The Abandoned Room

  CHAPTER V

  THE CRYING THROUGH THE WOODS

  Bobby's inability to cry out alone prevented his alarming the others andannouncing to Paredes and Doctor Groom his unlawful presence in the room.During the moment that the shock held him, silent, motionless, bent inthe darkness above the bed, he understood there could have been noambiguity about his ghastly and loathsome experience. The dead detectivehad altered his position as Silas Blackburn had done, and this timesomeone had been in the room and suffered the appalling change. Bobby'sfingers still responded to the charnel feeling of cold, inactive fleshsuddenly become alive and potent beneath his touch. And a reason for theapparent miracle offered itself. Between the extinction of his candle andthe commencement of that movement!--only a second or so--the evidence haddisappeared from the detective's pocket.

  Bobby relaxed. He stumbled across the room and into the corridor. He wentwith hands outstretched through the blackness, for no candle burned inthe upper hall, but he knew that Katherine was on guard there. When heleft the passage he saw her, an unnatural figure herself, in theyellowish, unhealthy twilight which sifted through the stair well fromthe lamp in the hall below.

  She must have sensed something out of the way immediately, for shehurried to meet him and her whisper held no assurance.

  "You got the cast and the handkerchief, Bobby?"

  And when he didn't answer at once she asked with a sharp rush of fear:

  "What's the matter? What's happened?"

  He shuddered. At last he managed to speak.

  "Katherine! I have felt death cease to be death."

  Later he was to recall that phrase with a sicker horror than heexperienced now.

  "You saw something!" she said. "But your candle is out. There is no lightin the room."

  He took her hand. He pressed it.

  "You're real!" he said with a nervous laugh. "Something I can understand.Everything is unreal. This light--"

  He strode to the table, found a match, and lighted his candle. Katherine,as she saw his face, drew back.

  "Bobby!"

  "My candle went out," he said dully, "and he moved through the darkness.I tell you he moved beneath my hand."

  She drew farther away, staring at him.

  "You were frightened--"

  "No. If we go there with a light now," he said with the same dullconviction, "we will find him as we found my grandfather this afternoon."

  The monotonous voices of the three men in the lower hall weaved abackground for their whispers. The normal, familiar sound was like atonic. Bobby straightened. Katherine threw off the spell of hisannouncement.

  "But the evidence! You got--"

  She stared at his empty hands. He fancied that he saw contempt in hereyes.

  "In spite of everything you must go back. You must get that."

  "Even if I had the courage," he said wearily, "it would be no use, forthe evidence is gone."

  "But I saw it. At least I saw his pocket--"

  "It was there," he answered, "when my light went out. I did put my handin his pocket. In that second it had gone."

  "There was no one there," she said, "no one but you, because I watched."

  He leaned heavily against the wall.

  "Good God, Katherine! It's too big. Whatever it is, we can't fight it."

  She looked for some time down the corridor at the black entrance of thesinister room. At last she turned and walked to the banister. She called:

  "Hartley! Will you come up?"

  Bobby wondered at the steadiness of her voice. The murmuring belowceased. Graham ran up the stairs. Her summons had been warning enough.Their attitudes, as Graham reached the upper hall, were eloquent ofBobby's failure.

  "You didn't get the cast and the handkerchief?" he said.

  Bobby told briefly what had happened.

  "What is one to do?" he ended. "Even the dead are against me."

  "It's beyond belief," Graham said roughly.

  He snatched up the candle and entered the corridor. Uncertainly Katherineand Bobby followed him. He went straight to the bed and thrust the candlebeneath the canopy. The others could see from the door the change thathad taken place. The body of Howells was turned awkwardly on its side.The coat pocket was, as Bobby had described it, flat and empty.

  Katherine turned and went back to the hall. Graham's hand shook asBobby's had shaken.

  "No tricks, Bobby?"

  Bobby couldn't resent the suspicion which appeared to offer the onlyexplanation of what had happened. The candle flickered in the draft.

  "Look out!" Bobby warned.

  The misshapen shadows danced with a multiple vivacity across the walls.Graham shaded the candle flame, and the shadows became like morbiddecorations, gargantuan and motionless.

  "It's madness," Graham said. "There's no explanation of this that we canunderstand."

  Howells's straight smile mocked them. As if in answer to Graham a voicesighed through the room. Its quality was one with the shadows,unsubstantial and shapeless. Bobby grasped one of the bed posts andbraced himself, listening. The candle in Graham's hand commenced toflicker again, and Bobby knew that it hadn't been his fancy, for Grahamlistened, too.

