Robinson moved to one side, jerking his thumb at Silas Blackburn. The coat and hat slipped from Doctor Groom's hand. His mouth opened. His great body crept slowly back until the shoulders rested against the wall. He placed the palms of his hands against the wall as if to push it away in order to assure further retreat. Always the little, infused eyes remained fixed on the man who had been his friend. Such terror was chiefly arresting because of the great figure conquered by it. Blackburn thrust his pipe in his mouth. He laughed shakily. "That fellow Groom will have a stroke." The Doctor's greeting had the difficult quality of a masculine sob. "Silas Blackburn!" "Who do you think?" the other whined. "You going to try to frighten me out of my skin, too? These people are trying to say I've been lying dead in the old room. Hoped you'd have enough sense to set them right and tell me what it's all about." The doctor straightened. "You did lie dead in the old room." His harsh, amazed tones held an unqualified conviction. "I saw you there. I helped the coroner make the examination. You had been dead for many hours. And I saw you bolted in your coffin. I saw you buried in the graveyard you'd let go to pieces." The others had, as far as possible, recovered from the first shock, had done their best to fathom the mystery, but Groom's fear increased. His reddish eyes grew always more alarmed. Silas Blackburn turned with a quick, frightened gesture, facing the fire. Paredes drew a deep breath. "Now you'll see," he said. Doctor Groom shrank against the wall again. After a moment, with the motions of one drawn by an outside will, he approached the figure at the fireplace. Then Bobby saw, and he heard Katherine's choked scream. For now that his grandfather's back was turned there was plainly visible on the white of the collar, near the base of the brain, a scarlet stain. And the hair above it was matted. "That's what I meant," Paredes whispered. Graham moved back. "Good God!" Robinson stared. The fear had found him, too. Doctor Groom touched Blackburn's shoulder tentatively. "What's the matter with the back of your neck?" Blackburn drew fearfully away. He raised his hand and fumbled at the top of his collar. He held his fingers to the firelight. "Why," he said blankly, "I been bleeding back there." To an extent the doctor controlled himself. "Sit down here, Silas Blackburn," he said. "I want to get the lamplight on your head." "I ain't badly hurt?" Blackburn whined. "I don't know," the doctor answered. "Heaven knows." Blackburn sat down. The light shone full on the stained collar and the dark patch of hair at the base of the brain. Doctor Groom examined the wound minutely. He straightened. He spoke unsteadily: "It is a healed wound. It was made by something sharp." Robinson thrust his hands in his pockets. "You're getting beyond my depths, Doctor. Bring him up to the old bedroom. I want him to see that pillow."