“Because I tell you I’m on the case, and
I want you to turn about and go straight to the Cedars.”
“This is—absurd. You mean you
suspect—You’re placing me under arrest?”
The detective’s straight smile returned.
“How we jump at conclusions! I’m
simply telling you not to bother me with questions.
I’m telling you to go straight to the Cedars
where you’ll stay. Understand? You’ll
stay there until you’re wanted—Until
you’re wanted.”
The merciless repetition settled it for Bobby.
He knew it would be dangerous to talk or argue.
Moreover, he craved an opportunity to think, to probe
farther into the black pit. He turned and walked
away. When he reached the last houses he glanced
back. The detective remained in the middle of
the road, staring after him with that straight and
satisfied smile.
Bobby walked on, his shaking hands tightly clenched,
muttering to himself:
“I’ve got to remember. Good God!
I’ve got to remember. It’s the only
way I can ever know he’s not right, that I’m
not a murderer.”
THE CASE AGAINST BOBBY
Bobby hurried down the road in the direction of the
Cedars. Always he tried desperately to recall
what had occurred during those black hours last night
and this morning before he had awakened in the empty
house near his grandfather’s home. All
that remained were his sensation of travel in a swift
vehicle, his impression of standing in the forest near
the Cedars, his glimpse of the masked figure which
he had called his conscience, the echo in his brain
of a dream-like voice saying: “Take off
your shoes and carry them in your hand. Always
do that. It’s the only safe way.”
These facts, then, alone were clear to him: He
had wandered, unconscious, in the neighbourhood.
His grandfather had been strangely murdered. The
detective who had met him in the village practically
accused him of the murder. And he couldn’t
remember.
He turned back to his last clear recollections.
When he had experienced his first symptoms of slipping
consciousness he had been in the cafe in New York
with Carlos Paredes, Maria, the dancer, and a strange
man whom Maria had brought to the table. Through
them he might, to an extent, trace his movements,
unless they had put him in a cab, thinking he would
catch the train, of which he had talked, for the Cedars.
Already the forest crowded the narrow, curving road.
The Blackburn place was in the midst of an arid thicket
of stunted pines, oaks, and cedars. Old Blackburn
had never done anything to improve the estate or its
surroundings. Steadily during his lifetime it
had grown more gloomy, less habitable.
With the silent forest thick about him Bobby realized
that he was no longer alone. A crackling twig
or a loose stone struck by a foot might have warned
him. He went slower, glancing restlessly over
his shoulder. He saw no one, but that idea of
stealthy pursuit persisted. Undoubtedly it was
the detective, Howells, who followed him, hoping, perhaps,
that he would make some mad effort at escape.
