s, the pillow on the bed, and the wall above
it. He fancied the dark stain, the depression in the mattress where the
two bodies had rested. Those physical objects forced on him the
probability of his guilt. Then he recalled that both men, dead for many
hours, had moved apparently of their own volition; and his grandfather
had come back from the grave and then had disappeared, leaving no trace;
and he comforted himself with the thought that the explanation, if it
came at all, must arise from a force outside himself, whether of the
living or the dead.

Because of that very assurance his fear of the room was incited. Could
any subtle change overcome him here as it evidently had the others? Could
there be repeated in his case a return and a disappearance like his
grandfather's? There was, as Rawlins had said, no way in or out for an
attack. Therefore the danger must emerge from the dead, and he was
helpless before their incomprehensible campaign.

The whole illogical, abominable course of events warned him to bring his
vigil to an end before it should be too late; urged him to escape from
the restless revolt of the dead who had dwelt in this room. And he wanted
to respond. He wanted to go to the corridor and confess to Rawlins and
Robinson that he was beaten. Yet he had begged so hard for this chance!
That course, moreover, meant the arrest of Katherine and himself in the
morning. For a few hours he could suffer here for her sake. Daylight, if
he could persist until then, would bring release, and surely it couldn't
be long now.

He shrank back. Steadily it had grown colder in the old room. He
shivered. He drew his coat closer about him. What temerity to invade the
domain of death, as Paredes had called it, to seek the secrets of
unquiet souls!

He ceased shivering. He waited, tensely quiet. Without calculation he
realized that the moment for which he had hoped was at hand. The old room
was about to disclose its secret, but would it permit him to depart with
his knowledge? He forgot to call. He waited, helpless and terrified,
against the wall. He heard a moaning cry, faint and distant--the voice
they had heard in the forest and at the grave. But it was more than that
that held him. He knew now what Katherine had heard across the court,
heralding each tragedy and mystery. He caught a formless stirring. Yet on
the bed there was no one. Fortunately he had not gone there.

He tried to call out, realizing that the danger cou