ilent form of the detective.

"He believed I killed my grandfather. The only reason he didn't arrest me
was his failure to find out how the room had been entered and left. Don't
you suppose he looked for a hiding place or a secret entrance the first
thing? It's obvious."

But Graham's savage determination increased. He sounded each panel. None
gave the slightest revealing response. He got a tape from Katherine and
measured the dimensions of the room, the private hall, and the corridor.
At last he turned to Bobby, his anger dead, his face white and tired.

"Everything checks," he admitted. "There's no secret room, no way in or
out. Logically Groom's right. We're fighting the dead who resent the
intrusion of your grandfather and Howells."

He laughed mirthlessly.

"After all, we can't surrender to that. There must be another answer."

"From the first Howells was satisfied with me," Bobby said.

Graham flung up his hands.

"Then tell me how you got in without disturbing those locks. I grant you,
Bobby, you had sufficient motive for both murders, but I don't believe
you have two personalities, one decent and lovable, the other cruel and
cunning to the point of magic. I don't believe if a man had two such
personalities the actions of one would be totally closed to the memory of
the other."

Bobby smiled wanly.

"It isn't pleasant to confess it, Hartley, but I have read of such
cases."

"Fiction!"

"Scientific fact."

"I wish to the devil I had shared your room with you to-night," Graham
muttered. "I might have furnished you an alibi for this affair at least."

"Either that," Bobby answered frankly, "or you might have followed me and
learned the whole secret. Honestly, isn't that what you were thinking of,
Hartley? And I did go to sleep, telling myself it would help me if
something of the sort happened to Howells. Now I'm not so sure that it
will. I--I suppose you've got to notify the police."

Graham held up his hand.

"What's that? In the corridor!"

There were quiet footsteps in the corridor. Bobby turned quickly,
Paredes strolled slowly through the passage, a cigarette held in his
slender, listless fingers. Bobby stared at him, remembering his surprise
a few minutes ago that the Panamanian should have sat up so late, should
have been, probably, in the court when they had followed Katherine to the
discovery of this new crime.

Paredes paused in the doorway. He took in the tragic picture framed by
th