“What was it?  Where did you think it came from?” Bobby demanded.  “It was like someone mourning for this—­this poor devil.”

Graham couldn’t disguise his effort to elude the sombre spell of the room, to drive from his brain the illusion of that unearthly moaning.

“It must have come from outside the house,” he answered “There’s no use giving way to fancies where there’s a possible explanation.  It must have come from outside—­from some woman in great agony of mind.”

Bobby recalled his perception of a woman moving with a curious absence of sound about the edges of the stagnant lake.  He spoke of it to Graham.

“I couldn’t be sure it was a woman, but there’s no house within two miles.  What would a woman be doing wandering around the Cedars?”

“At any rate, there are three women in the house,” Graham said, “Katherine and the two servants, Ella and Jane.  The maids are badly frightened.  It may have come from the servants’ quarters.  It must have been one of them.”

But Bobby saw that Graham didn’t believe either of the maids had released that poignant suffering.

“It didn’t sound like a living voice,” he said simply.

“Then how are we to take it?” Graham persisted angrily.  “I shall question Katherine and the two maids.”

He took up the candle with a stubborn effort to recapture his old forcefulness, but as they left the room the shadows thronged thickly after them in ominous pursuit; and it wasn’t necessary to question Katherine.  She stood in the corridor, her lips parted, her face white and shocked.

“What was it?” she said.  “That nearly silent grief?”

She put her hands to her ears, lowering them helplessly after a moment.

“Where did you think it came from?” Graham asked.

“From a long ways off,” she answered.  “Then I—­I thought it must be in the room with you, and I wondered if you saw—­”

Graham shook his head.

“We saw nothing.  It was probably Ella or Jane.  They’ve been badly frightened.  Perhaps a nightmare, or they’ve heard us moving around the front part of the house.  I am going to see.”

Katherine and Bobby followed him downstairs.  Doctor Groom and Paredes stood in front of the fireplace, questioningly looking upward.  Paredes didn’t speak at first, but Doctor Groom burst out in his grumbling, bass voice: 

“What’s been going on up there?”

“Did you hear just now a queer crying?” Graham asked.

“No.”

“You, Paredes?”

“I’ve heard nothing,” Paredes answered, “except Doctor Groom’s disquieting theories.  It’s an uncanny hour for such talk.  What kind of a cry—­may I ask?”

“Like a woman moaning,” Bobby said, “and, Doctor, Howells has changed his position.”

“What are you talking about?” the doctor cried.

“He has turned on his side as Mr. Blackburn did,” Graham told him.