He took a fierce twisted joy in one phase of the situation.
"If I was there last night," he thought, "Howells will never find out how I got into the room, because, no matter what trap he sets, I can't tell him."
His leaden weariness closed his eyes. For a few minutes he slept again.
Once more it was a voice that awakened him—this time a woman's, raised in a scream. He sprang up, flung open the door, and stumbled into the corridor. Katherine stood there, holding her dressing gown about her with trembling hands. The face she turned to Bobby was white and panic-stricken. She beckoned, and he followed her to the main hall. The others came tearing up the stairs—Graham, Paredes, the detective, and the black and gigantic doctor.
In answer to their quick questions she whispered breathlessly:
"I heard. It was just like last night. It came across the court and stole in at my window."
She shook. She stretched out her hands in a terrified appeal.
"Somebody—something moved in that room where he—he's dead."
"Nonsense," the detective said. "Both doors are locked, and I have the keys in my pocket."
Paredes fumbled with a cigarette.