o. Thanks," Bobby answered.

He went on to the library. He glanced with an unpleasant shrinking from
the door of the enclosed staircase leading to the private hall just
outside the room in which his grandfather lay dead. There was no fire
here, but he wrapped himself in a rug and lay on the broad, high-backed
lounge which was drawn close to the fireplace, facing it. His complete
weariness conquered his premonitions, his feeling of helplessness. The
entrance of Jenkins barely aroused him.

"Where are you, Mr. Robert?"

"Here," Bobby answered sleepily.

The butler walked to the lounge and looked over the back.

"To be sure, sir. I didn't see you here."

He held out a glass.

"Doctor Groom said you were to drink this. It would make you sleep, sir."

Bobby closed his eyes again.

"Put it on the table where I can reach it when I want it."

"Yes, sir. Mr. Robert! The policeman? Did he say anything, if I might
make so bold as to ask?"

"Go away," Bobby groaned. "Leave me in peace."

And peace for a little time came to him. It was the sound of voices in
the room that aroused him. He lay for a time, scarcely knowing where he
was, but little by little the sickening truth came back, and he realized
that it was Graham and the detective, Howells, who talked close to the
window, and Graham had already fulfilled his promise.

Bobby didn't want to eavesdrop, but it was patent he would embarrass
Graham by disclosing himself now, and it was likely Graham would be glad
of a witness to anything the detective might say.

It was still light. A ray from the low sun entered the window and rested
on the door of the enclosed staircase.

Graham's anxious demand was the first thing Bobby heard distinctly--the
thing that warned him to remain secreted.

"I think now with the coroner on his way it's time you defined your
suspicions a trifle more clearly. I am a lawyer. In a sense I represent
young Mr. Blackburn. Please tell me why you are so sure his grandfather
was murdered."

"All right," the detective's level voice came back. "Half an hour ago I
would have said no again, but now I've got the evidence I wanted. I
appreciate, Mr. Graham, that you're a friend of that young rascal, and
what I have to say isn't pleasant for a friend to hear. But first you
want to know why I'm so sure the case is murder, in spite of the doctor
who made his diagnosis without really looking."

"Go on," Graham said softly.

Bobby waited--his nerves