He didn't see her again until dinner time. She was as silent then as she had been the night before when Howells had sat with them, his moroseness veiling a sharp interest in the plan that was to lead to his death. Robinson's mood was very different. He talked a great deal, making no effort to hide his irritation. His failure to find any clue in the private staircase after Paredes's arrest had clearly stimulated his interest in Bobby. The sharp little eyes, surrounded by puffy flesh, held a threat for him. Bobby was glad when the meal ended. Howells's body was taken away that night. It was a relief for all of them to know that the old room was empty again. "I daresay you won't sleep there," Graham said to Robinson. Robinson glanced at Bobby. "Not as things stand," he answered. "The library lounge is plenty good enough for me tonight." Graham went upstairs with Bobby. There was no question about his purpose. He wouldn't repeat last night's mistake. "At least," he said, when the door was closed behind them, "I can see if you do get up and wander about in your sleep. I'd bet a good deal that you won't." "If I did it would be an indication?" "Granted it's your custom, what is there to tempt you to-night?" Bobby answered, half jesting: "You've not forgotten Robinson on the library sofa. The man isn't exactly working for me. Tonight he seems almost as unfriendly as Howells was." He yawned. "I ought to sleep now if ever. I've seldom been so tired. Two such nights!" He hesitated. "But I am glad you're here, Hartley. I can go to sleep with a more comfortable feeling." "Don't worry," Graham said. "You'll sleep quietly enough, and we'll all be better for a good rest." For only a little while they talked of the mystery. While Graham regretted his failure to find any trace of Maria, their voices dwindled sleepily. Bobby recalled his last thought before losing himself last night. He tried to force from his mind now the threat in Robinson's eyes. He told himself again and again that the man wasn't actually unfriendly. Then the blackness encircled him. He slept. Almost at once, it seemed to him, he was fighting away, demanding drowsily: "What's the matter? Leave me alone." He heard Graham's voice, unnaturally subdued and anxious. "What are you doing, Bobby?" Then Bobby knew he was no longer in his bed, that he stood instead in a cold place; and the meaning of his position came with a rush of sick terror. "Get hold of yourself," Graham said. "Come back." Bobby opened his eyes. He was in the upper hall at the head of the stairs. Unconsciously he had been about to creep quietly down, perhaps to the library. Graham had awakened him. It seemed to offer the answer to everything. It seemed to give outline to a monstrous familiar that drowned his real self in the black pit while it conducted his body to the commission of unspeakable crimes. He lurched into the bedroom and sat shivering on the bed. Graham entered and quietly closed the door.