  It shook again through the heavy, oppressive night, merely accentuatedby the candle--a faint ululation barely detaching itself from silence,straying after a time into the silence again. At first it was like thegrief of a woman heard at a great distance. But the sound, while itgained no strength, forced on them more and more an abhorrent sense ofintimacy. This crying from an infinite distance filled the room,seemed finally to have its source in the room itself. After it hadsobbed thinly into nothing, its pulsations continued to sigh inBobby's ears. They seemed timed to the renewed and eccentric dancingof the amorphous shadows.

  Graham straightened and placed the candle on the bureau. He seemedmore startled than he had been at the unbelievable secretiveness ofa dead man.

  "You heard it?" Bobby breathed.

  Graham nodded.

  "What was it? Where did you think it came from?" Bobby demanded. "It waslike someone mourning for this--this poor devil."

  Graham couldn't disguise his effort to elude the sombre spell of theroom, to drive from his brain the illusion of that unearthly moaning.

  "It must have come from outside the house," he answered "There's no usegiving way to fancies where there's a possible explanation. It must havecome from outside--from some woman in great agony of mind."

  Bobby recalled his perception of a woman moving with a curious absence ofsound about the edges of the stagnant lake. He spoke of it to Graham.

  "I couldn't be sure it was a woman, but there's no house within twomiles. What would a woman be doing wandering around the Cedars?"

  "At any rate, there are three women in the house," Graham said,"Katherine and the two servants, Ella and Jane. The maids are badlyfrightened. It may have come from the servants' quarters. It must havebeen one of them."

  But Bobby saw that Graham didn't believe either of the maids had releasedthat poignant suffering.

  "It didn't sound like a living voice," he said simply.

  "Then how are we to take it?" Graham persisted angrily. "I shall questionKatherine and the two maids."

  He took up the candle with a stubborn effort to recapture his oldforcefulness, but as they left the room the shadows thronged thicklyafter them in ominous pursuit; and it wasn't necessary to questionKatherine. She stood in the corridor, her lips parted, her face whiteand shocked.

  "What was it?" she said. "That nearly silent grief?"

  She put her hands to her ears, lowering them helplessly after a moment.

  "Where did you think it came from?" Graham asked.

  "From a long ways off," she answered. "Then I--I thought it must be inthe room with you, and I wondered if you saw--"

  Graham shook his head.

  "We saw nothing. It was probably Ella or Jane. They've been badlyfrightened. Perhaps a nightmare, or they've heard us moving around thefront part of
the house. I am going to see."

  Katherine and Bobby followed him downstairs. Doctor Groom and Paredesstood in front of the fireplace, questioningly looking upward. Paredesdidn't speak at first, but Doctor Groom burst out in his grumbling,bass voice:

  "What's been going on up there?"

  "Did you hear just now a queer crying?" Graham asked.

  "No."

  "You, Paredes?"

  "I've heard nothing," Paredes answered, "except Doctor Groom'sdisquieting theories. It's an uncanny hour for such talk. What kind of acry--may I ask?"

  "Like a woman moaning," Bobby said, "and, Doctor, Howells has changed hisposition."

  "What are you talking about?" the doctor cried.

  "He has turned on his side as Mr. Blackburn did," Graham told him.

  Paredes glanced at Bobby.

  "And how was this new mystery discovered?"

  Bobby caught the implication. Then the Panamanian clung to his slylyexpressed doubt of Katherine which might, after all, have had its impulsein an instinct of self-preservation. Bobby knew that Graham and Katherinewould guard the fashion in which the startling discovery had been made.Before he could speak for himself, indeed, Graham was answering Paredes:

  "This crying seemed after a time to come from the room. We entered."

  "But Miss Katherine called you up," Paredes said. "I supposed she hadheard again movements in the room."

  Bobby managed a smile.

  "You see, Carlos, nothing is consistent in this case."

  Paredes bowed gravely.

  "It is very curious a woman should cry about the house."

  "The servants may make it seem natural enough," Graham said. "Will youcome, Bobby?"

  As they crossed the dining room they heard a stirring in the kitchen.Graham threw open the door. Jenkins stood at the foot of the servants'stairs. The old butler had lighted a candle and placed it on the mantel.The disorder of his clothing suggested the haste with which he had lefthis bed and come downstairs. His wrinkled, sunken face had agedperceptibly. He advanced with an expression of obvious relief.

  "I was just coming to find you, Mr. Robert."

  "What's up?" Bobby asked. "A little while ago I thought you were allasleep back here."

  "One of the women awakened him," Graham said. "It's just as I thought."

