all."

Graham smiled uncomfortably, but Bobby knew why the official failed to
follow that radical course. Like Howells, he hesitated to remove from the
Cedars the person most likely to solve its mystery. As long as a chance
remained that Howells had been right about Bobby he would give Silas
Blackburn's grandson his head, merely making sure, as he had done this
morning, that there should be no escape. He glanced up.

"I wonder if our foreigner's laughing at me now."

Graham made a movement toward the door.

"We might," he said significantly, "find that out without disturbing
him."

Robinson nodded and led the way silently back to the house. Such a method
was repugnant to Bobby, and he followed at a distance. Then he saw from
the movements of the two men ahead that the library had again offered the
unexpected, and he entered. Paredes was no longer in the room. Bobby was
about to speak, but Robinson shook his head angrily, raising his hand in
a gesture of warning. All three strained forward, listening, and Bobby
caught the sound that had arrested the others--a stealthy scraping that
would have been inaudible except through such a brooding silence as
pervaded the old house.

Bobby's interest quickened at this confirmation of Graham's theory.
There was a projection of cold fear, moreover, in its sly allusion. It
gave to his memory of Paredes, with his tall, graceful figure, his lack
of emotion, his inscrutable eyes, and his pointed beard, a suggestion
nearly satanic. For the stealthy scraping had come from behind the closed
door of the private staircase. Howells had gone up that staircase. None
of them could forget for a moment that it led to the private hall outside
the room in which the murders had been committed.

It occurred to Bobby that the triumph Graham's face expressed was out of
keeping with the man. It disturbed him nearly as thoroughly as Paredes's
stealthy presence in that place.

"We've got him," Graham whispered.

Robinson's bulky figure moved cautiously toward the door. He grasped the
knob, swung the door open, and stepped back, smiling his satisfaction.

Half way down the staircase Paredes leaned against the wall, one foot
raised and outstretched, as though an infinitely quiet descent had been
interrupted. The exposure had been too quick for his habit. His face
failed to hide its discomfiture. His laugh rang false.

"Hello!"

"I'm afraid we've caught you, Paredes," Graham said, and the triump