But Judith had noticed more quickly than Baird, and she spoke to the colonel in the same clear way in which she had spoken from the beginning. "Take her up-stairs, Ridley. She's frightened at all this galloping about, and no wonder." Then dropping Edward's arm she went straight on to the front door, her voice raised somewhat more, like an officer giving his orders, and at the same time conveying a warning: "Come on in, all of you, and get ready for supper. I dare say Mr. Baird is hungry--I am--and we can't get Garvin's horse back by staring after it.... Aunt Carlotta Morrison, come help me get every one together. Come!" It was all for him, Baird knew it--all this bravery. He was the stranger among them; the one person from whom the painful thing, whatever it was, must be kept. They could not gather together in grief or sympathy or council--he was there. And it devolved upon him to play his part; to see nothing; understand nothing; and escape as soon as he could. Baird would have given much to be able to get his horse and disappear. But that was not possible. He was experiencing the painful embarrassment of a guest whose absence was earnestly, even tragically desired, but whose departure would cause more pain than his presence--so long as he could successfully maintain an air of unconsciousness. He must stay, but it occurred to Baird that he could give them a few moments in which to remove their masks, in which to consult together. "I'll go wash up," he said to Edward. Edward stood with hand on the stair-rail, erect but deadly pale. He answered steadily and courteously, "Very well, Baird--it's what I must do in a moment. If you need anything, ring. I suppose some of the servants are about." "Thanks," Baird said, and escaped. He washed his hands and smoothed his hair mechanically. He was generally cool when excited, but he muttered to himself, "What in hell can it be? It's serious, whatever it is." His brain had already traversed several possibilities. Had Garvin suddenly gone mad? Or committed murder?... Or had his own brain gone back on him, registered an entirely erroneous set of impressions?... Of course it hadn't. Those people were both terrified and ashamed. But he must go on with it. He had answered to the spur of Judith's voice. He was a poor sort if he couldn't play his part also.... Baird judged that he had given them time enough in which to consult, and not too much time in which to suspect him. He must go down.