"No armed neutrality for me," he grinned. "All right. We'll forget the bracelets since you haven't a gun." Puffing at his cigarette, Paredes got his coat and hat and followed the detective from the house. Robinson and Graham climbed the private staircase to commence another systematic search of the hall, to discover, if they could, the motive for Paredes's stealthy presence there. Bobby accepted greedily this opportunity to find Katherine, to learn from her, undisturbed, what had happened in the house that morning, the meaning, perhaps, of her despairing gesture. When, in response to his knock, she opened her door and stepped into the corridor he guessed her despair had been an expression of the increased strain, of her helplessness in face of Robinson's harsh determination. "He questioned me for an hour," she said, "principally about the heel mark in the court. They cling to that, because I don't think they've found anything new at the lake." "You don't know anything about it, do you, Katherine? You weren't there? You didn't do that for me?" "I wasn't there, Bobby. I honestly don't know any more about it than you do." "Carlos was in the court," he mused. "Did you know they'd taken him? We found him creeping down the private stairway." There was a hard quality about her gratitude. "I am glad, Bobby. The man makes me shudder, and all morning they seemed more interested in you than in him. They've rummaged every room--even mine." She laughed feverishly. "That's why I've been so upset. They seemed--" She broke off. She picked at her handkerchief. After a moment she looked him frankly in the eyes and continued: "They seemed almost as doubtful of me as of you." He recalled Paredes's suspicion of the girl. "It's nonsense, Katherine. And I'm to blame for that, too." She put her finger to her lips. Her smile was wistful. "Hush! You mustn't blame yourself. You mustn't think of that." Again her solicitude, their isolation in a darkened place, tempted him, aroused impulses nearly irresistible. Her slender figure, the pretty face, grown familiar and more desirable through all these years, swept him to a harsher revolt than he had conquered in the library. In the face of Graham, in spite of his own intolerable position he knew he couldn't fight that truth eternally. She must have noticed his struggle without grasping its cause, for she touched his hand, and the wistfulness of her expression increased. "I wish you wouldn't think of me, Bobby. It's you we must all think of." He accepted with a cold dismay the sisterly anxiety of her attitude. It made his renunciation easier. He walked away. "Why do you go?" she called after him. He gestured vaguely, without turning.