His father and sister will
be here, too, and you'll not open your mouth against them. Do you
understand?"
"Yes--yes," whispered the now thoroughly frightened Adam.
"Don't you dare even to speak to Mrs. Ward or John or Helen as you have
to me. And for God's sake pull yourself together and remember--you
don't know any more than the rest of us about this business--you were
in your room when you heard the shots."
"Yes, of course, Jim--but I--I--"
"Shut up! You are not to talk, I tell you--even to me."
Adam Ward whimpered like a child.
For another moment McIver glared at him; then, "Don't forget that I saw
this affair and that I went over the ground with the police. I'm going
back downstairs now. You go to bed where you belong and stay there."
He turned abruptly and left the room.
But as he went down the stairway McIver drew his handkerchief from his
pocket and wiped the perspiration from his brow.
"What in God's name," he asked himself, "did Adam Ward's excited fears
mean? What terrible thing gave birth to his mad words? What awful
pattern was this that the unseen forces were weaving? And what part was
he, with his love for Helen, destined to fill in it all?" That his life
was being somehow woven into the design he felt certain--but how and to
what end? And again the man in all his strength felt that dread
foreboding.
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