“The next step what?” Harley Kent demanded sharply.
The cane had ceased to tap the floor. “The next step,” Dr. Stone said softly, “would be to look where a bird would naturally fly with such a bauble.”
Something electric, something unsaid, hung in the air, and Joe shook with a strange chill. Whatever that something was, it spoke to Lady. The dog grew restless and growled in its throat.
“I think we’ll be going, Kent,” said the doctor.
“Good night,” said Harley Kent.
Joe clung to his uncle’s arm and swallowed with difficulty. A hundred feet down the road the man halted.
“Can you see the house from here?”
“Yes, sir.”
“Tell me when the downstairs lights go out.” The man found his pipe and struck a match to the bowl.
A whippoorwill called musically through the night, and distance softened the hoot of an owl. Frogs croaked in a meadow and a rabbit stirred in the brush. Joe shifted from foot to foot, and wondered what was to come next. Twice cars passed them going into town, and off over the hill a dog howled. And then, without warning, the oblongs of downstairs windows disappeared and the roof was a dark patch against the sky.