He broke off, glancing at the door through which Graham had disappeared.
"Then remember," she said softly, "I don't believe it."
She released his hand, sighing.
"That's all I can say, all I can do now. You're ill, Bobby. Go in. Rest for awhile. When you've had sleep you may remember something."
He shook his head. He walked slowly with her to the house.
As he climbed the stairs he heard Paredes telephoning. He couldn't understand the man's insistence on remaining where clearly he was an intruder.
He entered his bedroom which he had occupied only once or twice during the last few months. The place seemed unfamiliar. As he bathed and dressed his sense of strangeness grew, and he understood why. The last time he had been here he had stood in no personal danger. There had been no black parenthesis in his life during the stretch of which he might have committed an unspeakable crime. For he couldn't believe as firmly as Katherine did. Since he couldn't remember, he might have done anything.
"Come!" he called in response to a stealthy rapping at the door.
Stealth, it occurred to him, had, since last night, become a stern condition of his life.
Graham entered and noiselessly closed the door.