  "Was that it?" the old butler asked with a quick relief. But immediatelyhe shook his head. "It couldn't have been that, Mr. Graham, for I stoppedat Ella's and Jane's doors, and there was no sound. They seemed to beasleep. And it wasn't like that."

  "You mean," Bobby said, "that you heard a woman crying?"

  Jenkins nodded. "It woke me up."

  "If you didn't think it was one of the maids," Graham asked, "what didyou make of it?"

  "I thought it came from outside. I thought it was a woman prowling aroundthe house. Then I said to myself, why should a woman prowl around theCedars? And it was too unearthly, sir, and I remembered the way Mr. Silaswas murdered, and the awful thing that happened to his body thisafternoon, and I--you won't think me foolish, sirs?--I doubted if it wasa human voice I had heard."

  "No," Graham said dryly, "we won't think you foolish."

  "So I thought I'd better wake you up and tell you."

  Graham turned to Bobby.

  "Katherine and you and I," he said, "fancied the crying was in the roomwith us. Jenkins is sure it came from outside the house. That issignificant."

  "Wherever it came from," Bobby said softly, "it was like some onemourning for Howells."

  Jenkins started.

  "The policeman!"

  Bobby remembered that Jenkins hadn't been aroused by the discovery ofHowells's murder.

  "You'd know in a few minutes anyway," he said. "Howells has been killedas my grandfather was."

  Jenkins moved back, a look of unbelief and awe in his wrinkled face.

  "He boasted he was going to sleep in that room," he whispered.

  Bobby studied Jenkins, not knowing what to make of the old man, for intothe awe of the wrinkled face had stolen a positive relief, an emotionthat bordered on the triumphant.

  "It's terrible," Jenkins whispered.

  Graham grasped his shoulder.

  "What's the matter with you, Jenkins? One would say you were glad."

  "No. Oh, no, sir. It is terrible. I was only wondering about thepoliceman's report."

  "What do you know about his report?" Bobby cried.

  "Only that--that he gave it to me to mail just before he went up to theold room."

  "You mailed it?" Graham snapped.

  Jenkins hesitated. When he answered his voice was self-accusing.

  "I'm an old coward, Mr. Robert. The policeman told me the letter was veryimportant, and if anything happened to it I would get in trouble. Hecouldn't afford to leave the house himself, he said. But, as I say, I'm acoward, and I didn't want to walk through the woods to the box by thegate. I figured it all out. It wouldn't be taken up until early in themorning, and if I waited until daylight it would only be delayed onecollection. So I made up my mind I'd sleep on it, because I knew he hadit in for you, Mr. Robert. I supposed I'd mail it in the morning, but Idecided I'd think it over anyway and not harrow myself walking throughthe woods."

  "You've done a good job," Graham said excitedly. "Where is thereport now?"

  "In my room. Shall I fetch it, sir?"

  Graham nodded, and Jenkins shuffled up the stairs.

  "What luck!" Graham said. "Howells must have telephoned his suspicions tothe district attorney. He must have mentioned the evidence, but what doesthat amount to since it's disappeared along with the duplicate of thereport, if Howells made one?"

  "I can fight with a clear conscience," Bobby cried. "I wasn't asleepwhen Howells's body altered its position. Do you realize what that meansto me? For once I was wide awake when the old room was at its tricks."

  "If Howells were alive," Graham answered shortly, "he would look on thefact that you were awake and alone with the body as the worst possibleevidence against you."

  Bobby's elation died.

  "There is always something to tangle me in the eyes of the law with thesemysteries. But I know, and I'll fight. Can you find any trace of aconspiracy against me in this last ghastly adventure?"

  "It complicates everything," Graham admitted.

  "It's beyond sounding," Bobby said, "for my grandfather's death lastnight and the disturbance of his body this afternoon seemed calculated tocondemn me absolutely, yet Howells's murder and the movement of his body,with the disappearance of the cast and the handkerchief, seem designed tosave me. Are there two influences at work in this house--one for me, oneagainst me?"

  "Let's think of the human elements," Graham answered with a frown. "Ihave no faith in Paredes. My man has failed to report on Maria. That'squeer. You fancy a woman in black slipping through the woods, and we heara woman cry. I want to account for those things before I give in toGroom's spirits. I confess at times they seem the only logicalexplanation. Here's Jenkins."

  "If trouble comes of his withholding the report I'll take the blame,"Bobby said.

  Graham snatched the long envelope from Jenkins' hand. It was addressed ina firm hand to the district attorney at the county seat.

  "There's no question," Graham said. "That's it. We mustn't open it. We'dbetter not destroy it. Put it where it won't be easily found, Jenkins. Ifyou are questioned you have no recollection of Howells having given it toyou. Mr. Blackburn promises he will see you get in no trouble."

  The old man smiled.

  "Trouble!" he scoffed. "Mr. Blackburn needn't fret himself about me. He'sthe last of this family--that is Miss Katherine and he. I'm old and aboutdone for. I don't mind trouble. Not a bit, sir."

  Bobby pressed his hand. His voice was a little husky: "I didn't thinkyou'd go that far in my service, Jenkins."

  The old butler smiled slyly: "I'd go a lot further than that, sir."

  "We'd better get back," Graham said. "The blood hounds ought to behere, and they'l
l sniff at the case harder than ever because it's donefor Howells."

  They watched Jenkins go upstairs with the report.

  "We're taking long chances," Graham said, "desperately long chances, butyou're in a desperately dangerous position. It's the only way. You'll beaccused of stealing the evidence; but remember, when they question you,they can prove nothing unless the cast and the handkerchief turn up. Ifthey've been taken by an enemy in some magical fashion to be produced atthe proper moment, there's no hope. Meantime play the game, and Katherineand I will help you all we can. The doctor, too, is friendly. There's nodoubt of him. Come, now. Let's face the music."

  Bobby followed Graham to the hall, trying to strengthen his nerves forthe ordeal. Even now he was more appalled by the apparently supernaturalbackground of the case than he was by the material details which pointedto his guilt. More than the report and the cast and the handkerchief,the remembrance of that impossible moment in the blackness of the oldroom filled his mind, and the unearthly and remote crying still throbbedin his ears.

  Katherine, Graham, and the doctor waited by the fireplace. They had heardnothing from the authorities.

  "But they must be here soon," Doctor Groom said.

  "Did you learn anything back there, Hartley?" Katherine asked.

  "It wasn't the servants," he said. "Jenkins heard the crying. He'scertain it came from outside the house."

  Paredes looked up.

  "Extraordinary!" he said.

  "I wish I had heard it," Doctor Groom grumbled.

  Paredes laughed.

  "Thank the good Lord I didn't. Perpetually, Bobby, your house reminds methat I've nerves sensitive to the unknown world. I will go further thanthe doctor. I will say that this house _is_ crowded with thesupernatural. It shelters things that we cannot understand, that we willnever understand. When I was a child in Panama I had a nurse who,unfortunately, developed too strongly my native superstition. How shefrightened me with her bedtime stories! They were all of men murdered ordead of fevers, crossing the trail, or building the railroad, or digginginsufficient ditches for De Lesseps. Some of her best went farther backthan that. They were thick with the ghosts of old Spaniards and thecrimson hands of Morgan's buccaneers. Really that tiny strip across theisthmus is crowded with souls snatched too quickly from torn and torturedbodies. If you are sensitive you feel they are still there."

  "What has all this to do with the Cedars?" Doctor Groom grumbled.

  "It explains my ability to sense strange elements in this old house.There are in Panama--if you don't mind, doctor--improvised graveyards,tangled by the jungle, that give you a feeling of an active, unseenpopulation precisely as this house does."

  He arose and strolled with a cat-like lack of sound about the hall. Whenhe spoke again his voice was scarcely audible. It was the voice of a manwho thinks aloud, and the doctor failed to interrupt him again.

  "I have felt less spiritually alarmed in those places of grinningskulls, which always seem trying to recite agonies beyond expression,than I feel in this house. For here the woods are more desolate than thejungle, and the walls of houses as old as this make a prison forsuffering."

  A vague discomfort stole through Bobby's surprise. He had never heardParedes speak so seriously. In spite of the man's unruffled manner therewas nothing of mockery about his words. What, then, was their intention?

  Paredes said no more, but for several minutes he paced up and down thehall, glancing often with languid eyes toward the stairs. He had theappearance of one who expects and waits.

  Katherine, Graham, and the doctor, Bobby could see, had been made asuneasy as himself by the change in the Panamanian. The doctor cleared histhroat. His voice broke the silence tentatively:

  "If this house makes you so unhappy, young man, why do you stay?"

  Paredes paused in his walk. His thin lips twitched. He indicated Bobby.

  "For the sake of my very good friend. What are a man's personal fears anddesires if he can help his friends?"

  Graham's distaste was evident. Paredes recognized it with a smile. Bobbywatched him curiously, realizing more and more that Graham was right tothis extent: they must somehow learn the real purpose of thePanamanian's continued presence here.

