To avoid him Bobby stepped aside, thinking he must be going past, but the stranger stopped and placed a firm hand on Bobby's shoulder. He spoke in a quick, authoritative voice: "Certainly you are Mr. Robert Blackburn?" For Bobby, in his nervous, bewildered condition, there was an ominous note in this surprise, this assurance, this peremptory greeting. "What's amazing about that?" he jerked out. The stranger's lips parted in a straight smile. "Amazing! That's the word I was thinking of. Hoped you might come in from New York. Seemed you were here all the time. That's a good one on me--a very good one." The beating of Bobby's heart was more pronounced than it had been in the deserted house. He asked himself why he should shrink from this stranger who had an air of threatening him. The answer lay in that black pit of last night and this morning. Unquestionably he had been indiscreet. The man would tell him how. "You mean," he asked with dry lips, "that you've been looking for me? Who are you? Please take your hand off." The stranger's grasp tightened. "Not so fast, Mr. Robert Blackburn. I daresay you haven't just now come from the Cedars?" "No, no. I'm on my way to New York. There's a train soon, I think." His voice trailed away. The stranger's straight smile widened. He commenced to laugh harshly and uncouthly. "Sure there's a train, but you don't want to take it. And why haven't you been at the Cedars? Grandpa's death grieved you too much to go near his body?" Bobby drew back. The shock robbed him for a moment of the power to reason. "Dead! The old man! How--" The stranger's smile faded. "Here it is nearly three o'clock in the afternoon, and you're all dressed up for last night. That's lucky." Bobby couldn't meet the narrow eyes. "Who are you?" The stranger with his free hand threw back his coat lapel. "My name's Howells. I'm a county detective. I'm on the case, because your grandfather died very strangely. He was murdered, very cleverly murdered. Queerest case I've ever handled. What do you think?" In his own ears Bobby's voice sounded as remote and unreal as it had through the blackness last night. "Why do you talk to me like this?" "Because I tell you I'm on the case, and I want you to turn about and go straight to the Cedars." "This is--absurd. You mean you suspect--You're placing me under arrest?" The detective's straight smile returned. "How we jump at conclusions! I'm simply telling you not to bother me with questions. I'm telling you to go straight to the Cedars where you'll stay. Understand? You'll stay there until you're wanted--Until you're wanted." The merciless repetition settled it for Bobby. He knew it would be dangerous to talk or argue. Moreover, he craved an opportunity to think, to probe farther into the black pit. He turned and walked away. When he reached the last houses he glanced back. The detective remained in the middle of the road, staring after him with that straight and satisfied smile.