!"

  "Hartley! I'm afraid to go to sleep. It's dreadful not to know whetheryou are active in your sleep, whether you are evil and ingenious to thepoint of the miraculous in your sleep. I'm so tired, Hartley."

  "Why should you have gone to that room this afternoon?" Graham asked."You must get this idea out of your head. You must have sleep, and,perhaps, when you're thoroughly rested, you will remember."

  "I'm not so sure," Bobby said, "that I want to remember."

  He pointed to the footprint.

  "There's no question. I was here last night."

  "Unless," Graham said, "your handkerchief and your shoes were stolen."

  "Nonsense!" Bobby cried. "The only motive would be to commit a murder inorder to kill me by sending me to the chair. And who would know his wayaround that dark house like me? Who would have found out so easily thatmy grandfather had changed his room?"

  "It's logical," Graham admitted slowly, "but we can't give in. By theway, has Paredes ever borrowed any large sums?"

  Bobby hesitated. After all, Paredes and he had been good friends.

  "A little here and there," he answered reluctantly.

  "Has he ever paid you back?"

  "I don't recall," Bobby answered, flushing. "You know I've never beenexactly calculating about money. Whenever he wanted it I was always gladto help Carlos out. Why do you ask?"

  "If any one," Graham answered, "looked on you as a certain source ofmoney, there would be a motive in conserving that source, in increasingit. Probably lots of people knew Mr. Blackburn was out of patience withyou; would make a new will to-day."

  "Do you think," Bobby asked, "that Carlos is clever enough to have gotthrough those doors? And what about this afternoon--that ghastlydisturbing of the body?"

  He smiled wanly.

  "It looks like me or the ghosts of my ancestors."

  "If Paredes," Graham insisted, "tries to borrow any money from you now,tell me about it. Another thing, Bobby. We can't afford to keep yourexperiences of last night a secret any longer."

  He stepped to the door and asked Doctor Groom to come out.

  "He won't be likely to pass your confidences on to Howells," he said."Those men are natural antagonists."

  After a moment the doctor appeared, a slouch hat drawn low over hisshaggy forehead.

  "What you want?" he grumbled. "This court's a first-class place to catchcold. Dampest hole in the neighbourhood. Often wondered why."

  "I want to ask you," Graham began, "something about the effects of suchdrugs as could be given in wine. Tell him, will you, Bobby, what happenedlast night?"

  Bobby vanquished the discomfort with which the gruff, opinionatedphysician had always filled him. He recited the story of last night'sdinner, of his experience in the cafe, of his few blurred impressions ofthe swaying vehicle and the woods.

  "Hartley thinks something may have been put in my wine."

  "What for?" the doctor asked. "What had these people to gain by druggingyou? Suppose for some far-fetched reason they wanted to have SilasBlackburn put out of the way. They couldn't make you do it by druggingyou. At any rate, they couldn't have had a hand in this afternoon. Mind,I'm not saying you had a thing to do with it yourself, but I don'tbelieve you were drugged. Any drug likely to be used in wine wouldprobably have sent you into a deep sleep. And your symptoms on waking upare scarcely sharp enough. Sorry, boy. Sounds more like aphasia. The pathyou've been treading sometimes leads to that black country, and it'sthere that hates sharpen unknown. I remember a case where a trampreturned and killed a farmer who had refused him food. Retained norecollection of the crime--hours dropped out of his life. They executedhim while he still tried to remember."

  "I read something about the case," Bobby muttered.

  "Been better if you hadn't," the doctor grumbled. "Suggestions work in aman's brain without his knowing it."

  He thought for a moment, his heavy, black brows coming closer together.He glanced at the windows of the old room. His sunken, infused eyesnearly closed.

  "I know how you feel, and that's a little punishment maybe you deserve.I'll say this for your comfort. You probably followed the plan that hadbeen impressed on your brain by Mr. Graham. You came here, no doubt, andstood around. With an automatic appreciation of your condition you mayhave taken that old precaution of convivial men returning home, andremoved your shoes. Then your automatic judgment may have warned you thatyou weren't fit to go in at all, and you probably wandered off to theempty house."

  "Then," Bobby asked, "you don't think I did it?"

