Graham answered this smooth effrontery with a blunt question.

“Do you know that Bobby is in very real trouble, that he may be implicated in Mr. Blackburn’s death?”

Paredes flung up his hands, but Bobby, looking for emotion in the sallow face then, found none.  Paredes’s features, it occurred to him, were exactly like a mask.

Bobby checked himself.  In his unhealthy way Paredes had been a good friend.  The man’s voice flowed smoothly, demanding particulars.

“But this,” he said, when they had told him what they could, “changes the situation.  I must stay here.  I must watch that detective and learn what he has up his sleeve.”

Graham turned away.

“I’ve tried.  Maybe you’ll succeed better than I.”

“Then you’ll excuse me,” Paredes said quickly.  “I should like your permission to telephone to my hotel in New York for some clothing.  I want to see this through.”

The three looked at each other.  Katherine and Graham seemed about to speak.  Bobby wouldn’t let them.

“Carlos,” he said, “you might help me.  I’m almost afraid to ask.  What happened in the cafe last night?  The last thing I remember distinctly is sitting there with you and Maria and a stranger she had introduced.  I didn’t get his name.  What did I do?  Did any one leave the place with me?”

Paredes smiled a little, shaking his head.

“You behaved as if Mr. Graham’s earlier fears had been accomplished.  You insisted you were going to catch your train.  I didn’t think it wise, so I went to the cloak room with you, intending to see you home.  Somehow, just the same you gave me the slip.”

“You oughtn’t to have let him get away,” Graham said.

Paredes shrugged his shoulders.

“You weren’t there.  You don’t know how sly Bobby was.”

“I suppose it’s useless to ask,” Graham said.  “You saw nothing put in his wine?”

Paredes laughed.

“Is it likely?  Certainly not.  I should have mentioned it.  I should have stopped such a thing.  What do you think I am, Mr. Graham?”

“Sorry,” Graham said.  “You must understand we can’t let any lead slip.  This stranger Maria brought up?”

“I didn’t catch his name,” Paredes answered.

“I’d never seen him before.  I gathered he was a friend of hers—­connected with the profession.  Now I shall telephone with your permission, Miss Katherine; and don’t you worry, Bobby.  I will see you through; but we can’t do much until the coroner comes, until the detective can be made to talk.”

Katherine hesitated for a moment, then she surrendered.

“Please go with him, Hartley, and—­and make him as comfortable as you can in this unhappy house.”

Katherine detained Bobby with a nod.  He saw the others go.  He shrank, in his mental and physical discomfort, from this isolation with her.  As soon as the door was closed she touched his hand.  She burst out passionately: