trifle numb.

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

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

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

In his drowsy way Bobby hated more powerfully than before this detective
who, with a serene malevolence, made him writhe in his net. Thought
ceased. He drifted into a trance-like sleep. He swung in the black pit
again, fighting out against crushing odds. The darkness thundered as
though informing him that graver forces than any he had ever imagined
had 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 to
take him--

"Bobby! Bobby!"

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

"Bobby! You're there--" It was Katherine. Her tone made the night as
frightening 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, threw
on a dressing gown, and stepped to the door. Katherine shrank against
the wall, hiding her eyes from the light of his candle. He thought it
odd she should wear the dress in which she had appeared at dinner. But
it seemed indifferently fastened, and her hair was in disorder. Graham
stepped from his room.

"What is it?" Bobby demanded.

"You wouldn't wake up, Bobby. You