hen everybody
hasn't your affectionate nature."

Bobby advanced.

"For God's sake, stop mocking me. I'll go, since you wish."

The detective opened the door and stood aside to let Bobby pass.

"Daresay you know the room--the way to it?"

Bobby didn't answer. He went along the corridor and into the main hall
where Katherine had met Silas Blackburn last night. He fought back his
aversion and entered the corridor of the old wing. He heard the detective
behind him. He was aware of the man's narrow eyes watching him with a
malicious assurance.

Bobby, with a feeling of discomfort, sprung in part from the gloomy
passageway, paused before the door his grandfather had had the
unaccountable whim of entering last night. The detective took a key from
his pocket and inserted it in the lock.

"Had some trouble repairing the lock this morning," he said. "That
fellow, Jenkins, entered with a heavy hand--a good deal heavier than
whoever was here before him."

He opened the door.

"Queerest case I've ever seen," he mumbled. "Step in, Mr. Blackburn."

Because of the drawn blinds the room was nearly as dark as the corridor.
Bobby entered slowly, his nerves taut. Against the farther wall the bed
was like an enormous shadow, without form.

"Stay where you are," the detective warned, "until I give you more light.
You know, I wouldn't want you to touch anything, because the room is
exactly as it was when he was murdered!"

Bobby experienced a swift impulse to strangle the brutal word in the
detective's throat. But he stood still while the man went to the
bureau, struck a match, and applied it to a candle. The wick burned
reluctantly. It flickered in the wind that slipped past the curtain of
the open window.

"Come here," the detective commanded roughly.

Bobby dragged himself forward until he stood at the foot of the
four-poster bed. The detective lifted the candle and held it beneath
the canopy.

"You look all you want now, Mr. Robert Blackburn," he said grimly.

Bobby conquered the desire to close his eyes, to refuse to obey. He
stared at his grandfather, and a feeling of wonder grew upon him. For
Silas Blackburn rested peacefully in the great bed. His eyes were closed.
The thick gray brows were no longer gathered in the frown too familiar to
Bobby. The face with its gray beard retained no fear, no record of a
great shock.

Bobby glanced at the detective who bent over the bed watching him out of
his narrow eyes.

"W