"Suppose he's gone down to the library?" Graham said.
Bobby gave Katherine the candle.
"No. He'd have stayed. We've got to break in here. We've got to find out."
Graham placed his powerful shoulder against the door. The lock strained. Bobby added his weight. With a splintering of wood the door flew open, precipitating them across the threshold. Through the darkness Graham sprang for the opposite door.
"It's locked," he called, "and the key's on this side."
Bobby took the candle from Katherine and forced himself to approach the bed. The flame flickered a little in the breeze which stole past the curtain of the open window. It shook across the body of Howells, fully clothed with his head on the stained pillow. His face, intricately lined, was as peaceful as Silas Blackburn's had been. Its level smile persisted.
Bobby caught his breath.
"Howells—"
He set the candle on the bureau.
"It's no use. We must look at the back of his head."