Jenkins moved back, a look of unbelief and awe in his wrinkled face.
“He boasted he was going to sleep in that room,” he whispered.
Bobby studied Jenkins, not knowing what to make of the old man, for into the awe of the wrinkled face had stolen a positive relief, an emotion that bordered on the triumphant.
“It’s terrible,” Jenkins whispered.
Graham grasped his shoulder.
“What’s the matter with you, Jenkins? One would say you were glad.”
“No. Oh, no, sir. It is terrible. I was only wondering about the policeman’s report.”
“What do you know about his report?” Bobby cried.
“Only that — that he gave it to me to mail just before he went up to the old room.”
“You mailed it?” Graham snapped.
Jenkins hesitated. When he answered his voice was self-accusing.
“I’m an old coward, Mr. Robert