  Paredes resumed his walk. He still had that air of expectancy. He seemedto listen. This feeling of imminence reached Bobby; increased hisrestlessness. He thought he heard an automobile horn outside. He sprangup, went to the door, opened it, and stood gazing through the damp andnarrow court. Yet, he confessed, he listened for a repetition of thatunearthly crying through the thicket rather than for the approach ofthose who would try to condemn him for two murders. Paredes was right.The place was unhealthy. Its dark walls seemed to draw closer. They had adesolate and unfriendly secretiveness. They might hide anything.

  The whirring of a motor reached him. Headlights flung gigantic,distorted shadows of trees across the walls of the old wing. Bobby facedthe others.

  "They're coming," he said, and his voice was sufficientlyapprehensive now.

  Graham joined him at the door. "Yes," he said. "There will be anotherinquisition. You all know that Howells for some absurd reason suspectedBobby. Bobby, it goes without saying, knows no more about the crimes thanany of us. I dare say you'll keep that in mind if they try to confuseyou. After all, there's very little any of us can tell them."

  "Except," Paredes said with a yawn, "what went on upstairs when the womancried and Howells's body moved. Of course I know nothing about that."

  Graham glanced at him sharply.

  "I don't know what you mean, but you have told us all that you areBobby's friend."

  "Quite so. And I am not a spy."

  He moved his head in his grave and dignified bow.

  The automobile stopped at the entrance to the court. Three men steppedout and hurried up the path. As they entered the hall Bobby recognizedthe sallow, wizened features of the coroner. One of the others was shortand thick set. His round and florid face, one felt, should have expressedfriendliness and good-humour rather than the intolerant anger that markedit now. The third was a lank, bald-headed man, whose sharp face releasedmore determination than intelligence.

  "I am Robinson, the district attorney," the stout one announced, "andthis is Jack Rawlins, the best detective I've got now that Howells isgone. Jack was a close friend of Howells, so he'll make a good job of it,but I thought it was time I came myself to see what the devil's going onin this house."

  The lank man nodded.

  "You're right, Mr. Robinson. There'll be no more nonsense about the case.If Howells had made an arrest he might be alive this minute."

  Bobby's heart sank. These men would act from a primary instinct ofrevenge. They wanted the man who had killed Silas Blackburn principallybecause it was certain he had also killed their friend. Rawlins's words,moreover, suggested that Howells must have telephoned a pretty clearoutline of the case. Robinson stared at them insolently.

  "This is Doctor Groom, I know. Which is young Mr. Blackburn?"

  Bobby stepped forward. The sharp eyes, surrounded by puffy flesh,studied him aggressively. Bobby forced himself to meet that unfriendlygaze. Would Robinson accuse him now, before he had gone into the casefor himself? At least he could prove nothing. After a moment the manturned away.

  "Who is this?" he asked, indicating Graham.

  "A very good friend--my lawyer, Mr. Graham," Bobby answered.

  Robinson walked over to Paredes.

  "Another lawyer?" he sneered.

  "Another friend," Paredes answered easily.

  Robinson glanced at Katherine.

  "Of course you are Miss Perrine. Good. Coroner, these are all that werein the front part of the house when you were here before?"

  "The same lot," the coroner squeaked.

  "There are three servants, a man and two women," Robinson went on."Account for them, Rawlins, and see what they have to say. Come upstairswhen you're through. All right, Coroner."

  But he paused at the foot of the steps
.

  "For the present no one will leave the house without my permission. Ifyou care to come upstairs with me, Mr. Blackburn, you might be useful."

  Bobby shrank from the thought of returning to the old room even with thisdetermined company. He didn't hesitate, however, for Robinson's purposewas clear. He wanted Bobby where he could watch him. Graham prepared toaccompany them.

  "If you need me," the doctor said. "I looked at the body--"

  "Oh, yes," Robinson sneered. "I'd like to know exactly what time youfound the body."

  Graham flushed, but Katherine answered easily:

  "About half-past two--the hour at which Mr. Blackburn was killed."

  "And I," Robinson sneered, "was aroused at three-thirty. An hour duringwhich the police were left out of the case!"

  "We thought it wise to get a physician first of all," Graham said.

  "You knew Howells never had a chance. You knew he had been murdered themoment you looked at him," Robinson burst out.

  "We acted for the best," Graham answered.

  His manner impressed silence on Katherine and Bobby.

  "We'll see about that later," Robinson said with a clear threat. "If itdoesn't inconvenience you too much we'll go up now."

  In the upper hall he snatched the candle from the table.

  "Which way?"

