orney? You're sure he knows
nothing of this habit which seems to have commenced the night of the
first murder?"

"No, and I think Paredes alone of those who know about that first night
would be likely to tell him."

"See that he doesn't," the doctor said shortly. "I've been watching
Robinson. If he doesn't make an arrest pretty soon with something back of
it he'll lose his mind. He mightn't stop to ask, as I do, as Howells did,
about the locked doors and the nature of the wounds."

"How shall I find the courage to sleep to-night?" Bobby asked.

The doctor thought for a moment.

"Suppose I come back?" he said. "I've only one or two unimportant cases
to look after. I ought to return before dinner. I'll take Graham's place
for to-night. It's time your reactions were better diagnosed. I'll share
your room, and you can go to sleep, assured that you'll come to no harm,
that harm will come to no one through you. I'll bring some books on the
subject. I'll read them while you sleep. Perhaps I can learn the impulse
that makes your body active while your mind's a blank."

The idea of the influence of Paredes, which Graham had put into words,
slipped back to Bobby. He was, nevertheless, strengthened by the
doctor's promise. To an extent the dread of the night fell from him
like a smothering garment. This old man, who had always filled him with
discomfort, had become a capable support in his difficult hour. He saw
him drive away. He studied his watch, computing the time that must
elapse before he could return. He wanted him at the Cedars even though
the doctor believed more thoroughly than any one else in the spiritual
survival of old passions and the power of the dead to project a
physical evil.

He didn't care to go back to the hall. It would do him good to walk, to
force as far as he could from his mind the memory of the ordeal at the
grave, the grim, impending atmosphere of the house. And suppose he
should accomplish something useful? Suppose he should succeed where
Graham had failed?

So he walked toward the stagnant lake. The flakes of snow fell thicker.
Already they had gathered in white patches on the floor of the forest. If
this weather continued the woods would cease to be habitable for that
dark feminine figure through which they had accounted for the mournful
crying after Howells's death, which Graham had tried to identify with the
dancer, Maria.

As he passed the neighbourhood of the cemetery; he walked faste