  "God knows who did it. God knows what did it. The longer I live the surerI become that we scientists can't probe everything. Whenever I go nearSilas Blackburn's body I receive a very powerful impression that hisdeath in that room from such a wound goes deeper than ordinary murder,deeper than a case of recurrent aphasia."

  His eyes widened. He turned with Graham and Bobby at the sound of anautomobile coming through the woods.

  "Probably the coroner at last," he said.

  The automobile, a small runabout, drew up at the entrance to the court. Alittle wizened man, with yellowish skin stretched across high cheekbones, stepped out and walked up the path.

  "Well!" he said shrilly. "What you doing, Doctor Groom?"

  "Waiting to witness another reason why coroners should be abolished," thedoctor rumbled. "This is the dead man's grandson, Coroner; and Mr.Graham, a friend of the family's."

  Bobby accepted the coroner's hand with distaste.

  "Howells," the coroner said in his squeaky voice, "seems to think it's aqueer case. Inconvenient, I call it. Wish people wouldn't die queerlywhenever I go on a little holiday. I had got five ducks, gentlemen, whenthey came to me with that damned telegram. Bad business mine, 'causepeople will die when you least expect them to. Let's go see what Howellshas got on his mind. Bright sleuth, Howells! Ought to be in New York."

  He started up the path, side by side with Doctor Groom.

  "Are you coming?" Graham asked Bobby. Bobby shook his head. "I don't wantto. I'd rather stay outside. You'd better be there, Hartley."

  Graham followed the others while Bobby wandered from the court andstarted down a path that entered the woods from the rear of the house.

  Immediately the forest closed greedily about him. Here and there, wherethe trees were particularly stunted, branches cut against a pallid,greenish glow in the west--the last light.

  Bobby wanted, if he could, to find that portion of the woods where he hadstood last night, fancying the trees straining in the wind like puny men,visualizing a dim figure in a black mask which he had called hisconscience.

  The forest was all of a pattern--ugly, unfriendly, melancholy. He wenton, however, hoping to glimpse that particular picture he remembered. Heleft the path, walking at haphazard among the undergrowth. Ahead he saw aplacid, flat, and faintly luminous stretch. He pushed through the bushesand paused on the shore of a lake, small and stagnant. Dead, strippedtrunks of trees protruded from the water. At the end a bird arose with asudden flapping of wings; it cried angrily as it soared above the treesand disappeared to the south.

  The morbid loneliness of th
e place touched Bobby's spirit with chillhands. As a child he had never cared to play about the stagnant lake,nor, he recalled, had the boys of the village fished or bathed there.Certainly he hadn't glimpsed it last night. He was about to walk awaywhen a movement on the farther bank held him, made him gaze with eagereyes across the sleepy water.

  He thought there was something black in the black shadows of thetrees--a thing that stirred through the heavy dusk without sound. Hereceived, moreover, an impression of anger and haste as distinct as thebird had projected. But he could see nothing clearly in this bad light.He couldn't be sure that there was any one over there.

  He started around the end of the lake, and for a moment he thought thatthe shape of a woman, clothed in black, detached itself from theshadow. The image dissolved. He wondered if it had been moresubstantial than fancy.

  "Who is that?" he called.

  The woods muffled his voice. There was no answer. Nor was there, henoticed, any crackling of twigs or rustling of dead leaves. If therehad been a woman there she had fled noiselessly, yet, as he went onaround the lake, his own progress was distinctly audible through thedecay of autumn.

  It was too dark on the other side to detect any traces of a recent humanpresence in the thicket. He couldn't quiet, however, the feeling that hehad had a glimpse of a woman clothed in black who had studied himsecretly across the stagnant stretch of the lake.

  On the other hand, there was no logic in a woman's presence here at suchan hour, no logic in a stranger's running away from him. While hepondered the night invaded the forest completely, making it impossiblefor him to search farther. It had grown so dark, indeed, that he foundhis way out with difficulty. The branches caught at his clothing. Theunderbrush tangled itself about his feet. It was as if the thicket weretrying to hold him away from the house.

  As he entered the court he noticed a discoloured glow diffusing itselfthrough the curtains of the room of death.

  He opened the front door. Paredes and Graham alone sat by the fire.

  "Then they're not through yet," Bobby said.

