“Let’s think of the human elements,” Graham answered with a frown.  “I have no faith in Paredes.  My man has failed to report on Maria.  That’s queer.  You fancy a woman in black slipping through the woods, and we hear a woman cry.  I want to account for those things before I give in to Groom’s spirits.  I confess at times they seem the only logical explanation.  Here’s Jenkins.”

“If trouble comes of his withholding the report I’ll take the blame,” Bobby said.

Graham snatched the long envelope from Jenkins’ hand.  It was addressed in a firm hand to the district attorney at the county seat.

“There’s no question,” Graham said.  “That’s it.  We mustn’t open it.  We’d better not destroy it.  Put it where it won’t be easily found, Jenkins.  If you are questioned you have no recollection of Howells having given it to you.  Mr. Blackburn promises he will see you get in no trouble.”

The old man smiled.

“Trouble!” he scoffed.  “Mr. Blackburn needn’t fret himself about me.  He’s the last of this family—­that is Miss Katherine and he.  I’m old and about done for.  I don’t mind trouble.  Not a bit, sir.”

Bobby pressed his hand.  His voice was a little husky:  “I didn’t think you’d go that far in my service, Jenkins.”

The old butler smiled slyly:  “I’d go a lot further than that, sir.”

“We’d better get back,” Graham said.  “The blood hounds ought to be here, and they’ll sniff at the case harder than ever because it’s done for Howells.”

They watched Jenkins go upstairs with the report.

“We’re taking long chances,” Graham said, “desperately long chances, but you’re in a desperately dangerous position.  It’s the only way.  You’ll be accused of stealing the evidence; but remember, when they question you, they can prove nothing unless the cast and the handkerchief turn up.  If they’ve been taken by an enemy in some magical fashion to be produced at the proper moment, there’s no hope.  Meantime play the game, and Katherine and I will help you all we can.  The doctor, too, is friendly.  There’s no doubt of him.  Come, now.  Let’s face the music.”

Bobby followed Graham to the hall, trying to strengthen his nerves for the ordeal.  Even now he was more appalled by the apparently supernatural background of the case than he was by the material details which pointed to his guilt.  More than the report and the cast and the handkerchief, the remembrance of that impossible moment in the blackness of the old room filled his mind, and the unearthly and remote crying still throbbed in his ears.

Katherine, Graham, and the doctor waited by the fireplace.  They had heard nothing from the authorities.

“But they must be here soon,” Doctor Groom said.

“Did you learn anything back there, Hartley?” Katherine asked.

“It wasn’t the servants,” he said.  “Jenkins heard the crying.  He’s certain it came from outside the house.”