  Katherine nodded to the old corridor and slipped to her room. Robinsonstepped forward with the coroner at his heels. Bobby, Graham, and thedoctor followed. Inside the narrow, choking passage Bobby saw thedistrict attorney hesitate.

  "What's the matter?" the doctor rumbled.

  The district attorney went on without answering. He glanced at thebroken lock.

  "So you had to smash your way in?"

  He walked to the bed and looked down at Howells.

  "Poor devil!" he murmured. "Howells wasn't the man to get caughtunawares. It's beyond me how any one could have come close enough to makethat wound without putting him on his guard."

  "It's beyond us, as it was beyond him," Graham answered, "how any one gotinto the room at all."

  In response to Robinson's questions he told in detail about the discoveryof both murders. Robinson pondered for some time.

  "Then you and Mr. Blackburn were asleep," he said. "Miss Perrine arousedyou. This foreigner Paredes was awake and dressed and in the lower hall."

  "I think he was in the court as we went by the stair-well," Grahamcorrected him.

  "I shall want to talk to your foreigner," Robinson said. He shivered."This room is like a charnel house. Why did Howells want to sleep here?"

  "I don't think he intended to sleep," Graham said. "From the startHowells was bound to solve the mystery of the entrance of the room. Hecame here, hoping that the criminal would make just such an attempt as hedid. He was confident he could take care of himself, get his man, andclear up the last details of the case."

  Robinson looked straight at Bobby.

  "Then Howells knew the criminal was in the house."

  "Howells, I daresay," Graham said, "telephoned you something of hissuspicions." Robinson nodded.

  "He was on the wrong line," Graham argued, "or he wouldn't have been soeasily overcome. You can see for yourself. Locked doors, a wound thatsuggests the assailant was close to him, yet he must have been awake andwatchful; and if there had been a physical attack before the sharpinstrument was driven into his brain he would have cried out, yet MissPerrine was aroused by nothing of the sort, and the coroner, I daresay,will find no marks of a struggle about the body."

  The coroner who had been busy at the bed glanced up.

  "No mark at all. If Howells wasn't asleep, his murderer must have beeninvisible as well as noiseless."

  Doctor Groom smiled. The coroner glared at him.

  "I suggest, Mr. District Attorney," he squeaked, "that the ordinarylayman wouldn't know that this type of wound would cause immediatedeath."

  "Nor would any man," the doctor answered angrily, "be able to make such awound with his victim lying on his back."

  "On his back!" Robinson echoed. "But he isn't on his back."

  The doctor told of the amazing alteration in the positions of bothvictims. Bobby regretted with all his heart that he had made the attemptto get the evidence. Already complete frankness was impossible for him.Already a feeling of guilt sprang from the necessity of withholding thefirst-hand testimony which he alone could give.

  "And a woman cried!" Robinson said, bewildered. "All this sounds like aghost story."

  "You've more sense than I thought," Doctor Groom said dryly. "I nevercould get Howells to see it that way."

  "What are you driving at?" Robinson snapped.

  "These crimes," the doctor answered, "have all the elements of aghostly impulse."

  Robinson's laugh was a little uncomfortable.

  "The Cedars is a nice place for spooks, but it won't do. I'll be frank.Howells telephoned me. He had found plenty of evidence of humaninterference. It's evident in both cases that the murderer came back anddisturbed the bodies for some special purpose. I don't know what it wasthe first time, but it's simple to understand the last. The murderercame for evidence Howells had on his person."

  Bobby couldn't meet the sharp, puffy eyes. He alone was capable oftestifying that the evidence had been removed as if to secrete it fromhis unlawful hand. Yet if he spoke he would prove the district attorney'spoint. He would condemn himself.

  "Curious," Graham said slowly, "that the murderer didn't take theevidence when he killed his man."

  "I don't know about that," Robinson said, "but I know Howells hadevidence on his person. You through, Coroner? Then we'll have a look,although it's little use."

  He walked to the bed and searched Howells's pockets.

  "Just as I thought. Nothing. He told me he was preparing a report. If hedidn't mail it, that was stolen with the rest of the stuff. Rawlins'sright. He waited too long to make his arrest."

  Again Bobby wondered if the man would bring matters to a head now. Hecould appreciate, however, that Robinson, with nothing to go on butHowells's telephoned suspicions, might spoil his chances of a solution byacting too hastily. Rawlins strolled in.

  "The two women were asleep," he said. "The old man knows nothing beyondthe fact that he heard a woman crying outside a little while ago."

