Her hand stole into his. He had been afraid that the forest had taken her. Under the reassurance of her handclasp he tried to make himself believe there was actually a woman near by, if not Maria, some one who had a definite purpose there. Robinson flashed on his light. Old Blackburn whimpered: "The Cedars is at its tricks again, and there's nothing we can do." "It was like a lost soul," Katherine sighed. "It seemed to cry from this place." "It must be traced," Bobby said. "Then tell me its direction certainly," Robinson challenged. "We'd flounder in the thicket. A waste of time. Let us get through here. Hurry, Rawlins!" The light showed Bobby that the detective and Jenkins had nearly finished. He shrank from the first hard sound of metal against metal. It came. After a moment the light shone on the dull face of the casket which was streaked with dirt. Jenkins rested on his spade. He groaned. It occurred to Bobby that the man couldn't have worked hard enough in this cold air to have started the perspiration that streamed down his wrinkled face. "It would be a tough job to lift it out," Rawlins said. "No need," Robinson answered. "Get the soil away from the edges." He bent over, passing a screw driver to the detective. "Take off the top plate. That will let us see all we want." Jenkins climbed out. "I shan't look. I don't dare look." Silas Blackburn touched Bobby's arm timidly. "I've been a hard man, Bobby--" He broke off, his bearded lips twitching. The grating of the screws tore through the silence. Rawlins glanced up. "Lend a hand, somebody." Groom spoke hoarsely: "It isn't too late to let the dead rest." Robinson gestured him away. Graham, Paredes, and he knelt in the snow and helped the detective raise the heavy lid. They placed it at the side of the grave. They all forced themselves to glance downward. Katherine screamed. Silas Blackburn leaned on Bobby's arm, shaking with gross, impossible sobs. Paredes shrugged his shoulders. The light wavered in Robinson's hand. They continued to stare. There was nothing else to do. The coffin was empty. CHAPTER IX BOBBY'S VIGIL IN THE ABANDONED ROOM For a long time the little group gathered in the snow-swept cemetery remained silent. The lamp, shaking in the district attorney's hand, illuminated each detail of the casket's interior linings. Bobby tried to realize that, except for these meaningless embellishments, the box was empty. That was what held them all--the void, the unoccupied silken couch in which they had seen Silas Blackburn's body imprisoned. Yet the screws which the detective had removed, and the mass of earth, packed down and covered with snow, must have made escape a dreadful impossibility even if the spark of life had reanimated its occupant. And that occupant stood there, trembling and haggard, sobbing from time to time in an utter abandonment to the terror of what he saw.