Joe’s breath came and went in short, choking spurts. Find a ghost? He kept the unsteady light trained upon the man and the dog. The merry romp of invisible feet still filled the room. Lady, her tawny body red in the beam from the flash, went without hesitation to the nearest wall. And there she stopped, defeated, and whined.
“It’s all right, Lady,” the blind man said quietly. His left hand held the handle-grip of the dog’s harness; his right hand thrust out the cane until it touched the wall. He came closer and laid one hand upon the wall itself.
The echo of young footsteps had stopped.
“Come.” Mr. Sweetman trembled. “It is enough.”
“Wait,” said Dr. Stone.
Without warning the dark house was awake again with sound. Upstairs a childish voice sang softly. Then footsteps once more filled the room. Not footsteps in a home, but footsteps crunching over a graveled walk. Sounds, for a moment, became confused and fragmentary—the icy-clutch beating of that heart, a child humming, the wash and gurgle of water. Footsteps again crunching gravel. Joe could almost vision a child at play.
The idyllic picture was broken. All at once there was a piercing, terror-stricken scream. With amazing speed it thinned, waned, grew fainter, as though somebody was falling, falling—. Abruptly there was a heavy splash, the sound of water in commotion, a gurgling, strangling voice calling faintly for help.
Joe dropped the flash, and it went out. Mr. Sweetman cried something inarticulate and plunged for the porch. Outside they heard him shouting:
“Wingate! Wingate! Come quick! Wingate!”
The doctor’s voice, in the darkness, was steady. “Frightened, Joe?”