"What time is it?" Bobby asked hoarsely. "Half-past two. I don't think Robinson was aroused." The damp moon gave an ominous unreality to the room. "What did I do?" Bobby whispered. "Got softly out of bed and went to the hall. It was uncanny. You were like an automaton. I didn't wake you at once. You see, I--I thought you might go to the old room." Bobby shook again. He drew a blanket about his shoulders. "And you believed I'd show the way in and out, but the room was empty, so I was going downstairs--" He shuddered. "Good God! Then it's all true. I did it for the money. I put Howells out to protect myself. I was going after Robinson. It's true. Hartley! Tell me. Do you think it's true?" Graham turned away. "Don't ask me to say anything to help you just now," he answered huskily, "for after this I don't dare, Bobby. I don't dare." CHAPTER VII THE AMAZING MEETING IN THE SHADOWS OF THE OLD COURTYARD Bobby returned to his bed. He lay there still shivering, beneath the heavy blankets. "I don't dare!" He echoed Graham's words. "There's nothing else any one can say. I must decide what to do. I must think it over." But, as always, thought brought no release. It merely insisted that the case against him was proved. At last he had been seen slipping unconsciously from his room--and at the same hour. All that remained was to learn how he had accomplished the apparent miracles. Then no excuse would remain for not going to Robinson and confessing. The woman at the lake and in the courtyard, the movement of the body and the vanishing of the evidence under his hand, Paredes's odd behaviour, all became in his mind puzzling details that failed to obscure the chief fact. After this something must be done about Paredes's detention. He hadn't dreamed that his weariness could placate even momentarily such reflections, but at last he slept again. He was aroused by the tramping of men around the house, and strange, harsh voices. He raised himself on his elbow and glanced from the window. It had long been daylight. Two burly fellows in overalls, carrying pick and spade across their shoulders, pushed through the underbrush at the edge of the clearing. He turned. Graham, fully dressed, stood at the side of the bed. "Those men?" Bobby asked wearily. "The grave diggers," Graham answered. "They are going to work in the old cemetery to prepare a place for Silas Blackburn with his fathers. That's why I've come to wake you up. The minister's telephoned Katherine. He will be here before noon. Do you know it's after ten o'clock?" For some time Bobby stared through the window at the desolate, ragged landscape. It was abnormally cold even for the late fall. Dull clouds obscured the sun and furnished an illusion of crowding earthward. "A funereal day." The words slipped into his mind. He repeated them. "When your grandfather's buried," Graham answered softly, "we'll all feel happier." "Why?" Bobby asked. "It won't lessen the fact of his murder."