He strolled over and handed Bobby a number of newspapers.

“Where’s Robinson?” Bobby asked.

“I saw him in the court a while ago.  I daresay he’s wandering around—­perhaps watching the men at the grave.”

“He learned nothing new last night?”

“I was with him at breakfast.  I gather not.”

Bobby looked up.

“Isn’t that an automobile coming through the woods?” he asked.

“Maybe Rawlins back from Smithtown, or the minister.”

The car stopped at the entrance of the court.  They heard the remote tinkling of the front door bell.  Jenkins passed through.  The cold air invading the hall and the dining room told them he had opened the door.  His sharp exclamation recalled Howells’s report which, at their direction, he had failed to mail.  Had his exclamation been drawn by an accuser?  Bobby started to rise.  Graham moved toward the door.  Then Jenkins entered and stood to one side.  Bobby shared his astonishment, for Paredes walked in, unbuttoning his overcoat, the former easy-mannered, uncommunicative foreigner.  He appeared, moreover, to have slept pleasantly.  His eyes showed no weariness, his clothing no disarrangement.  He spoke at once, quite as if nothing disagreeable had shadowed his departure.

“Good morning.  If I had dreamed of this change in the weather I would have brought a heavier overcoat.  I’ve nearly frozen driving from Smithtown.”

Before either man could grope for a suitable greeting he faced Bobby.  He felt in his pockets with whimsical discouragement.

“Fact is, Bobby, I left New York too suddenly.  I hadn’t noticed until a little while ago.  You see I spent a good deal in Smithtown yesterday.”

Bobby spoke with an obvious confusion: 

“What do you mean, Carlos?  I thought you were—­”

Graham interrupted with a flat demand for an explanation.

“How did you get away?”

Paredes waved his hand.

“Later, Mr. Graham.  There is a hack driver outside who is even more suspicious than you.  He wants to be paid.  I asked Rawlins to drive me back, but he rushed from the courthouse, probably to telephone his rotund superior.  Fact is, this fellow wants five dollars—­an outrageous rate.  I’ve told him so—­but it doesn’t do any good.  So will you lend me Bobby—­”

Bobby handed him a banknote.  He didn’t miss Graham’s meaning glance.  Paredes gave the money to the butler.

“Pay him, will you, Jenkins?  Thanks.”

He surveyed the remains of Bobby’s breakfast.  He sat down.

“May I?  My breakfast was early, and prison food, when you’re not in the habit—­”