  "I don't think we need bother about the back part of the house for thepresent," Robinson said. "Howells's evidence has been stolen. It's yourjob to find it unless it's been destroyed. Your other job is to discoverthe instrument that caused death in both cases. Then maybe our worthydoctor will desert his ghosts. Mr. Blackburn, if you will come with methere's a slight possibility of checking up some of the evidence of whichHowells spoke. Our fine fellow may have made a slip in the court."

  Bobby understood and was afraid--more afraid than he had been at any timesince he had overheard Howells catalogue his case to Graham in thelibrary. Why, even in so much confusion, had Graham and he failed tothink of those tell-tale marks in the court? They had been intact when hehad stood there just before dark. It was unlikely any one had walkedacross the grass since. He saw Graham's elaborate precautions demolished,the case against him stronger than it had been before Howells's murder.Graham's face revealed the same helpless comprehension. They followedRobinson downstairs. Graham made a gesture of surrender. Bobby glanced atParedes who alone had remained below. The Panamanian smoked and loungedin the easy chair. His eyes seemed restless.

  "I shall wish to ask you some questions in a few minutes, Mr. Paredes,"the district attorney said.

  "At your service, I'm sure," Paredes drawled.

  He watched them until they had entered the court and closed the door.The chill dampness of the court infected Bobby as it had always done.It was a proper setting for his accusation and arrest. For Robinson, heknew, wouldn't wait as Howells had done to solve the mystery of thelocked doors.

  Robinson, while the others grouped themselves about him, took aflashlight from his pocket and pressed the control. The bril
liantcylinder of light illuminated the grass, making it seem unnaturallygreen. Bobby braced himself for the inevitable denouement. Then, whileRobinson exclaimed angrily, his eyes widened, his heart beat rapidlywith a vast and wondering relief. For the marks he remembered soclearly had been obliterated with painstaking thoroughness, and atfirst the slate seemed perfectly clean. He was sure his unknown friendhad avoided leaving any trace of his own. Each step in the grass hadbeen carefully scraped out. In the confusion of the path there wasnothing to be learned.

  The genuine surprise of Bobby's exclamation turned Robinson to him with alook of doubt.

  "You acknowledge these footmarks were here, Mr. Blackburn?"

  "Certainly," Bobby answered. "I saw them myself just before dark. I knewHowells ridiculously connected them with the murderer."

  "You made a good job of it when you trampled, them out," Robinsonhazarded.

  But it was clear Bobby's amazement had not been lost on him.

  "Or," he went on, "this foreigner who advertises himself as your friend!He was in the court tonight. We know that."

  Suddenly he stooped, and Bobby got on his knees beside him. The cylinderof light held in its centre one mark, clear and distinct in the trampledgrass, and with a warm gratitude, a swift apprehension, Bobby thought ofKatherine. For the mark in the grass had been made by the heel of awoman's shoe.

  "Not the foreigner then," Robinson mused, "not yourself, Blackburn, but awoman, a devoted woman. That's something to get after."

  "And if she lies, the impression of the heel will give her away," thecoroner suggested.

  Robinson grinned.

  "You'd make a rotten detective, Coroner. Women's heels are cut to apattern. There are thousands of shoes whose heels would fit thisimpression. We need the sole for identification, and that she hasn't leftus. But she's done one favour. She's advertised herself as a woman, andthere are just three women in the house. One of those committed thisserious offence, and the inference is obvious."

  Before Bobby could protest, the doctor broke in with his throaty rumble:"One of those, or the woman who cried about the house."

  Bobby started. The memory of that eerie grief was still uncomfortable inhis brain. Could there have been actually a woman at the stagnant lakethat afternoon and close to the house to-night--some mysterious friendwho assumed grave risks in his service? He recognized Robinson's logic.Unless there were something in that far-fetched theory, Katherine faced asituation nearly as serious as his own. Robinson straightened. At thesame moment the scraping of a window reached them. Bobby glanced at thenewer wing. Katherine leaned from her window. The coincidence disturbedhim. In Robinson's mind, he knew, her anxiety would assume a colour ofguilt. Her voice, moreover, was too uncertain, too full of misgivings:

  "What is going on down there? There have been no--no more tragedies?"

  "Would you mind joining us for a moment?" Robinson asked.

  She drew back. The curtain fell over her lighted window. The darkness ofthe court was disturbed again only by the limited radiance of theflashlight. She came hurriedly from the front door.

  "I saw you gathered here. I heard you talking. I wondered."

  "You knew there were footprints in this court," Robinson said harshly,"that Howells connected them with the murderer of your uncle."

  "Yes," she answered simply.

  "Why then," he asked, "did you attempt to obliterate them?"

  She laughed.