  Graham arose. He commenced to pace the length of the hall.

  "They've had Katherine in that room. One would think she'd been throughenough. Now they've sent for the servants."

  Paredes laughed lightly.

  "After this," he said, "I'm afraid, Bobby, you'll need the powers of thepolice to keep servants in your house."

  Muttering, frightened voices came from the dining-room. Jenkins entered,and, shaking his head, went up the stairs. The two women who followedhim, were in tears. They paused, as if seeking an excuse to linger onthe lower floor, to postpone as long as possible their entrance of theroom of death.

  Ella, a pretty girl, whose dark hair and eyes suggested a normalvivacity, spoke to Bobby.

  "It's outrageous, Mr. Robert. He found out all we knew this morning.What's he after now? You might think we'd murdered Mr. Blackburn."

  Jane was older. An ugly scar crossed her cheek. It was red and like anopen wound as she demanded that Bobby put a stop to these inquisitions.

  "I can do nothing," he said. "Go on up and answer or they can maketrouble for you."

  Muttering again to each other, they followed Jenkins, and in the lowerhall the three men waited.

  Jenkins came down first. His face was white. It twitched.

  "The body!" he mouthed. "It's moved! I saw it before."

  He stretched out his hands to Bobby.

  "That's why they wanted us, to find out where we were this afternoon, andeverything we've done, as if we might have gone there, and disturbed--"

  Angry voices in the upper hall interrupted him. The two women ran down,as white as Jenkins. At an impatient nod from Bobby the three servantswent on to the kitchen. Howells, the coroner, and Doctor Groom descended.

  "What ails you, Doctor?" the coroner was squeaking. "I agree it's anunpleasant room. Lots of old rooms are. I follow you when you say nopost-mortem contraction would have caused such an alteration in theposition of the body. There's no question about the rest of it. The manwas clearly murdered with a sharp tool of some sort, and the murderer wasin the room again this afternoon, and disturbed the corpse. Howells sayshe knows who. It's up to him to find out how. He says he has plenty ofevidence and that the guilty person's in this house, so I'm not frettingmyself. I'm cross with you, Howells, for breaking up my holiday. One ofmy assistants would have done as well."

  Howells apparently paid no attention to the coroner. His narrow eyesfollowed the doctor with a growing curiosity. His level smile seemedto have drawn his lips into a line, inflexible, a little cruel. Thedoctor grunted:

  "Instead of abolishing coroners we ought to double their salaries."

  The coroner made a long squeak as an indication of mirth.

  "You think unfriendly spooks did it. I've always believed you were an oldfogy. Hanged if that doesn't sound modern."

  The doctor ran his fingers through his thick, untidy hair.

  "I merely ask for the implement that caused death. I only ask to know howit was inserted through the bed while Blackburn lay on his back. And ifyou've time you might tell me how the murderer entered the room lastnight and to-day."

  The coroner repeated his squeak. He glanced at the little group by thefire.

  "Out in the kitchen, upstairs, or right here under our noses is almostcertainly the person who could tell us. Interesting case, Howells!"

  Howells, who still watched the doctor, answered dryly:

  "Unusually interesting."

  The coroner struggled into his coat.

  "Permits are all available," he squeaked. "Have your undertakers out whenyou like."

  Graham answered him brusquely.

  "Everything's arranged. I've only to telephone."

  The coroner nodded at Doctor Groom. His voice pointed its humour with athinner tone.

  "If I were you, Howells, I'd take this hairy old theorist up as asuspicious character."

  The doctor made a movement in his direction while Howells continued tostare. The doctor checked himself. He went to the closet and got hishat and coat.

  "Want me to drop you, old sawbones?" the coroner asked.

  Savagely the doctor shook his head.

  "My buggy's in the stable."

  The coroner's squeak was thinner, more irritating than ever.

  "Then don't let the spooks get you, driving through the woods. Old folkssay there are a-plenty there."

  Bobby arose. He couldn't face the prospect of the man's squeaking again.

  "We find nothing to laugh at in this situation," he said. "You'requite through?"

  The coroner's eyes blazed.

  "I'm through, if that's the way you feel. Goodnight." He added with asharp maliciousness: "I leave my sympathy for whoever Howells has hiseagle eye on."

