Joe's light focused on the dog. Lady, her tail whipping restlessly, had
eyes only for the blind master who had spoken.
"Find the baby," Dr. Stone said.
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!"