everything for him depended.

CHAPTER V

THE CRYING THROUGH THE WOODS

Bobby's inability to cry out alone prevented his alarming the others and
announcing to Paredes and Doctor Groom his unlawful presence in the room.
During the moment that the shock held him, silent, motionless, bent in
the darkness above the bed, he understood there could have been no
ambiguity about his ghastly and loathsome experience. The dead detective
had altered his position as Silas Blackburn had done, and this time
someone had been in the room and suffered the appalling change. Bobby's
fingers still responded to the charnel feeling of cold, inactive flesh
suddenly become alive and potent beneath his touch. And a reason for the
apparent miracle offered itself. Between the extinction of his candle and
the commencement of that movement!--only a second or so--the evidence had
disappeared from the detective's pocket.

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

She must have sensed something out of the way immediately, for she
hurried 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 he
experienced now.

"You saw something!" she said. "But your candle is out. There is no light
in 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 dull
conviction, "we will find him as we found my grandfather this afternoon."

The monotonous