  Howells, when the doctor and the coroner had gone, excused himself with ahumility that mocked the others:

  "With your permission I shall write in the library until dinner."

  He bowed and left.

  "He wants to work on his report," Graham suggested.

  "An exceptional man!" Paredes murmured.

  "Has he questioned you?" Graham asked.

  "I'd scarcely call it that," Paredes replied. "We've both questioned, andwe've both been clams. I fancy he doesn't think much of me since Ibelieve in ghosts, yet the doctor seems to interest him."

  "Where were you?" Graham asked, "when Miss Perrine's scream called us?"

  Paredes stifled a yawn.

  "Dozing here by the fire. I am very tired after last night."

  "You don't look particularly tired."

  "Custom, I'm ashamed to say, constructs a certain armour. To-morrow, witha fresh mind, I hope to be able to dissect all I have seen and heard, allthat has happened here to-day."

  "The thing that counts is what happened to me last night, Carlos," Bobbysaid. "It's the only way you can help me."

  As Paredes strolled to the foot of the stairs Bobby waited for adefensive reply, fo
r a sign, perhaps, that the Panamanian was offendedand proposed to depart. Paredes, however, went upstairs, yawning. Hecalled back:

  "I must make myself a trifle more presentable for dinner."

  Graham faced Bobby with the old question:

  "What can he want hanging around here unless it's money?" And after amoment: "He's clever--hard to sound. I have to leave you, Bobby. I musttelephone--the ugly formalities."

  "It's good of you to take them off my mind," Bobby answered.

  He remained in his chair, gazing drowsily at the fire, trying,always trying to remember, yet finding no new light among theshadows of his memory.

  Just before dinner Katherine joined him. She wore a sombre gown thatmade her face seem too white, that heightened the groping curiosityof her eyes.

  Without speaking she sat down beside him and stared, too, at thesmouldering fire. From her presence, from her tactful silence he drewcomfort--to an extent, rest.

  "You make me ashamed," he whispered once. "I've been a beast, leaving youhere alone these weeks. You don't understand quite, why that was." Shewouldn't let him go on. She shook her head. They remained silently by thefire until Graham and Paredes joined them.

  When dinner was announced the detective came from the library, and,uninvited, sat at the table with them. His report evidently stillfilled his mind, for he spoke only when it was unavoidable and thenin monosyllables. Paredes alone ate with a show of enjoyment, aloneattempted to talk. Eventually even he fell silent before the lackof response.

  Afterward he arranged a small card table by the fire in the hall. Hefound cards, and, with a package of cigarettes and a box of matchesconvenient to his hand, commenced to play solitaire. The detective, Bobbygathered, had brought his report up to date, for he lounged near by,watching the Panamanian's slender fingers as they handled the cardsdeftly. Bobby, Graham, and Katherine were glad to withdraw beyond therange of those narrow, searching eyes. They entered the library andclosed the door.

  Graham, expectant of a report from his man in New York as to themovements of Maria and the identity of the stranger, was restless.

  "If we could only get one fact," he said, "one reasonable clue thatdidn't involve Bobby! I've never felt so at sea. I wonder if, in spite ofHowells's evidence, we're not all a little afraid since this afternoon,of something such as Katherine felt last night--something we can'tdefine. Howells alone is satisfied. We must believe in the hand ofanother man. Doctor Groom talks about indefinable hands."

  "Uncle Silas was so afraid last night!" Katherine whispered.

  "That," Bobby cried, "is the fact we must have."

  He paused.

  "What's that?" he asked sharply.

  They sat for some time, listening to the sound of wheels on the gravel,to the banging of the front door, and, later, to the pacing of men in theroom of death overhead. They tried again to thread the mazes of thisproblem whose only conceivable exit led to Bobby's guilt. The movementsupstairs persisted. At last they became measured and dragging, like thefootsteps of men who carried some heavy burden.

  They looked at each other then. Katherine hid her eyes.

  "It's like a tomb here," Bobby said.

  He arranged kindling in the fireplace and touched a match to it. Ithadn't occurred to him to ring for Jenkins. None of them wished to bedisturbed. Eventually it was the detective who intruded. He strolled in,glanced at them curiously for a moment, then walked to the door of theenclosed staircase. He grasped the knob.

