She did not attempt to answer his question but instead asked, gently,
"Is that why you have been going to the Flats with Mary?"
If he noticed any special significance in her words he ignored it. "Mary visits the people in the Flats as her mother did—as our mother used to do. She told me about some of the cases, and I have been going with her now and then to see for myself—that is all."
Then they left the old house and drove back to their pretentious home on the hill, where Adam Ward suffered his days of mental torture and was racked by his nightly dreams of hell. And the dread shadow of that hidden thing was over them all.
* * * * *
That night when John told the Interpreter of his afternoon with his sister the old basket maker listened silently. His face was turned toward the scene that, save for the twinkling lights, lay wrapped in darkness before them. And he seemed to be listening to the voice of the Mill. When John had finished, the man in the wheel chair said very little.
But when John was leaving, the Interpreter asked, as an afterthought,
"And where was Captain Charlie this afternoon, John?"
"At the Mill," John answered. "I'm glad he wasn't at home, too; it was bad enough as it was."
"Perhaps it was just as well," said the old basket maker. And John
Ward, in the darkness, could not see that the Interpreter was smiling.