  "What do you mean? I didn't. I haven't been out of the house since justafter luncheon."

  "Can you prove that?"

  "It needs no proof. I tell you so."

  The flashlight exposed the ugly confidence of Robinson's smile.

  "I am sorry to suggest the need of corroboration."

  "You doubt my word?" she flashed.

  "A woman," he answered, "has obliterated valuable testimony, I shall makeit my business to punish her."

  She laughed again. Without another word she turned and reentered thehouse. Robinson's oath was audible to the others.

  "We can't put up with that sort of thing, sir," Rawlins said.

  "I ought to place this entire household under arrest," Robinson muttered.

  "As a lawyer," Graham said easily, "I should think with your lack ofevidence it might be asking for trouble. There is Paredes whoacknowledges he was in the court."

  "All right. I'll see what he's got to say."

  He started for the house. Bobby lingered for a moment with Graham.

  "Do you know anything about this, Hartley?"

  "Nothing," Graham whispered.

  "Then you don't think Katherine--"

  "If she'd done it she'd have taken good care not to be so curious. Idoubt if it was Katherine."

  They followed the others into the hall. Bobby, scarcely appreciating whyat first, realized there had been a change there. Then he understood:Robinson faced an empty chair. The hall was pungent with cigarette smoke,but Paredes had gone.

  Robinson pointed to the stairs.

  "Get him down," he said to Rawlins.

  "He wouldn't have gone to bed," Graham suggested. "Suppose he's in theold room where Howells lies?"

  But Rawlins found him nowhere upstairs. With an increasing excitementRobinson joined the search. They went through the entire house. Paredeswas no longer there. He had, to all appearances, put a period to hisunwelcome visit. He had definitely disappeared from the Cedars.

  His most likely exit was through the kitchen door which was unlocked, butJenkins who had returned to his room had heard no one. With theirelectric lamps Robinson and Rawlins ferreted about the rear entrance fortraces. The path there was as trampled and useless as the one in front.Rawlins, who had gone some distance from the house, straightened with asatisfied exclamation. The others joined him.

  "Here's where he left the path right enough," he said. "And our foreignerwasn't making any more noise than he had to."

  He flashed his lamp on a fresh footprint in the soft soil at the side ofthe path. The mark of the toe was deep and firm. The impression of theheel was very light. Paredes, it was clear, had walked from the houseon tiptoe.

  "Follow on," Robinson commanded. "I told this fellow I wanted to questionhim. I've scared him off."

  Keeping his light on the ground, Rawlins led the way across the clearing.The trail was simple enough to follow. Each of the Panamanian'sfootprints was distinct. Each had that peculiarity that suggested thestealth of his progress.

  As they continued Bobby responded to an excited premonition. He sensedthe destination of the chase. He could picture Paredes now in theloneliest portion of the woods, for the trail unquestionably pointed tothe path he had taken that afternoon toward the stagnant lake.

  "Hartley!" he said. "Paredes left the house to go to the stagnant lakewhere I fancied I saw a woman in black. Do you see? And he didn't hearthe crying of a woman a little while ago, and when we told him he becamerestless. He wandered about the hall talking of ghosts."

  "A rendezvous!" Graham answered. "He may have been waiting for just that.The crying may have been a signal. Perhaps you'll believe now, Bobby,that the man has had an underhanded purpose in staying here."

  "I've made too many hasty judgments in my life, Hartley. I'll go slow onthis. I'll wait until we see what we find at the lake."

  Rawlins snapped off his light. The little party paused at the blackentrance of the path into the thicket.

  "He's buried himself in the woods," Rawlins said.

  They crowded instinctively closer in the sudden darkness. A brisk windhad sprung up. It rattled among the trees, and set the dead leaves ingentle, rustling motion. It suggested to Bobby the picture which had beenforced into his brain the night of his grandfather's death. The moon nowpossessed less light, but it reminded him again of a drowning face, andthrough the darkness he could fancy the trees straining in the wind likepuny men. Abruptly the thought of penetrating the forest becamefrightening. The silent loneliness of the stagnant lake seemed asunfriendly and threatening as th
e melancholy of the old room.

  "There are too many of us," Robinson was saying. "You'd better go onalone, Rawlins, and don't take any chances. I've got to have this man.You understand? I think he knows things worth while."

  The rising wind laughed at his whisper. The detective flashed hislamp once, shut it off again, and stepped into the close embrace ofthe thicket.

  Suddenly Bobby grasped Graham's arm. The little group becametense, breathless. For across the wind with a diffused quality, alack of direction, vibrated to them again the faint and mournfulgrief of a woman.