  "To-night," he announced, "I am trying a small experiment on thechance of clearing up the last details of the mystery. Since itdepends on the courage of whoever murdered Mr. Blackburn I've smallhope of its success."

  He indicated the ceiling. "You've heard, I daresay, what's been going onup there. Mr. Blackburn's body has been removed to his own room. The roomwhere he was killed is empty. I mean to go up and enter and lock thedoors as he did last night. I shall leave the window up as it was lastnight. I shall blow out the candle as he did."

  He lowered his voice. He looked directly at Bobby. His words carried adefinite challenge.

  "I shall lie on the bed and await the murderer under the preciseconditions Mr. Blackburn did."

  "What do you expect to gain by that?" Graham asked.

  "Probably nothing," Howells answered, "because, as I have said, successdepends upon the courage of a man who kills in the dark while his victimsleeps. I simply give him the chance to attack me as he did Mr.Blackburn. Of course he realizes it would be a good deal to his advantageto have me out of the way. I ask him to come, therefore, as stealthily ashe did last night. I beg him to match his skill with mine. I want him toplay his miracle with the window or one of the locks. But I'll wager hehasn't the nerve, although I don't see why he should hesitate. He's adoomed man. I shall make my arrest in the morning. I shall publish all myevidence."

  Bobby wouldn't meet the narrow, menacing eyes, for he knew that Howellschallenged him to a duel of slyness with the whole truth at stake. Thedetective's manner increased the hatred which had blazed in Bobby's mindwhen he had stood in the bedroom over his grandfather's body. For amoment he wished with all his heart that he might accept the challenge.He did the best he could.

  "I gather," he said, "that you haven't unearthed the motive fordisturbing the body. And have you found the sharp instrument thatcaused death?"

  The detective answered tolerantly:

  "I have found a number of sharp instruments. None of them, however, seemsquite slender or round enough. I'll get all that out of my man when Ilock him up. I'll get it to-night if he dares come."

  "Why," Graham said, "do you announce your plans so accurately to us?"

  The detective's level smile widened.

  "You shouldn't ask that, Mr. Graham. I've caused the servants to know myplans. Mr. Paredes knows them. I wish every one in the house to knowthem. That is in order that the murderer, who is in the house, may comeif he wishes."

  Katherine arose abruptly.

  "When you come down to it," she said, "you are accusing one of us. It'sbrutal, unfair--absurd."

  "I am a detective, Miss," Howells answered. "I have my own methods."

  Bobby stared at the slight protuberance in the breast pocket of thedetective's coat. The cast of his footprint must be secreted there, andalmost certainly the handkerchief which had been found beneath the bed.He shrank from his own thoughts.

  If he had consciously committed this murder he could understand a desireto get that evidence.

  Katherine had gone closer to the detective.

  "In any case," she urged him, "I wish you wouldn't try to spend the nightin that room. It isn't pleasant. After what the doctor has said,it--well, it isn't safe."

  Howells burst out laughing.

  "Never fear, Miss. I'm content to give Doctor Groom's spirits as muchchance to take a fall out of me as anybody. I'll be going up now." Hebowed. "Good-night to you all, and pleasant dreams."

  He opened the door and slipped into the darkness of the privatestaircase. They heard him, after he had closed the door, climbing upward.Katherine shivered.

  "He has plenty of courage, Hartley! If nothing happens to him to-nighthe'll finish Bobby in the morning. That mustn't happen. He mustn't go tojail. You understand. Things would never be the same for him again."

  Graham spread his hands.

  "What am I to do? I might go to New York and get after thesepeople myself."

  "Don't leave the Cedars," Bobby begged, "until he does arrest me.There'll be plenty of time for the New York end then. I've no faith init. Watch Carlos if you want, but most important of all, findout--somehow you've got to find out--what my grandfather was afraid of."

  Graham nodded.

  "And if it does come to an arrest, Bobby, you're not to say a word toanybody without my advice. You ought to get to bed now. You must haverest, and Katherine, too. Don't listen to-night, Katherine, for messagesfrom across the court."

  "I'll try," she said, "but, Hartley, I wish that man wasn't there. I wishn
o one was in that room."

  She took Bobby's hand.

  "Good-night, Bobby, and don't give up hope. We'll do something. Somehowwe'll pull you through."

  Bobby waited, hoping that Graham would offer to share his room with him.For, as he had said earlier, the prospect of going to sleep, of losingcontrol of his thoughts and actions, appalled him. Yet such an offer, herealized, must impress Graham as delicate, as an indication that hereally doubted Bobby's innocence, as a sort of spying. He wasn'tsurprised, therefore, when Graham only said:

  "I'll be in the next room, Bobby. If you're restless or need me you'veonly to knock on the wall."

  Bobby didn't leave the library with them. The warmth with which Katherinehad just filled him faded as he watched her go out side by side withGraham. Her hand was on Graham's arm. There was, he fancied, in her eyesan emotion deeper than gratitude or friendship. He sighed as the doorclosed behind them. He was himself largely to blame for that situation.His very revolt against its imminence had hastened its shaping.

  He walked anxiously to the table. He had remembered the medicine DoctorGroom had prepared for him that afternoon to make him sleep. He hadn'ttaken it then. If it remained where he had left it, which was likelyenough in the disordered state of the household, he would drink it now.Reinforced by his complete weariness, it ought to send him into a sleepprofound enough to drown any possible abnormal impulses ofunconsciousness.

  The glass was there. He drained it, and stood for a time looking at thepinkish sediment in the bottom. That was all right for to-night, butafterward--he couldn't shrink perpetually from sleep. He shrugged hisshoulders, remembering it would make little difference what he did in hissleep when they had him behind prison bars. Perhaps this would be hislast night of freedom.

  He found Paredes still in the hall. The Panamanian, with languidgestures, continued to play his solitaire. His box of cigarettes wasmuch reduced.

  "I thought you were tired, Carlos."

  Paredes glanced up. His eyes were neither weary nor alert. As usual hisexpression disclosed nothing of his thoughts, yet he must have read inBobby's tone a reproach at this indifference.

  "The game intrigues me," he murmured, "and you know," he added dreamily."I sometimes think better while I amuse myself."

  Bobby nodded good-night and went on up to his room. Even while heundressed the effects of the doctor's narcotic were perceptible. His eyeshad grown heavy, his brain a trifle numb.

  Almost apathetically he assured himself that he couldn't accomplish thesemad actions in his sleep.

  "Yet last night--" he murmured. "That finishes me in the eyes of thelaw. The doctor will testify to aphasia. According to him I am twomen--two men!"

  He yawned, recalling snatches of books he had read and one or twoscientific reports of such cases. He climbed into bed and blew out hiscandle. His drowsiness thickened. In his dulled mind one recollectionremained--the picture of Howells coldly challenging him with his levelsmile to make a secret entrance of the old bedroom in a murderous effortto escape the penalty of the earlier crime. And Howells had been right.His death would give Bobby a chance. The destruction of the evidence, thebringing into the case of a broader-minded man, a man without a carefullyconstructed theory--all that would help Bobby, might save him. Howells,moreover, had indicated that he had so far withheld his evidence. Butthat was probably a bait.

  In his drowsy way Bobby hated more powerfully than before this detectivewho, with a serene malevolence, made him writhe in his net. Thoughtceased. He drifted into a trance-like sleep. He swung in the black pitagain, fighting out against crushing odds. The darkness thundered asthough informing him that graver forces than any he had ever imaginedhad definitely grasped him. Then he understood. He was in a black cell,and the thundering was the steady advance of men along an iron floor totake him--

  "Bobby! Bobby!"

  He flung out his hands. He sat upright, opening his eyes. The blacknessassumed the familiar, yielding quality of the night. The thunder, thefootfalls, became a hurried knocking at his door.

  "Bobby! You're there--" It was Katherine. Her tone made the night asfrightening as the blackness of the pit.

  "What's the matter?"

  "You're there. I didn't know. Get up. Hartley's putting some clothes on.Hurry! The house is so dark--so strange."

  "Tell me what's happened."

  She didn't answer at first. He struck a match, lighted his candle, threwon a dressing gown, and stepped to the door. Katherine shrank againstthe wall, hiding her eyes from the light of his candle. He thought itodd she should wear the dress in which she had appeared at dinner. Butit seemed indifferently fastened, and her hair was in disorder. Grahamstepped from his room.

  "What is it?" Bobby demanded.

  "You wouldn't wake up, Bobby. You were so hard to wake." The idea seemedto fill her mind. She repeated it several times.

  "It's nothing," Graham said. "Go back to your room, Katherine. She'sfanciful--"

  She lowered her hands. Her eyes were full of terror. "No. We have to goto that room as I went last night, as we went to-day."

  Graham tried to quiet her. "We'll go to satisfy you."

  Her voice hardened. "I know. I was asleep. It woke me up, stealing inacross the court again."

  Bobby grasped her arm. "You came out and aroused up at once?"

  She shook her head. "I--I couldn't find my dressing gown. This dress wasby the bed. I put it on, but I couldn't seem to fasten it."

  Bobby stepped back, remembering his last thought before drifting into thetrance-like sleep. She seemed to know what was in his mind.

  "But when I knocked you were sleeping so soundly."

  "Too soundly, perhaps."

  "Come. We're growing imaginative," Graham said. "Howells would take careof himself. He'll probably give us the deuce for disturbing him, but tosatisfy you, Katherine, we'll wake him up."

  "If you can," she whispered.

  They entered the main hall. Light came through the stair well from thelower floor. Graham walked to the rail and glanced down. Bobby followedhim. On the table by the fireplace the cards were arranged in neatpiles. A strong draft blew cigarette smoke up to them.

  "Paredes," Graham said, amazed, "is still downstairs. The front door'sopen. He's probably in the court."

  "It must be very late," Bobby said.

  Katherine shivered.

  "Half-past two. I looked at my watch. The same time as last night."

  With a gesture of resolution she led the way into the corridor. Bobbyshrank from the damp and musty atmosphere of the narrow passage.

  "Why do you come, Katherine?" he asked.

  "I have to know, as I had to know last night."

  Graham raised his hand and knocked at the door which again was locked onthe inside. The echoes chattered back at them. Graham knocked again. Witha passionate revolt Katherine raised her hands, too, and pounded at thepanels. Suddenly she gave up. She let her hands fall listlessly.

  "It's no use."

  "Howells! Howells!" Graham called. "Why don't you answer?"

  "When he boasted to-night," Katherine whispered, "the murdererheard him."

  "Suppose he's gone down to the library?" Graham said.

  Bobby gave Katherine the candle.

  "No. He'd have stayed. We've got to break in here. We've got tofind out."

  Graham placed his powerful shoulder against the door. The lock strained.Bobby added his weight. With a splintering of wood the door flew open,precipitating them across the threshold. Through the darkness Grahamsprang for the opposite door.

  "It's locked," he called, "and the key's on this side."

  Bobby took the candle from Katherine and forced himself to approach thebed. The flame flickered a little in the breeze which stole past thecurtain of the open window. It shook across the body of Howells, fullyclothed with his head on the stained pillow. His face, intricately lined,was as peaceful as Silas Blackburn's had been. Its level smile persisted.

  Bobby caught his breath.

/>   "Howells--"

  He set the candle on the bureau.

  "It's no use. We must look at the back of his head."

  "The back of his head!" Katherine echoed.

  "It's illegal," Graham said.

  "Look!" Bobby cried. "We've got to look!"

  Graham tiptoed forward. He stretched out his hand. With a motion ofabhorrence he drew it back. Bobby watched him hypnotically, thinking:

  "I wanted this. I hated him. I thought of it just before I went tosleep."

  Graham reached out again. This time he touched Howells's head. It rolledover on the pillow.

  "Good God!" he said.

  They stared at the red hole, near the base of the brain, at a freshcrimson splotch, straying beyond the edges of the darker one they hadseen that afternoon.

  Graham turned away, his hand still outstretched, as if it had touchedsome poisonous thing and might retain a contamination.

  "He was prepared against it," he whispered, "expected it, yet it gothim."

  He glanced rapidly around the room whose shadows seemed crowding aboutthe candle to stifle it.

  "Unless we're all mad," he cried, "the murderer must be hidden in thisroom now. Don't you see? He's got to be, or Groom's right, and we'refighting the dead. Go out, Katherine. Stand by that broken door, Bobby.I'm going to look."